#My resignation would be on the desk before they could blink | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

69% of Tumblr users are millennials.

#My resignation would be on the desk before they could blink

ddejavvu · 8 months

Note

if you would ever consider writing more tutor!reid x hotchner! reader, could i please request something where maybe she gets a really high grade on an assignment or midterm and she shows up to the office to tell spencer in person? maybe they’ve been together for a little at this point <333 i hope you’re doing well we appreciate you so much

part 1

Usually when you rush through the doors of the BAU, you beeline for your dad's office. You've been told not to run a thousand times, but nothing ever stops you when you're excited, and the team has learned to ignore your thunderous footsteps until you've gotten the enthusiasm out of your system.

This time, though, instead of racing up the stairs, you rush to Spencer's desk.

"Spence!" You call, and he has little time to turn and take you in before you're grabbing greedily at his face, pressing your lips to his in a clumsy, over-eager kiss.

Ever-dramatic, several BAU mouths fall open around the bullpen. Emily's eyes are shining with amusement, and Derek looks like he's seen a ghost, while various shit-eating grins pass around the small space. Spencer reacts slow, but places his hand over your own on his cheek, blinking bewilderedly when you draw back.

"Angel-" He starts, and the team is only more enthused to hear a nickname like that drop from his lips like it's commonplace, "What-?"

"I got a 100%," You breathe, almost too excited to form actual words. Luckily, you don't have to, because Spencer shoots out of his seat at the news, nearly knocking you backwards if he hadn't caught you around the waist.

The kiss he presses to your lips is equally as urgent and impromptu as the one you'd captured him in, only this time he's the one holding onto you. You have no problem throwing your arms around his neck and giggling into the affection, and when you part lips it's with shaky, shallow breaths.

"That's amazing," He gushes, kissing again at your slightly shiny lips, "Angel, that's incredible!"

"You're incredible!" You counter, "I never would have done it without your help, Spence."

"You two kissed!" Penelope informs you, standing bewilderedly in the doorway of the kitchenette, "Y/N, you- you kissed Spencer!"

"She does that a lot," Your dad emerges from behind her, a note of resignation in his voice even though he swears he's happy for you, "Mostly at my house."

"They-" Penelope turns, dumbfounded as she stares at her boss, "You knew?"

"He caught us," You admit sheepishly, leaning against Spencer's chest, "We were studying math, but- well, we got distracted."

Morgan snickers, standing up to clap Spencer on the shoulder, "Hey, nice one, pretty boy. I'm proud of you. Gonna study anatomy next?"

Your dad's voice drowns out any indignant groans from the team, booming so loudly over the bullpen that you duck your face instinctively against Spencer's chest.

"Agent Morgan, my office, now!"

1K notes · View notes

lewmagoo · 7 months

Text

to my heart, he carries the key | bob floyd

sequel to someone to watch over me (i recommend reading the first part beforehand so this makes more sense)

description: in which a threat is made against the president’s daughter’s life, and agent robert floyd is tasked with carrying out ‘operation hidden angel’

characters: secret service agent bob floyd x f!reader, pete mitchell, beau simpson, dagger squad as their own respective characters

warnings: 18+, mentions of domestic terrorism, military, secret service and us gov’t inaccuracies, smut, unprotected sex, forbidden love, gun violence, attempted kidnapping, hospitals, broken bones, angst, hopeful ending

Things had changed in The White House.

It had been three months since that fateful night during a charity event, where a man in the crowd targeted the First Daughter of the United States. Agents Robert Floyd, Jacob Seresin, and Reuben Fitch intercepted the perpetrator, and he was disarmed before he could harm anyone. He had been taken into custody, and after weeks of extensive questioning and investigation, The Department of Homeland Security had determined that this man was not working alone. He was a member of a homegrown terrorist organization.

The only thing they couldn’t get out of him was the location of the organization. He refused to give them up, but he was adamant that in a few short months, they were going to go through with their next act of violence. And this time, people were going to die.

It was very calculated. Every last detail was planned out. How they would get the attention of the American public. How they would carry out their threat against the US government. And the way that they planned to do that?

Why, kidnapping the president’s daughter, of course.

During the time it took to obtain that information from the perpetrator, there was unrest in The White House. A changing of the guard, so to speak, was taking place. Tragedy had struck in the personal life of Pete Mitchell, head of White House security.

His husband of over thirty years, Tom Kazansky, had passed away after a bout with cancer. Pete took it hard. Hard enough that after the funeral and the burial and everything in between, he decided that it was time to retire from his decade long position as head of security.

It was not a decision that he took lightly. In fact, he’d agonized over it before finally biting the bullet and placing his letter of resignation upon the president’s desk.

“The truth is, I’m getting too old for this,” he told his team of agents, as he addressed them on the day he left. “I know, I know, it’s shocking to most of you,” he teased, as lighthearted chuckles filled the room. “But…it’s time for me to step down. Tom’s death showed me how fragile life is, and how much I should be cherishing it. I have grandchildren on the way, and I plan to be here to watch them grow up.” He glanced at Bradley Bradshaw, and the pair shared a silent understanding. Bradley’s wife was expecting. Pete didn’t want to miss a moment of that little one’s life.

“So, in my stead, Beau Simpson has agreed to take on the position as the new White House Head of Security.”

And thus, new leadership walked onto the stage.

At first, things weren’t that much difference. Your personal security detail, with Bob as the head, remained the same. Everyone missed Agent Mitchell, but life had to go on. And go on, it did.

Bob, for one, wasn’t the biggest fan of change. But change was part of the job, it was part of life, so he couldn’t make a big deal about it. When Simpson began to implement subtle changes into the way things were done, Bob bristled, but he didn’t speak out. He held his tongue, because he had a sneaking suspicion that if he were to rebel against Simpson’s leadership, he’d lose his job faster than he could even blink.

So he simply observed silently and waited to see just how many changes Simpson was going to make.

And then, one day, Bob was called into the president’s office, where he stood before Agent Simpson and POTUS himself. “Do you know why we’ve brought you in, Agent Floyd?” Beau asked.

“No sir,” came Bob’s simple response. He didn’t get the sense that he was losing his job, so he had no idea why he was standing here in the Oval Office.

“I’m sure you recall three months ago, when a threat was made against the president’s daughter.”

“Yes sir, vividly.” He’d never forget that night. Never forget the terror in your voice as you called out for him.

Then, the president interjected. “As Agent Mitchell previously briefed you, the perpetrator was part of a domestic terrorist organization here on our soil. Recently, he confessed to agents that this group will be carrying out an act of violence upon the American people. We aren’t sure where, or when exactly, but what we are sure of, is that they’re going to go after my daughter again.”

Agent Simpson picked up where the man left off. “Listen very carefully to what I am about to tell you. What we talk about here is strictly confidential. It is a matter of national security.” Then he leaned closer toward Bob. “I am going to give you a set of coordinates. No one else but you, me, and the president know them. Once I give them to you, I want you to be prepared for my signal. When I deem it necessary, you will go to the Residence, retrieve his daughter, and escort her to this location. You will not bring any other agents with you. Just you, and herself. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir. But why am I being given coordinates contrary to the location of the safe house that was already put in place?”

“Because that location has been compromised. You must only escort her to the coordinates I give you. Her life depends on it.”

“And when we get there?”

“You wait for my all clear. It won’t be safe to bring her back home until the threat is neutralized. Can you carry out these orders?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Now memorize these coordinates.” Agent Simpson recited the numbers twice. Bob had an excellent memory, and stored away the information easily. Once he confirmed the coordinates by reciting them back to the man, Beau nodded. “From here on out, you will be prepared at all times to carry out Operation Hidden Angel.”

Bob breathed in, then out. Then he nodded. “I will be standing by awaiting further orders.”

The president stood from behind his desk. “I trust you to do whatever it takes to protect my only child, Agent Floyd. Don’t make me regret it.”

“Whatever it takes, sir.”

He was dismissed from the office, and his head was spinning. Suddenly, he was burdened with a deep sense of pressure. The need to do his job well. Not because your father and the entire country was depending on him, but because you were depending on him.

He had taken an oath to serve and protect. And he meant it. Even before he knew he loved you, he had made good on that oath. And now, even more so. You were infinitely precious to him, and he would do whatever it took to ensure your safety.

Even if it meant giving his life to ensure it. He was fully prepared to go to that length if he needed to.

That night, he couldn’t sleep. His mind kept drifting to you. To how much he loved you. How much he missed you. He saw you everyday. He escorted you to wherever you needed to go. But those moments did not allow him to be alone with you in the way that you both wanted. There were always prying eyes. Other members of your security detail. Cameras. Nosey reporters. Your relationship had remained secret all this time, and you couldn’t risk exposing it.

So he would continue pining for you, desiring you, hoping for a private moment to at least hold you in his arms. Little did he know he was about to get that opportunity, just not in the way that he was expecting.

The orders came one Friday afternoon. The work day was coming to a close. At that moment, you were in your quarters getting ready. That evening, you had a dinner engagement with a friend from college. Bob had only just finished briefing the rest of your detail on what the itinerary was for the night. Everyone was prepped and on the same page.

And then, Agent Simpson’s voice spoke into his earpiece.

“Agent Floyd, it’s time to enact Operation Hidden Angel.”

He tensed, his heart seizing in his chest as a shock of dread shuddered down his spine. This was it. His worst fear was coming true. Your life had been directly threatened, and it was time to take you to the designated safe house deep in the Virginia mountains.

And when Bob received that command, he had no choice but to act on it. He touched his fingers to his earpiece and responded. “Copy that. Operation Hidden Angel commencing.”

And then he was off, his shoes tapping rhythmically against the polished wooden floors as he rushed down each hallway and corridor. Adrenaline drove him forward, and he soon came to the entrance to the residence. Breathing in deeply to steady himself, he knocked twice before he opened the doors.

He knew where you were. He didn’t have to search. You were in your bedroom, readying yourself for the night ahead. For propriety’s sake, he knocked softly. If he hadn’t been afraid that someone might see him, he would’ve just burst into the room.

He still had to keep up the appearance that you were not romantically involved.

On the other side of the door, you were just setting out the outfit you would wear that night. You were entirely oblivious to the looming danger, eager for an eveningof catching up with an old friend. “Come in!” You called out as you debated which accessories to add to your outfit.

You were surprised to see Bob in your doorway. You smiled at the unexpected visit, but your smile soon faded when you saw the urgent look on his face. “You need to grab your emergency bag and come with me. Now.”

Your stomach dropped. “Bobby, what—”

“Just come. It’s not safe for you to be here right now.”

Deciding it best not to ask any further questions in the moment, you rushed to your closet, trembling hands yanking out the bag of packed necessities you kept for emergencies such as this. Then you shoved your feet into your shoes and rushed after him.

“What’s happening?” You asked as you followed Bob out of your room and down the corridor that led out of the residence.

“Can’t tell you the details. Just need to get you somewhere safe.”

“But-”

He turned, stopping you in your tracks. “Do you trust me?” He asked, blazing blue eyes locked with yours.

“With my life,” you replied without hesitation.

“Then stick with me. I’ll keep you safe.”

So you stopped asking questions. You followed Bob through the back hallways of the White House, allowing him to lead you, trusting in his guidance. You knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would protect you. He always had. When there was a threat against your safety, he was the first to run toward the danger.

But now, you were both running from it. You knew it had to be serious if you were being removed from The White House. Someone had likely made a significant threat, and Agent Simpson had advised you be removed from the premises until the threat was neutralized.

But would the danger ever be gone? Even if this particular instance was taken care of, others would come up in the future. You would never be safe, because that was just your life as the president’s one and only child.

You did, however, feel safe with the man in front of you. His large, warm hand engulfed your own as he led you down beneath the building. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to ensure your protection. Not only because it was his duty, but because he couldn’t live with himself if something happened to you. He loved you too much.

And that was the sticky part of the situation. No one knew about your secret love for one another. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Someone did know. Bradley Bradshaw, Bob’s secondhand man on your security detail, had silently put two and two together. He’d never outright told either of you that he knew, but there seemed to be a silent understanding between him and Bob. A way of communicating that had come with years of working alongside each other in the same military branch. Neither one of them had to say a word, but they knew what the other was thinking.

Bradley had kept your secret all this time. You were often surprised that no one had found out, and both you and Bob lived in fear that one day, your father would find out. And if that were to happen, you would lose Bob. He would be dismissed from his duties and you would likely never see him again. The thought broke your heart.

But for the time being, you were able to slip under the radar. Now, especially, because it was just the two of you. And for a moment, you wondered why the rest of your detail wasn’t with you. “Bob, where’s the rest of the team?” You asked as he pulled you to a stop outside a sleek black sedan. He grabbed your bag and threw it in the backseat before motioning for you to climb in alongside it.

“I’ll explain later.” He ushered you into your seat before he scurried to the driver’s side and slipped into the seat. The engine roared to life seconds later, and he glanced back at you. “Buckle up.”

You did.

Then he was taking off, headed out of the parking garage. As he hit the gas, he spoke into his earpiece. “Angel is flying.”

“Bob, why is it just the two of us?” You reiterated your question from a few moments earlier.

He glanced at you through the rearview, debating just how much he should tell you. “The more people that know where we’re going, the more danger it puts you in. Only your dad and Agent Simpson know where we’re going.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just…just don’t ask questions, okay, honey? The less you know, the safer you are.”

You heeded his words and settled back into your seat, your heart racing against your ribcage. This was more serious than you realized, wasn’t it? And as you thought about it, the more fearful you became. Your life was in danger, and it was an odd feeling.

Who were you, that someone wanted to kill you? Your father’s decisions were not a reflection of your own morals or beliefs. You had no control over the way he chose to run the country. But there were times when his decisions put a target on his family’s back. Yours especially, because as his child, you were his biggest weakness. Remove you from the equation, and one would have the President of the United States in the palm of their hand, willing to do whatever they asked just to get you back.

This was why proactive measures were being taken. You couldn’t be used as a bargaining chip if you were in hiding. But oh, how you hated it. This was your father’s second term. You had been living in the White House for much too long, and you were tired of it. Tired of the world’s eyes being on you at all times. Tired of the politics and the responsibility. You had never asked for this. This was your father’s endeavor, you were just along for the ride.

But it had resulted in you being placed into the back of a bulletproof car and driven off to some top-secret location just to keep you safe. And from the back of that seat, your eyes observed the singular agent in charge of maintaining that safety. He wasn’t looking at you through the rearview, his eyes were on the road where they belonged. But you could see the conflict in those beautiful blues. You could see the fear.

Whatever this threat was had scared him. And that was saying something, because Bob Floyd didn’t scare easily. But when it came to protecting you, he did get scared. Terrified, even. He just didn’t let you see it. He wanted you to trust him, to feel secure. And you did. In fact, no one else made you feel as secure as he did. Yes, the rest of your detail did a wonderful job. You knew you could trust them with your life.

But because you loved Bob so much, you sought him out for shelter and protection. He was the first you turned to when you were frightened or felt unsafe. And he loved being that for you. Loved that you looked to him for those things.

However, he sometimes thought about the day he might fail you. Would his feelings for you hinder his ability to protect you effectively? Would he be blinded by love? It hadn’t happened yet, but he knew if he was even a smidge off his game, Agent Simpson would be able to sniff it out. And he would not let Bob off the hook for it, either. He’d instruct him to end his relationship with you immediately. And there would be no second chance. Beau would tell the president, and Bob’s position would be terminated.

But it had not gotten to that point, and you prayed it never would. You much preferred sharing this intimate little secret. It did make maintaining your relationship a little difficult, because there were times when you wished you had the guts to tell your father, to tell the world. But the thought of the repercussions that would follow always made you decide against it.

You wanted to relish in this secret for a little longer. If the time ever did come to reveal your relationship, you would know. Until then, you remained under the radar, stealing private moments when you could, and otherwise keeping your distance when it was appropriate.

But now you were entirely alone. No prying eyes. No risk of being caught. You were alone, because Bob was the only one your father trusted to watch over you. Because some unhinged madman had made a threat against your life and Bob would sooner die than let any harm come to you.

“You’re taking me to the safe house, aren’t you?” You spoke up. You had no idea where the house was located, but you had heard of presidents in the past utilizing safe houses. If you were being physically removed from The White House and taken elsewhere, a safe house was the only logical destination you could think of.

Bob caught your eye through the rearview mirror. His expression was bleak, and he said nothing, but it confirmed what you were asking.

The drive to the safe house was two hours. You left behind the bustling area of Washington, D.C. and headed into the mountains of Virginia. And as you went, the sun began to sink lower in the sky, allowing eventide to grace the land.

You and Bob hardly spoke, which was uncommon. But you could tell he was harrowed by this situation, and in turn, you were just as scared. It rendered you both silent for the rest of the ride. Instead, you stared out the window, watching the landscape go by, wondering how long you would have to stay here. A night? A week? A month? How serious was this threat made against you? How immediate was the danger?

All these questions swirled in your mind as Bob drove up a winding, dirt drive. It seemed to go on forever, and the farther he went, the darker it got. But he kept going, until finally, he was pulling up outside a small cabin.

You stared in confusion. Surely this couldn’t be it, right? When thinking of a safe house, you imagined concrete walls and impenetrable security systems. This was just a cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Bob was confused as well. An odd feeling churned to life in his gut. Something didn’t feel quite right about this, but these were the coordinates he was given. He had not made a mistake in his navigation. You were where you were supposed to be.

“Are you sure this is the place?” You asked as he pulled the car behind the house, intending to keep it hidden from view so as not to raise any suspicions if anyone were to happen upon the place.

“These are the coordinates I was given. I followed orders,” Bob replied, a little sharply, but his annoyance wasn’t directed at you. It was at whoever had designated this as a safe house. Surely the US government could afford something more than this, right?

“I just…was expecting something more grand. A fortress or something,” came your explanation.

Bob softened. “Honestly, me too. I didn’t know what to expect. They gave me the coordinates when I first took charge of your detail. I always assumed the safe house was a bunker.”

Both of you were wrong. Instead, it was a quaint cabin that looked like any normal cabin in the forest might look. However, when you got up to the porch, you found a keypad on the door. It had to be unlocked by a code.

Bob spoke into his mic. “Angel has landed safely.”

Seconds later, Agent Simpson’s voice crackled to life in his ear. “Copy that,” he said. And then, “zero one zero two nine three.”

Bob typed the numbers into the keypad, and the sound of a lock turning reached his ears. Seconds later, the door was unlocked. He opened the door and took a look inside, scoping out the place.

It looked like a typical hunting cabin, except more well furnished. a seating area off to the left, complete with a bearskin rug. A small kitchen off to the right. An old oak dining table in the middle of the main room.

“Let me see,” you spoke up from behind him.

He stepped forward into the house and allowed you to follow suit. As soon as you were both safely inside, he shut the door, manually locking it. He was surprised at the addition of windows to the cabin. As you wandered around and explored the place, he parted the blackout curtain that hung upon one of the front windows, tapping the glass with his fingertips. It was bulletproof.

He eyed the architecture of the house, assessing what it was made out of. It he had to guess, there was also bulletproof material within the wall panels. Although the cabin looked normal, it was anything but. It was designed to blend in, to not raise suspicion.

And then his eyes traveled to the bearskin rug, and something told him to check it out. As you were rifling around in the kitchen, he stepped over to the seating area and kicked at the rug with his foot. It seemed to be fastened to the floor. So he knelt down and pulled at each edge until one gave way, lifting up to reveal a hiding space beneath the floor.

He grabbed his small utility flashlight he kept on his belt and shined the light inside. This was the bunker he’d assumed he was taking you to. It was very clearly designed to withstand any sort of disaster. I hoped he wouldn’t have to utilize it.

“What’s that?” You came up behind him, peering over his shoulder.

“Bunker.” He slammed the door shut. With the rug overtop of it, it didn’t look out of place at all. Bob turned to you, his expression serious. “If anything happens, we go down there.”

You held his gaze, your own fearful. “Bobby…how bad is it?” You wanted to know the severity of the threat. You wanted to know if you’d be forced to hide in that bunker.

Bob stepped closer to you, allowing himself the physical connection he’d deprived you both of in his haste to get you here safely. His hand came up to cup your cheek. “Bad enough that your dad was spooked. Bad enough that Simpson thought we should bring you to the safe house.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, lifting your hand to rest it gently overtop of his own. “I’m tired of this,” you whispered.

“I know,” he whispered back. He wanted to assure you that he’d protect you. That you were safe with him. But the words felt so insignificant. Yes, he would protect you, but that didn’t change the fact that a threat had still been made to your life. You, the most precious soul he’d ever known. You, kind and giving and compassionate. You, the one who loved him. How could anyone target you?

You leaned in close, and his mind ceased its wandering. Your free hand was placed gently against his chest, over his heart. And then you spoke. “Do you think that maybe…we could pretend, just for a little bit, that life is normal? That we’re just two people living in their little cabin in the woods, who aren’t actually in danger of a terrorist trying to take their lives?”

Bob’s mouth curled into a halfhearted smile. “Yeah…yeah, we can do that, little love. Whatever you want.”

Little love. The endearing nickname always made your heart warm in your chest. You nestled yourself against him, lifting your head and seeking out his kiss. He gladly returned the affection, mouth fitting against yours like it was always meant to, lips meeting in a tender kiss.

For a fleeting moment, everything felt alright. There was no looming danger. No president’s daughter and secret service agent. It was just two people, very much in love, sharing an impassioned kiss in their living room.

And then you parted, and as Bob rested his forehead against yours, you said, “You hungry? I found a box of MREs stored away in the kitchen.”

He smiled, humming softly in amusement. “Mm, my favorite,” he teasingly replied.

Your hands now rested on his chest. “I’ll get them ready.”

You shared one more kiss before you slipped away to saunter over to the kitchen. As you did so, Bob grabbed your duffel bag and carried it to what he assumed was a bedroom. When he opened the door, his assumption was confirmed.

A double sized bed was positioned in the middle of the sparsely furnished room. There was a nightstand on one side of the bed and a dresser along the opposite wall, facing the bed. An empty closet was across the room.

Bob set your bag down on the bed, and he assumed the two of you would be sharing this bed. His heart yearned for it. It had been a while since the two of you had shared a bed and spent the night snuggled up close. He missed it so.

Although the situation that had brought you here was less than ideal, at least you would be able to spend time with each other, without having to sneak around.

With a soft sigh, Bob stepped out of the bedroom, pulling the door shut before he quickly made his way back outside, with intentions of doing a perimeter sweep to make sure the area was secure. Once he was satisfied, he made his way back to the house, stopping only to grab his own overnight bag that had been stashed in the trunk of the sedan.

Moments later, he was inside with you again, the door locked securely behind him.

In the meantime, you were at work in the kitchen, reading the directions on your MRE packet. When he entered the room, you looked up, and then motioned to the bin of pre-packaged food kits you had found.

“Take your pick. There’s macaroni in tomato sauce, chili, spaghetti, and some bean and cheese thing.”

He chose the macaroni in tomato sauce, assuming it would be the safest option. Together, you prepared your respective meals, and you couldn’t help but find it a little humorous that your first time cooking together consisted of making military grade survival meals.

“I haven’t eaten one of these in years,” Bob mused, as he activated the heating element. A memory flashed in his mind. A not so happy one. “Last time I had one was when my plane went down during a mission. Natasha was flying with me then. We were stuck in the woods for days.”

You frowned softly at his admission. “How did you make it back?”

“Some nice farmer saw us along the road and we were able to hitch a ride with him into the nearest town. We radioed for help.”

“Why didn’t search and rescue come for you?”

“Partly because we went down in enemy territory. And because our plane literally exploded into a million pieces. We were presumed dead.”

Your previously chipper mood was dampened a bit as you imagined him and Natasha, yet another trusted agent in your security detail, lost and potentially injured in unfamiliar territory. “Did you get hurt when the plane went down?” You asked.

He nodded. “Got some nasty cuts. Some burns, too. You know the scar on my side?”

You hummed in realization. You did know it. You’d run your fingers over the six inch long scar many times while laying in bed with him.

“That was shrapnel from the blow. Cut me pretty good. Nat stitched it up for me, actually. Kind of embarrassed to admit I passed out during it.”

You reached out, touching his arm gently. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. I can’t even imagine, Bobby. That must’ve been awful.”

He nodded. “But we got through it. Nat’s one determined gal. She told me she was gonna get me home safe. And she did. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be alive right now.”

Your hand moved from his arm, resting against his back, thumb stroking circles along his spine. Your touch grounded him. “Remind me to thank her.”

He smiled softly as he finished preparing his food. He was beyond grateful that the Fates had decided to spare him. Had they not, he never would have met you, the best thing to ever happen to him.

Joining the Secret Service had never been part of Bob’s plan. He’d never even considered it. But Agent Mitchell had recommended him to the president, and after Bob had fulfilled his commitment of time to the Navy, he’d moved over to The White House, where he became part of security.

In fact, the entirety of your personal security detail had been recommended to your father by Pete Mitchell. With you making more public appearances and doing charity work, it put you on the radar. Your father wanted the best security detail possible for you, and because he trusted Pete’s judgment, he brought them in to begin the interview process. In the end, all of them were hired.

But only one was the head of your detail. Only Bob was entrusted with every minute detail of your safety. Not because the others couldn’t be trusted, or because they were incapable. Far from it. It was his sharpness and his ability to assess threats quickly. It was his respectfulness and penchant for following the rules (or so everyone thought). Out of the group of agents assigned to you, Bob stood out above the rest.

In the words of your father, Seresin was too cocky, Bradshaw too aloof, and Trace too emotional. You strongly disagreed with his words. You didn’t like the assessments he’d made of each agent. You thought he was being unfair and harsh. Especially with Natasha. Calling her too emotional was crossing over into sexist territory, you felt. If anything, Bradley was the emotional one. But you didn’t argue with your dad. Whatever POTUS says, goes.

None of the supposed “downfalls” your father saw in each agent affected their ability to protect you. All of them put their lives on the line every single day to ensure your safety.

But in the end, they hadn’t been put solely in charge of your security team. Bob had. And now here you stood, in safe house in the middle of the Virginia wilderness, eating survival food and pretending everything was fine. Just you and him.

Strangely enough, you were grateful. Grateful that he was the one you were with. And maybe it was for selfish reasons, but you didn’t care. You just hated that your only opportunity to be alone with him as of late was because of the imminent danger posed to your life.

But you would cherish the time you were allotted.

That night, in the quietness of that little cabin in the woods, the two of you sat at the oak dining table adjacent to the kitchen, with your feet resting in Bob’s lap. You drank the electrolyte drink mixes that were provided in your MREs, pretending they were some sort of fancy alcoholic cocktail, if only for your sanity’s sake.

For the rest of the evening, you didn’t acknowledge the circumstances that had brought you here. Instead, you talked of anything and everything. It wasn’t often that you had a chance to have such meaningful conversations with one another. Your time together was usually short. Secret meetings under the cover of darkness. Stolen moments of passion in hotel rooms. Intimate embraces where no prying eyes could see.

But flashes of reality still shocked you like a splash of cold water to the face. Such as the fact that Bob’s gun was still strapped to his hip. Or the fact that he went around the house making sure all the blackout curtains were drawn, and double checking the lock system on the door.

You tried to ignore it. Focused on cleaning up your haphazard dinner instead. But there was still a feeling of unease in your gut. Bob seemed to notice your anxiety, ever observant, and he approached you as you wiped down the table with a dish cloth you’d found in one of the drawers. His arms encircled your waist, and you sighed, leaning back against him, letting your eyes flutter shut.

“Hey,” he whispered, nuzzling his face against the back of your neck. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You turned around in his hold, placing your hands upon his chest. “I know. I just…I’m trying to pretend everything is fine but it’s hard when there’s a literal bunker beneath us, and you’re walking around with your gun on your hip, and checking the state of the art locking system on the door over there.”

Bob glanced down at the weapon in its holster. “Here,” he said. He stepped back, removing his belt, and taking the holster along with it. He took the gun and carried it into the bedroom, where he placed it on the singular nightstand beside the bed. Then he rejoined you in the main room.

“Is that better?” He asked.

“A little,” you replied with a nod, welcoming him into your arms again.

He dipped his head low, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. “I love you, sweet girl.”

Your chest warmed. “I love you too.”

A large hand lifted up, fingers stroking your cheek. “You want to play pretend? We’ll play pretend.” His arm then came down to wrap around your waist, palm pressed into the small of your back. “This is our homestead, right? And you…you are my pretty little wife.” His free hand tapped your nose with his fingers.

“Oh? I like the sound of that,” came your soft reply.

His arm tightened around you. “Mhm. And I just came in from a long day of workin’ the land. Looks like we’re gonna have a good harvest, too. Won’t go hungry this winter.”

Your mouth curved into a fond smile. His accent was coming through. Picked up from summers spent on his granddaddy’s ranch. “Take such good care of me,” you said. “My strong, handsome man.”

He kissed you again, this time more languidly. “Always gonna take care of my wife.”

That promise translated outside of this silly little roleplay, too. You knew he’d always look out for you. “What would I do without my Bobby?” You asked.

He gently bumped noses with you, enjoying the closeness. It made you a little dizzy. You hadn’t been in his big, strong arms like this in a while. You’d missed it more than you realized. The close proximity of your bodies had you growing breathless, and your fingers grasped at the fabric of his button down.

“I…can we…” You couldn’t get the words out. But he knew what you wanted.

“You need me, honey?”

You nodded, caught off guard when tears welled in your eyes. “Please,” you whimpered pitifully. It hit you hard, like a blow to the chest. You hadn’t expected the feeling to be so intense, but now you were leaning into him for support, afraid your knees would give way if you tried to stand on your own.

“I’ve got you. Let’s go to the bedroom, okay?”

With his arm secured around you, he led you to the room. There, he guided you to sit on the bed before he turned on the little beside lamp on the nightstand. It didn’t give off much light, but it did cast a soft, warm glow over the bed.

And then he was in front of you again, but this time, he was kneeling, placing his hands on your knees as he looked up at you. “If you want to stop at any time, you tell me, alright?”

You nodded.

“Words, lovey.”

“Yes sir.”

He wanted to be a little more careful with you in this moment. Not that he wasn’t careful with you all the time, but he had a feeling you needed a little more tenderness than usual. Having your life threatened was a harrowing experience. He wanted to give you the intimacy and closeness you needed. He wanted to be a comfort to you.

As he rose to his feet, a big, gentle hand cupped your cheek. You lifted your head, gazing up at him. His thumb lovingly stroked your bottom lip, and you instinctively opened your mouth, wrapping your lips around the digit.

He watched in awe as your eyes began to grow glassy, and your gaze softened. All it took was his thumb in your mouth to turn you pliant. He smiled fondly, his eyes twinkling.

And what beautiful eyes they were. You gazed up into them, so clear and blue, but somehow dark in the lowlight, as if the bright blue had turned brown. You could feel the tension leaving your body as you suckled on his thumb. The taste of his skin was familiar and soothing.

“Poor thing. Just needed to shut your brain off for a bit, huh?” He murmured.

“Mhm,” you hummed around his thumb.

“I’ve got you. Don’t have to do any thinking with me. I’ll do it all for you.”

You liked the sound of that. You could let go of the stressors. Your circumstances. Your position as daughter of the President of the United States. Your political commitments. All of it could be forgotten, if only for a little while.

So you gave yourself to him. To your Bobby. You let him take care of you, because he knew what was best at that moment in time.

“C’mere,” he said. He took a seat on the bed, his back leaning against the headboard. As you scrambled over to him, he caught you, pulling you into his lap so that you were straddling him. His hands rested at your hips. Your own fell to his broad shoulders. The muscles rippled beneath your touch.

With your body slotted against his like this, you felt so warm and secure. Like you were meant to fit together. In the warm glow of the lamp, and in the softness of the bed, it all felt so domestic. As if you truly were husband and wife, living in your little cabin in the woods.

And then your mind began to wander, and you considered what it might be like if he truly was your husband. If you were allowed to live out your relationship without fear of being found out.

You wanted that, you realized. You wanted it so badly. But you couldn’t have it. Not yet. So instead, you played pretend. You dove forward, connecting your lips with his, kissing him deeply, pouring all the passion you had into it. And he kissed you back with just as much fervor.

Your hands moved from his shoulders to rest upon the sides of his neck. Your fingers slipped through the hair at the nape of his neck, nails ever so lightly scraping at the skin, making him shiver against you and moan into your mouth.

You rotated your hips downward in the process, and he gasped, his grip tightening on your waist. So you moved your hips again. And again. Soon, you were rutting against him, searching out that delicious friction. The seam of your shorts caught against you in just the right place, and the stimulation had his cock hardening beneath you.

He let his head thunk back against the headboard, biting his lip and closing his eyes. “Oh, just like that, honey,” he encouraged, breathless.

“Feels so good,” you whined.

“I know. Been too long, hasn’t it?” he cooed, bringing you closer so your forehead was pressed to his.

“H-how long?” you wondered, shivering as he lifted his hips to meet your own.

He remembered. Of course he did. “Last month. When you visited that one university.”

Oh, yes. Now you remembered. You’d really gone an entire month without touching him? No wonder you ached so terribly inside. You needed him.

“Bobby,” you whimpered then.

“I know, baby. I know.”

He was kissing you again, except this time, he rotated you, gently easing you onto the bed so he could hover over you. Then he began the reverent undressing of your body. He pulled your shirt over your head, leaving a kiss against your clavicle as he easily rid you of your undergarments. Then came your shorts and panties, tossed aside carelessly.

This left you entirely bare to him, and oh, how naked you felt. But he distracted you from any trepidation you felt. He took your hands in his own, lifting them to his shirt, prompting you to unbutton it. Those big hands hovered over yours as you did, there to help if you were trembling too much to do it.

In no time, the shirt was unbuttoned, and he tossed it to the floor before he made quick work of removing his white undershirt. Immediately, your hands splayed across his chest. Well-defined because he worked his ass off staying fit. His job was not for the faint of heart or body. He had to stay on top of his game.

“If ya can stop ogling my chest for a minute, I’ll get my pants off,” he teased.

You looked up at him before turning your head away shyly. He couldn’t help but hum in gentle amusement. You were just the most precious thing.

Quickly, he shoved his pants and boxers down his legs, kicking them asunder, leaving you both naked as the day you were born. As soon as his body was slotted against yours, you sighed in deep relief. Finally.

His mouth was on yours again, and his arms were at either side of your head, effectively caging you in. He overwhelmed your every sense, and it was glorious. In such close proximity, you could smell his cologne, and that natural, heady scent that could only be described as him.

“Pretty girl,” he whispered in awe, his mouth trailing down your jaw, across your neck, over your collarbone. Reverence. Worship.

As he kissed your heated skin, he moved to slip his hand between your thighs. Deft fingers tenderly parted your delicate folds, prodding at your entrance. First one finger, slid in deep. Then two. You whined into his mouth as he crooked those fingers upward, intent on locating that spongey little spot that made you shiver.

It didn’t take him long. He knew your body so well. Knew exactly what to do to have you purring for him. You were so responsive to his touch as it was.

“Gotta open you up for me, lovey,” he soothed. “Been a while since you took all of me.”

Those fingers pumped in and out of you, and his thumb came up to swirl around your clit as he did so. You were oversensitive. Not only had you not been touched by him in over a month, but you hadn’t touched yourself, either. You’d hardly had any downtime, and when you did, you spent it resting. Now, you were so pent up that Bob’s gentle stimulation of your neglected pussy was already beginning to overwhelm you.

In the meantime, he continued to trail searing kisses across your skin. Over the softness of your breasts. Teeth gently tugging at your pebbled nipples. Tongue soothing the sting.

In the meantime, you grew wetter around his fingers, your body opening up to him, welcoming him in. And then he added a third finger, and you squealed, jolting against him. You felt his mouth curl into a smile against you.

Then he lifted his head to gaze down at the way your cunt stretched around those fingers. “Oh, look at this sweet little pussy. My fingers barely fit. I don’t know if it’ll be able to take my cock.”

He was teasing you. But in your hazy state, you took him seriously. “No! No, I can take it! Please, I need it!” You gasped.

This prompted him to place his thumb in your mouth again. “Shh, I know. I’m gonna give it to you, I promise.” A gentle kiss to your lips before he leaned back. He removed his fingers from you, and you watched as he used the slick of your arousal as lubricant for his cock, smearing it over the velvety skin. You whimpered at the sight.

You so desperately needed that cock inside you. Thick and heavy, with a blushed tip that was dripping with his own desire. You found yourself reaching for it, wrapping your fingers around him, longing to feel the heaviness in your hand.

He gasped softly as your grip tightened and your thumb brushed over that pretty pink head, gathering the wetness that had gathered at the slit. You found yourself salivating, suddenly wishing he was in your mouth, warm on your tongue. But at the same time, you wanted to be filled by him so badly. It made you ache.

Gently, he lifted your hand away, replacing it with his own. He slid the underside of his cock through your slick, and you both moaned lowly when the plush head caught at your clit. Again, he thrust his hips forward, teasing you. When he pulled back, he positioned himself at your entrance, slipping in only ever so slightly, enough to pull a desirous whine from you before he pulled back.

“D-don’t tease,” you squeaked out.

“I know. Just tryin’ to savor it. Might not get to do this again for a while.”

You pulled him down, kissing him deeply. “Don’t think about that right now. Just fuck me, Bobby. Please.”

“Uh-huh.” With his mouth open against your own, he finally inched his hips forward, moving so his arms were at either side of your head again, and his chest was pressed to yours. Forward, forward, forward, until…

“Oh!”

He was fully sheathed inside you, every last inch. It was the thickness that took your breath away. He felt so big, yet at the same time, it felt as if he was made to fit inside you in this way. You would never tire of the feeling of his body connected to yours.

Bob couldn’t help but glance down, marveling at the way you stretched around him. He allowed himself a moment to bask in the feeling of the snug warmth. He had missed it so much. Missed you so much. “I love you,” he said with conviction. It warmed you to your core.

“Love you too,” you sighed out blissfully, eyes fluttering shut as you wrapped your legs around his waist, and your arms around those broad shoulders of his.

His hand caressed your face as he began to move, nudging his hips into yours. He kept things slow to begin with, intending to build up to a glorious crescendo. All the while, he held you close, resting his weight upon your body, grounding you, surrounding you. He cherished it all. The feeling of your warmth, the beating of your heart. A reminder that you were safe, that you were alive, that you were here, with him.

His mouth found its way to yours again, trailing down further to lave his tongue against your pulse point. “You are everything to me,” he breathed against your feverish skin. You were his life, his love, his angel.

You couldn’t speak, for you were too overwhelmed. Your heart sang, and the true reason for being here in thise safe house seemed to fade into the background as white noise. Your Bobby was on the forefront, infiltrating every one of your senses, wrapping you up in his love and adoration. You never wanted it to end.

As he began to quicken his pace, you held onto him tightly, every inch of your bodies touching, warm and familiar, safe and secure. You let yourself be vulnerable, let him chip away at the armor you always protected herself with. Oh, how good it felt to let him be your protector. He encased you in his warmth, and that warmth began to radiate throughout your body, thrumming deep within your belly. He kissed yu repeatedly, lips ever brushing against yours, swallowing your precious whimpers and moans, holding onto those sounds, locking them away in his memory.

In the back of his mind, he partly wondered if this would be the last time you were able to make love to each other. What if he slipped up and was dismissed from his duties, effectively barring him from ever being with you again? He hated that his mind went to such a morbid place, but it was hard to ignore.

But then you were drawing him in again with those soft sounds, sighing out his name, and your sweet pussy was fluttering around him, and he was brought back to the present moment. How could he let himself be anywhere else but here, with you in his arms? How could he let himself be distracted when the love of his life sighed and shivered in pleasure beneath him? Because of him?

“Feel so good,” you squeaked. Your eyes were closed, your brow furrowed in utter bliss. You looked rather adorable this way. He was so in love.

You were so wet, and he realized that you were quickly growing wetter by the minute. He could feel you dripping down against his heavy balls, and onto the bed covers below, and it only urged him to change his pace. You tightened your legs around his waist, inviting him deeper inside. As he thrust particularly deeply into you, you cried out softly. He’d bumped into that wonderful spot within you, sending you tightening around him, arousal slicking down the base of his cock.

“Oh, right there!” You exclaimed, fingernails pressing crescent shapes into the skin of his back. He ducked a hand between you then, stimulating your sensitive little clit in such a way that your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open. The way you clenched around him again had him growling lowly, the heat of impending release already beginning to warm in his pelvis. How was he already so close? And then he remembered how long it had been since he’d had you like this, and it made sense.

He applied more pressure with his fingers, driving his hips forward with more force. He was hit with a sudden wave of desperation, wanting, needing you to come before he did. He’d stave off his own pleasure for as long as possible if it meant making you feel good. Beneath him, you were on fire, arousal rushing through your very being like raw electricity, consuming every part of you in its wake. And you let yourself be swallowed up in the feeling, suddenly overcome with intense emotion as tears began sliding down your cheeks.

Bob cradled you against his chest, though he didn’t slow down. You needed him to keep going, and he wasn’t going to stop until you fell apart. And it was so close you could taste it, building and building and building. A vibration that began in your core, a peak that you were hurtling towards but couldn’t quite reach yet. It was a height that only your lover could bring you to.

Sweet, tender love making turned into something so much more primal. His chest heaved against yours, and he growled deeply, teeth nipping at your bottom lip as he kissed you. Warmth blossomed between you both, growing into a wild flame. Your bodies fell into a desperate push and pull, faster and harder and deeper, chasing the pleasure high that you knew was inevitable.

He could feel you tighten around him like a vice, and he knew you were close. He let his forehead rest against yours, though he never stopped his movements. “You’re close, I can feel it,” he spoke in a broken whisper.

“I-I am,” you whimpered pathetically, clinging to him tightly.

“Then come for me, my love. Just let go.”

He continued to work you over, carrying you toward that edge. You trembled fiercely, breathing labored, growing even more so. Pleasure began to fizz through you like a firework brought to life, or a pack of Pop Rocks sprinkled on the tongue. Starting at your core and bubbling all the way to your fingers and toes.

Your body went taut against his as the first waves of it began to hit you. Almost there, almost there, almost there. And then, without warning, it hit you. Washing over you like an enormous wave, intense as could be. Seconds later, you came with a wail, convulsing beneath him as the fire of your orgasm ravaged you, surging through the entirety of your being. You cried out his name, and he was there, holding you in his arms as he watched you come apart, losing yourself because of him.

And as you came down, you sobbed. You buried your face against his chest, crying openly, still wrapped tightly around him. And he let you cry, keeping you close. But he also needed to find his own release, you realized. Even in your state of emotion, she pulled back a little, looking into his face. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were blown, but there was still a tenderness in his gaze. He wouldn’t pressure you for more if you weren’t ready to move on yet.

“P-please, Bobby. Wan’ you to come in me.”

How could he ever say no when you asked so sweetly?

Satisfied with your plea, he began moving again, finding the rhythm that he needed to bring himself to his end. “Yeah? Want me to fill you up, lovey?” He breathlessly spoke.

Glassy eyed, you nodded, bottom lip quivering. “Need it so bad,” you begged.

His face contorted into a look of beautiful euphoria. His jaw went slack, his eyes fell shut, and he let his head fall to the crook of your neck as the climax began to overwhelm him entirely. It washed over him with great force, rendering him absolutely boneless as he keened, your name falling from his lips in a soft whimper. Beneath him, you relished in the feeling of his essence seeping into you, even as tears continued to stain your cheeks.

His hips stuttered a few more times against yours as he made sure to fill you with everything he had to give. And as he came down, trying to catch his breath, you made no move to part from one another.

There you lay, holding each other, basking in the afterglow as the weight of his body settled atop yours. When your tears ceased, Bob very carefully slid out of you, soothing your mewl of protest with an open-mouthed kiss. As he moved to rest upon his back, he tucked you into his side, and you rested your head on his chest, right over his still racing heart.

Gentle fingers traced circles along your arm. You hadn’t realized that you’d zoned out a little, still drunk off pleasure, until his touch brought it back down to earth.

You placed your hand against his chest, eyeing the rise and fall of each breath he took. For a while, neither of you said anything. And when the silence finally did break, it was Bob who broke it.

“Need to get you cleaned up, lovey. Can’t let you fall asleep like this.”

Despite your murmur of protest, he gathered you into his arms and carried you out of the bedroom and into the bathroom just a few feet away.

You were so sleepy, it seemed that the events of the day were finally catching up with you, paired with the romp in the sheets you’d just gone on with Bob. You were in a haze as he tenderly cleaned you up and urged you to use the restroom.

“I’ve got you,” his low, comforting voice assured you. You could allow yourself to remain in that hazy state, because you knew he would take care of you. He always did.

He led you back to the bedroom, where he helped you change into the pajamas you had brought. Once you were taken care of, he tucked you into bed and kissed you on the forehead before he proceeded to ready himself for bed. A shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Easy, in case he needed to jump out of bed and tend to a threat in the middle of the night.

Then he slipped into bed beside you, and you immediately snuggled into him, content to be in his arms, enjoying his warmth. You would cherish every last moment you had with him. Safe and secure, your head on his chest, listening to the steady thumping of his heart. Oh, how you loved him.

You were lulled into a deep, comforting slumber. In fact, it was the best sleep you’d gotten in weeks. Just his presence alone gave you rest.

But while you slept peacefully, Bob remained awake. He couldn’t sleep, not when he had to watch over you. He was tempted to get up and do a perimeter sweep outside, just to make sure everything was safe. But you were sleeping so peacefully in his arms that he didn’t want to disturb you.

At some point during the night, he did drift off into a light slumber, still partially alert, always ready to address danger, should it come knocking on the door.

And, unfortunately, it did.

At around 0400 hours, Bob was alerted to movement outside. It wasn’t loud. But there was a strange rustling in the woods, and the snapping of twigs. Instantly, his eyes were open, and he held his breath, hoping he’d just dreamt the sounds. But then he heard it again, and his heart seized in his chest.

Without hesitation, he eased you out of his arms, and you remained sleeping while he slipped out of bed, grabbing his gun from the nightstand and rushing to put his earpiece back in his ear so he could communicate with White House security if need be.

There were no windows in the bedroom, so he quickly and quietly scrambled to the front of the house, where he stopped at the window and discreetly lifted the edge of the curtain to peer outside. Sure enough, he saw two figures dressed in black gear approaching from the tree line.

And that’s when he realized one of them was already at the door, working on the security keypad. Bob knew, in that moment, that he should have trusted his gut feeling from the beginning. Where the hell had Agent Simpson sent the two of you? Because there was no way this was a safe house if it was this easy to get into.

But there was no time to debate the security of the house. Danger was right on the doorstep, and his first priority was protecting you. So he sprang into action, rushing back to the bedroom where you slept peacefully.

“Safe house is compromised,” he reported into his mic, just before he leaned down to shake you awake.

“Copy. Get into the bunker. Sending backup now,” Simpson’s voice crackled to life in his ear.

Bob didn’t reply. He was too focused on waking you. “Hey, hey, need you to wake up for me, honey.” He shook you vigorously until you stirred from your slumber.

You stared up at him in confusion, your eyes bleary. “Bobby? Wha-?”

“No time. Get up, we need to get under the house now. They found us.”

That woke you up. Your eyes widened, and you sat upright, throwing the covers from your body as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. “How?!”

“I don’t know! Just come with me!” He yanked you to your feet, hands tight on your arms, catching you when you stumbled.

Adrenaline coursed through you, wiping away the sleep-induced fog that had been cast over your brain. Bob’s remained closed firmly around your wrist and he pulled you after him out of the bedroom, intending to take you down into the bunker. But in a split second, he stopped abruptly, and you ran into his back with a surprised gasp.

He could only just catch sight of the door coming open. There was no time to make it to the trap door that would lead you to safety beneath the house. Going for it would result in the two of you being spotted and killed instantly. He had a split second to make a decision. This was life or death.

He whirled around, and in the darkness, you could see the wildness in his eyes, and it sent an icy shock of terror through you. Without a word, he clamped his hand over your mouth, silencing you before he pushed you back toward the bedroom.

Your heart pounded against your chest, your entire body trembling with fear as he released you and turned to shut the bedroom door silently. Thank God there was a lock on it, which he promptly turned, careful to do it silently. Then he whirled back around to face you. “Get under the bed. No matter what happens, you do not come out unless I tell you to.” His voice was so low it was barely audible, but you heard every word. And then, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, your eyes filled with tears. You didn’t hesitate to follow his instructions, sinking to your knees and maneuvering your body underneath the bed. Bob yanked the covers down so they were hanging from the edge of the mattress, effectively obscuring you from view. It was only a temporary solution, but it would do.

Then, his hand closed around the cool metal of his gun, which he pulled from his waistband and positioned himself a few feet away from the door, weapon drawn, hands steady as he flipped the safety off. He could hear Simpson’s voice in his earpiece, asking for confirmation that the two of you had made it down into the bunker. But Bob couldn’t answer. Silence was what was going to keep you alive at the moment.

He placed his finger against the trigger, ready to pull it at any second. Whoever was on the other side of the door was quiet, but he could still hear them. Creeping closer and closer, inch by inch. And then, the doorknob rattled, and Bob felt his breath catch in his throat.

You pressed your own hand over your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut. Bob’s eyes never left that door. He counted down in his head. Five. The silence was broken as the person threw their weight against the door. Four. Again, their body thudded against the door. Three. Two steps backward. Two. Bob realized what was about to happen. One. He threw his body to the side just as the sound of a gunshot rang through the house. Wood splintered. Smoke curled through the air.

Bob had moved aside just in time. A second too late and he would be suffering from a gunshot wound. But just as quickly as he moved, his gun was in the air again, held steadily in front of him. As soon as he had the assailant in his sights, he fired.

Beneath the bed, your hands came up to your ears, protecting them from the awful sound. You couldn’t see around the quilt obscuring your vision. You prayed silently that Bob was unharmed. And he was. He’d just put one perpetrator down. You’d heard the thud of the body hitting the floor.

But he had no idea how many more there were.

He would soon find out.

Seconds later, more footsteps. Bob fired. But the second man was expecting it, and kept his body partially hidden by the doorway as he lifted his rifle and aimed it at Bob. The secret service agent ducked quickly, firing his own weapon in retaliation.

He put up a good fight. Really, he did. Bob had always been seen as a pacifist, and by nature, he was. But that didn’t mean he shied away from a fight. And when he did have to utilize physical force, there was a calculated tenacity with which he fought. He was a worthy opponent.

He disarmed the second man quickly. Grazed his cheek with a bullet and used that split-second distraction to dive for the gun that belonged to the dead man on the floor. But then, a voice stopped him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Bob looked up to find three men pointing rifles at his head. He was cornered.

“Drop the fuckin’ weapon.”

He did. He was severely outnumbered. If he tried anything, he’d be shot dead on the spot. That would leave you entirely vulnerable and alone.

The one in the middle stepped forward. He was tall. Dark hair. Beard. couldn’t have been much older than Bob himself. Dark eyes stared murderously at the agent kneeling on the ground. He never lowered his rifle.

“We’re just here for the girl. Tell us where she is.”

“She’s not here,” Bob lied through his teeth.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. We staked you out. We know you brought her here. Now where is she, huh?” Then, he called out into the room in a singsong voice that made your skin crawl, “come out, come out wherever you are!”

“She’s not going to come out, because she’s not here!”

The stranger rolled his eyes. “Alright, then you won’t mind if I fire a couple of precautionary shots, right? Just to make doubly sure?” He aimed his gun at the bed you were currently stowed beneath.

Bob’s stomach dropped. “Hey, there’s no reason to waste ammunition on–”

“Ah! So she is here!”

And just like that, it all fell apart.

One of the assailants forced Bob into a prone position on the floor, his gun pressed to the back of his head. He reached down and ripped Bob’s earpiece out of his ear, tossing it to the hardwood floor and stomping on it, effectively cutting off any and all communication with The White House. And then, Bob watched helplessly as you were dragged from beneath the bed, kicking and screaming.

And all he could think, was that he’d failed you.

“Bobby!” You wailed.

“Hey! What is it that you want, huh?! Money?! We’ll give it to you, I can make a call to Washington, get it wired to–”

“Shut your goddamn mouth,” the man above him snarled, smacking him square in the back of the head with the butt of his rifle. Bob’s vision went white as searing pain radiated through his skull.

“It’s not about money,” said the one who had wrestled you from beneath the bed. “It’s about sending a message to her daddy.”

You whimpered in fright as he grabbed your face, squeezing your cheeks hard. His expression was full of hatred. It chilled you to your very core. “We’ll make him wish he’d never taken office.”

“Let her go!” Bob cried desperately from the floor, though he was in no position to be making demands.

“No, I don’t think we will.” The man began to haul you out of the room, his hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your screams. He glanced at the one standing over Bob. “Make sure he can’t follow us.”

As you were dragged into the hall, you heard the sound of a single shot ring out, and you sobbed behind the hand pressed to your mouth. No!

But Bob wasn’t dead. He was very much alive, his teeth clenched so hard he was sure he would break them, letting out a muffled, tormented scream behind them. White hot pain traveled up his thigh, and with it, a violent sense of nausea overwhelmed him. His assailant had shot him in the leg.

And then he was left alone in that bedroom, helpless to do anything as you were carried away, putting up a fight despite being overpowered. Crying out in absolute agony, Bob fought to drag himself upright, though his head spun and his leg throbbed wickedly. He had to stop them. Had to get to you.

It took every ounce of strength in his being to pull himself upright, but by that time, it was too late. They had taken you outside. He’d never reach you in time. After everything he had done to keep you safe, he had lost you in the end. He would never forgive himself as long as he lived.

But then, hope.

All of the sudden, the sound of a helicopter approaching could be heart, and not long after, blinding white light shone through the front door. Moments later, a magnified voice called out, “Homeland Security! We have you surrounded!”

What happened next was a blur. There was shouting. So much shouting. Outside, you were blinded by the lights, reaching your hands up to shield your eyes. The sounds around you were deafening. Someone fired a shot. Then another. Hands grabbed at you. You had no idea who they belonged to. But they pulled you away from the men who had taken you, guiding you to the sidelines, away from the danger.

But you didn’t want to go to the sidelines. You wanted to run back to your Bobby. “Let go! I need to see if Bobby’s alright!”

“Miss, we can send someone to check on him, right now I need you to—”

“No! They shot him! I have to know that he’s okay!”

You argued back and forth for a moment before you got the drop on the agent trying to restrain you. You threw your weight downwards and she released you out of surprise. You didn’t feel bad when you elbowed your way past her. You probably should have, because after all, she was just trying to do her job. But nothing else mattered to you in that moment than knowing Bob’s fate. If he was dying, you needed to be by his side to say goodbye. You weren’t about to miss your last chance to be with him.

So you made a dash for the house, ducking back inside, frantic.

“Bobby!” You cried out, scrambling toward the bedroom. Sickening dread coursed through you. What were you about to walk in on? Would you find the love of your life dead on the ground?

But then, you heard it. “I-in here!”

As soon as you burst into the room, you saw him. He’d tried to stand, but had crumpled to the ground in severe pain, and was now leaning back against the side of the bed, injured leg stretched out in front of him.

“Oh dear God.” You rushed to his aid, dropping to your knees beside him. “I’m here! I’m right here!”

His pant leg was soaked with crimson, and he’d placed his hand over the wound, in effort to slow the bleeding. “I-I’m okay,” he assured you, gazing into your frightened face. “Can you get my belt for me? It’s on the floor on the other side of the bed.” It sounded as if it took great labor for him to get the words out.

You didn’t hesitate. You jumped up and ran around to the other side of the bed, grabbing his belt. As soon as you handed it to him, he got to work tightening it around his thigh as a makeshift tourniquet.

Voices could be heard out in the main room of the cabin. You knew that you would soon be separated. It sent a terrible wave of dread through you, and you reached for Bob.

“Bobby,” you tearfully spoke.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he assured you, his tourniquet finished. His clean hand came up to cup your cheek. “You’ll be in good hands. I’ll see you again real soon.”

“But I don’t—”

“Honey, listen to me. Need you to be my brave girl, okay? I can’t go with you. They’re gonna take me to the hospital. And after that there’s a whole protocol I have to go through. But those agents out there, they’ll get you to safety. I promise you.”

Weeping, you wrapped your arms around his neck once more before you pulled back, just as none other than Agent Simpson walked into the room, his gun drawn.

Bob protectively placed an arm in front of you. “It’s all clear!” He called out. The assailant on the floor a few feet away from you both had long since been dead and did not pose a threat. Simpson still turned him over with his foot just to make absolutely certain that he was dead.

Beau approached you, kneeling so that he was eye level with you. His expression was neutral, but there was sympathy in his eyes. “I need you to come with me. I’ll see to it that you get back home safely. The threat to your life has been neutralized.”

“Agent Simpson, he’s been shot,” you whimpered, motioning to Bob.

“I see it. I’ve got a medic chopper on the way. We’ll transport him to the hospital. Right now, you’ve got two parents who are worried sick about you. Let’s get you back to them.”

“But—”

“Go with him,” Bob gently coaxed. “There’s nothing else you can do for me here. I’ll be fine.”

You gazed into his face, tears blurring your vision. “O-okay,” you whispered.

You wanted so badly to kiss him goodbye. But even now, you were hyper aware of Simpson’s presence and you knew you couldn’t openly show romantic affection to Bob in front of him.

So you allowed Agent Simpson to escort you from the room. You cast one more glance over your shoulder at your injured lover, before you finally left him behind. It felt like your heart was being torn in two. You longed to stay by his side, to board that medical helicopter with him and wait at the hospital while they tended to his injury.

But you supposed you did have one thing to be grateful for. At least he wasn’t dead.

As you were led outside, the early morning light was just beginning to peek over the horizon. It illuminated the carnage that had taken place. You gasped as you realized that the three remaining men who had tried to take you were dead. But there were others. Others you hadn’t seen. They were in custody, ready to be taken in for questioning. In one night, Homeland Security had succeeded in taking down a homegrown terrorist organization.

But that begged the question: why on earth had they been after you? It didn’t matter, because no one would answer your question, anyway.

You were led to a waiting car, where you realized Bradley Bradshaw and Natasha Trace were waiting for you. After what you had been through, you were relieved to see them.

“Hey kid,” Bradley greeted you.

“I sure am glad to see you,” you breathed.

“We’re glad to see you, too,” Natasha replied.

Bradley opened the door, and Nat slid into the seat first before you took your place in the middle, while he brought up the rear and closed the door behind him.

Javy Machado, who was driving, glanced back at you. “Good to see you safe and sound,” he said with a small smile.

You didn’t feel safe and sound. You felt harrowed and anxious.

The entire drive to The White House, you didn’t say a word. You stared out the window and fought to hold back your tears. What had gone wrong? How had those men found you? It seemed too easy. As if you and Bob had been nothing more than sitting ducks.

You were fortunate that all he had sustained was a shot to the leg. And you were even more fortunate that you had not been physically harmed. You were more emotionally scarred than anything. You weren’t sure how long it would take you to recover, but you knew you needed time. And most of all, you needed Bob.

But that was out of the question.

Instead, you had to hold your head high as you climbed out of the car once you had arrived at The White House. Waiting for you were Jake, Reuben, and Mickey. They reported your safe arrival through their mics, and then carefully led you into the building.

“Glad you’re home safe,” Jake softly told you.

You didn’t say a word. You couldn’t muster one. You were already steeling yourself for being reunited with your parents. You knew your mother would be teetering toward hysterics, and your father would likely be stoic, as he often was. You loved them, but you were overwhelmed.

Your mind was elsewhere, longing for your Bobby.

Meanwhile, he was just arriving at the hospital, where a team of medical personnel had already been warned of his arrival. He was a little delirious from the blood loss and the pain, but he could hear the terms they were throwing back and forth.

They were going to operate immediately.

“Agent Floyd?” A woman’s voice filled his ears. She was strawberry blonde, with kind blue eyes that reminded him of his mother’s. “I’m Doctor Vitarella. We’re gonna get this bullet outta you as fast as we can, alright?”

He mumbled something in reply, but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Then an oxygen mask was placed over his face, and he found himself slipping into a dark and dreamless slumber. The first thing he noticed when he woke a few hours later was the cast.

As consciousness washed over him, he gazed down at it, stretching from his foot to the top of his thigh. Still groggy, he glanced around the room, and saw a nurse walking into the room with a clipboard in hand. She looked up and realized that he was awake.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Floyd,” she said with a smile. “I’ll go get the doctor. She’ll want to talk to you.”

She scurried away before he could say anything. About five minutes later, the woman he vaguely remembered as Doctor Vitarella walked into the room. “You, sir, gave me a run for my money in the operating room,” she said.

Bob looked at her confusedly, still not fully out of his anesthesia-induced haze.

“When the bullet entered your leg, it fractured your femur. I inserted a rod into your leg to provide solid support to the bone. But you should know that the second it came in contact with the bone, the bullet broke into a bunch of tiny little pieces. My team and I did the best that we could, but I must inform you that there are still leftover fragments in your leg. I could not get those out without causing more damage.”

As he mulled over her words, Bob only had one question. “Will I be able to use my leg again?”

“With proper physical therapy, yes. But you’ll likely live with lasting pain. I wish I had a better prognosis for you, but what matters is that we stopped the bleeding and set the bone.”

He nodded solemnly. There were still bullet fragments in his body. A constant reminder of what he had been through. He felt as if he hadn’t let it fully sink in yet. Everything had been such a blur. Being carried on a stretcher out of the safe house because he couldn’t walk. Being placed into a helicopter and then rushed into the hospital.

And now here he was, on his back in a hospital bed, his leg aching something fierce. No, not aching. Throbbing. As the fog began to clear from his brain, the pain set in, and he groaned softly. His head was pounding. His leg hurt enough to prompt him to clench his teeth. “Could I get some, uh, pain meds?” He asked.

“I’ll have the nurse bring you some.”

A while later, he had been given his medicine, but it just barely took the edge off the pain. There was no distraction from it. He didn’t want to watch whatever mindless show that was playing on the television. He didn’t have his phone to scroll through. He had nothing. The only thing that made it even slightly bearable was the thought of you.

He wondered how you were faring. He wondered if you even knew of his condition. Had anyone updated you? He imagined that you were demanding to know how he was.

And you were. You had informed Agent Simpson yourself that you wanted a report of Bob’s health. You had to know that he was okay. Thankfully, as soon as Beau knew something, he called you right away.

“He’s gonna be okay, kid,” he said, “bullet fractured his femur, and they put him in a cast. But he’s gonna be okay.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, thanked Beau for the update, and hung up the phone. Seconds later, you burst into tears. Your Bobby was going to be okay.

But his worries were far from over.

He was given a couple days to rest, but on his third day in the hospital, Agent Simpson walked through the door of his hospital room, and he knew it had begun.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, making courteous small talk.

“Like hell,” Bob muttered in reply.

Beau nodded. “Sorry to hear that.” And then, he brandished a folder from a briefcase. “I hate to jump right into business, but…I have no other choice.” He pulled up a chair and sat at Bob’s bedside. “There are a few things I need to clear up.”

“Go ahead.”

“First and foremost, why did you not utilize the bunker beneath the house? The two of you were sitting ducks where you were.”

Bob stared at his superior. “I tried. But they were in the house before I could get her there. So I hid her under the bed.”

“And why were you not aware of the threat before then? Did you not do a thorough enough perimeter sweep?”

His tone was slightly accusatory. At least, Bob took it as such. His eyes narrowed. “No disrespect, sir, but what the hell kind of safe house was that? They never should have been able to breach it that easily.” He paused for a beat, awaiting an explanation.

“I think you might already know the answer to that, agent.”

“It wasn’t a safe house at all, was it?”

Beau sighed, shaking his head. “No, it wasn’t.”

Now Bob was angry. “Y’know, my gut told me that something wasn’t right, and I just brushed it off. But I should’ve listened. You used her as bait, didn’t you? And I went right along with it like a fool.”

“Floyd, this was a tricky situation we were dealing with here. We’ve been tracking this group for months. Our only chance at luring them out was to use her as a decoy. By doing that, we in turn saved her life.”

“How is that any better?! You can’t just use someone as live bait!”

“I didn’t like doing it either, in fact it was my absolute last resort. But it worked, didn’t it? President’s daughter is safe and sound. Terrorist group has been disbanded. We have the few remaining ones in custody. It’s over. The threat to her life and our government has been neutralized.”

“And what if it didn’t work? What if she’d been killed?”

“But she wasn’t. There’s no use thinking about the what ifs. What’s done is done.”

“Does she know she was used as bait?”

Simpson shook his head, his gaze hard. “No. And it’s going to stay that way.”

Several moments of silence passed. Bob processed what he’d just been told. This entire time, he had tried so hard to keep you safe. Tried so hard to keep the danger away. And yet, the danger had still found you, all because the very administration he worked for had led them right to you.

A sick feeling churned in his gut. He felt dirty. He hadn’t been protecting you at all. He’d been offering you up to the very men who were after you, and he didn’t even know it.

“What did the president think about his daughter being used to lure her potential killers in?” His tone was bitter. He couldn’t help it.

“He was in agreement that it was the most effective way of eliminating the threat.”

“So I was the only one who wasn’t clued in to this plan?”

The agent looked him dead in the eyes and said, “Yes, because just from my own personal assessments and observations of you as an agent, I knew you wouldn’t go along with it otherwise. And she needed to be kept entirely in the dark. It was better that way.”

Bob’s head was spinning. “So really I was just used as a pawn?”

“You have to understand that this was a matter of national security. And sometimes you have to play dirty for the sake of the greater good.” He firmly believed that this had been the most effective course of action.

“I…I’m gonna need a minute to sit with this,” Bob continued.

“You don’t have a minute, Bob. I’m going to need you to fill out a report about what happened. You do not say one word about what I just shared with you. Just report what you saw, how you reacted, and nothing more or less.”

“So you want me to lie.”

“Some things are meant to be confidential. This is one of those things. Just report what you witnessed, agent. I’ll handle the rest.” He placed the folder, marked CONFIDENTIAL, onto Bob’s lap. Then he clicked a pen and set it on top.

Bob stared at it. Could he really do this? His superior expected him to. The president expected him to. But his mind wandered to you, and the senseless trauma you had endured because of it. In his heart, he knew that if Agent Mitchell was still in charge, this situation would have been handled differently. He would have done everything in his power to ensure you were not used as bait.

But Pete Mitchell’s days in The White House were over. Bob had no choice but to follow the new leadership put in place. So he went along with what was being asked of him, even though it went against everything he stood for, everything he believed.

He penned a lie on that report. Described what had happened, as if he had no idea about the plot to use you to lure your attackers straight to you. He dotted every i and crossed every t. And when he was done, he shoved the file back into Beau Simpson’s hands.

“You got what you came for. Now get out.” Bob didn’t care that he was speaking disrespectfully to a superior. It didn’t matter anymore.

Simpson left without a word. And Bob was alone again.

That interaction changed everything for Bob. It made him question his very morals. Could he really allow himself to be part of an administration that purposely put the very members it was supposed to be protecting in harm’s way? This left him with much to consider. He had a decision to make.

He finalized that decision the day you came to visit him.

Escorted by Bradley, Jake, and Natasha, who all respectfully waited outside the room once they brought you to it, you came through the door, so eager to see the man you loved. You shut the door behind you, allowing you both some privacy.

As you took in his form, tears sprang to your eyes. His left leg was in a full cast. There was a bandage around his head from the injury he’d sustained from being hit in the head with a gun. But what mattered was that he was alive, and he was going to be okay.

“Oh, Bobby,” you whispered as you approached him, unable to keep the tears from sliding down your cheeks.

He mustered a smile. “Hey there, sweet girl.”

You leaned down, oh so carefully wrapping your arms around him in a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry about. I’m okay.”

You pulled back, looking into his face before you lovingly stroked his cheek. He let his eyes flutter shut, relishing in your touch, so comforting and familiar. It distracted him from his pain and made him feel less alone.

“They told me the bullet fractured your femur?” You finally found your voice a few moments later. As you spoke, you took a seat on the edge of the bed. Bob’s hand lifted to rest in your lap, and you placed your own hands over top of it.

“Yeah. They put a pin in me. Got a bionic leg now,” he teased. But then, he grew serious. “When the bullet hit my bone, it broke into a bunch of little fragments. They took out most of them, but I’ve still got some floating around in there.”

You frowned, wiping at your tear dampened cheeks with the back of your hand. “How does that work? Will they ever be able to get them out?”

“The doc told me she couldn’t. Said it would cause more damage if she tried. So I’ll just have them inside me forever.”

Your heart broke for him. “I’m sorry they did this to you. All because you were trying to protect me.”

“Hey,” he interjected, hand moving to tip your chin up. “Don’t you ever think of blaming yourself. I’d do it again a million times over as long as it meant that you were safe. You’re what matters most to me in this world. I don’t want to live in one without you in it.”

“And I don’t want to live in one without you in it, either,” came your reply.

His fingers wiped away your tears. There was so much he longed to say. He wanted so badly to tell you the truth. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. What good would it do? It would only bring more grief upon your shoulders. He didn’t want to cause you anymore pain than you’d already been through.

But, with his next words, he ended up hurting you anyway.

“I need to tell you something.”

His tone gave you pause. He was serious. “What is it?” You cautiously asked.

“I…I’ve decided to step down from my job.”

You stared at him. “What?”

He sighed softly. “This injury’s going to have me out for months. And honestly, by the time it does heal, I just have this feeling that it won’t ever be the same again. I won’t be as effective at my job as I was before. So I’m making the decision to resign.”

But you were shaking your head, a fresh wave of tears filling your eyes. “Bobby, no. You can’t leave. I need you.”

“Sweetheart, my mind is made up.”

“Why? Because I know this isn’t just because of your leg. What happened? Did my dad threaten you?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

He sighed, shaking his head. How could he word it in a way that wouldn’t expose what he’d just sworn to keep secret? “I…I was asked to do something that goes against everything I believe. And I just can’t remain with this administration while knowing I was asked to do it.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “What—”

“That’s all I can tell you. I’m sorry.”

“Then what? You’re just going to leave? What does that mean for us?”

“We’ll figure it out. I know we will.”

You paused for a moment, looking down at your intertwined hands. More tears welled in your eyes. “I don’t want you to leave,” you whimpered. “You’re the one I feel safest with. I-I know everyone else is just as capable of looking after me but I want you, Bobby.”

It broke his heart to do this to you. And it filled him with uncertainty, too. He wasn’t sure what this would mean for your relationship. But he knew he couldn’t keep going on in secret. And he couldn’t continue to serve an administration that could potentially put you in danger again in the name of national security.

“I don’t want to leave, either. But I have to.”

You squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. I’m being selfish. You should be allowed to make this decision without me causing a fuss about it. Do what you feel is best. I’ll support you no matter what.”

He lovingly stroked your cheek. “That means the world to me, honey. I’m sorry to break the news to you like this, after everything you went through. But I just wanted you to know before anyone else. I haven’t even told your dad or Agent Simpson yet.”

“Well, thank you for telling me. But I don’t know what I’m gonna do with myself, not seeing you everyday. God, I’m going to miss you so much, Bobby.” Your voice wavered. You were barely holding it together.

“Hey, c’mere.” He pulled you in, wrapping his arms around you, letting you rest your head on his chest, over his heart. “We’re gonna be okay, you and me. We’ll figure it out. Somehow, some way.” He kissed the top of your head.

You hoped he was right.

After that initial visit to the hospital, you tried to visit him as often as possible. Your security team was more than happy to tag along each day, because they loved Bob, too. And you cherished those quiet moments in that hospital room, without the eyes of the world on you.

Outside of that hospital, you had to face the public. Had to deliver statements about what happened that night in the safe house. Had to assure the American people that you were just fine, that the brave United States Secret Service and Homeland Security agents did their jobs well. Because of them, an entire domestic terrorist organization had been quashed. In America’s eyes, it was a great victory.

But you couldn’t help but feel like a spectacle. The girl who’d survived a harrowing attack on her life. You were made to relive that night over and over and over again. And finally, in the end, you’d had enough. In the following weeks, you came to terms with a lot of personal things.

Namely, you came to terms with wanting to separate yourself from your family’s administration. You would never be able to erase the fact that you were the president’s daughter. And your life would never be normal. You would need a security detail for the rest of your life. But you were done living within the confines of The White House.

The only time you had ever been away from it was when you were at college. After graduation, you came back to work as part of your father’s administration. But for your own sanity, you knew you needed to step down and find your own path.

So you told your parents as much. You informed them that your mind was made up, that you were going to buy a home for yourself and live your life separate from them. You no longer wanted a foot in the door of politics. It was time to pursue your true passions.

And that was just what you did.

You bought a house deep in Wyoming, of all places. A nice plot of land, spacious enough for owning horses or cows, and for planting a nice sized garden. It was quiet and secluded and the perfect respite after spending the last six years in The White House.

In the time leading up to your move, Bob was in the throes of physical therapy. His leg was healing well, and he was working hard to regain his strength. During those months, the two of you decided that it would be best to distance yourselves from one another, only because you did not want to raise suspicions about your relationship. You attending each one of his physical therapy sessions came across as suspicious, in your mind.

So you allowed him to focus on getting better, while you focused on starting your new life. You missed him so deeply, but your separation was only temporary. You planned to meet again, as soon as he was ready to travel, and you were situated in your new home. You also wanted the media attention on your safe house to die down.

Eventually, it did, and the world moved on to something else to panic about.

But you? You tuned it all out. You stayed out of the news, you stayed out of politics, and you tried to bring some sense of calm normalcy to your life. You no longer needed a full security detail. It was with a heavy heart that you bid farewell to a few of them, leaving only Natasha, Mickey, and Bradley as your remaining security. They helped ensure that your home was always safe, and that you were protected.

But there was still one part of your life that remained incomplete. A void that could only be filled by your Bobby.

And finally, after several months, the day came that you would be reunited. He was strong enough to travel again. He had officially resigned from his job in The White House. He returned to civilian life, and packed up the minimal amount of belongings he had, placing them in the trunk and backseat of his car.

He drove over fifteen hours just to get to you. And it was worth it to him. After not seeing you for months, all he wanted was to hold you in his arms and never let go. So he drove. And he drove. And he drove. Until finally, he was standing at your front door, his hands trembling as Natasha let him in, and informed him that you were out back, in the stable.

So he ran. Ignoring the residual ache in his bad leg, he dashed behind the house, where the stable was, and he kept going into he was standing in the wide doorway. His feet skidded against concrete and hay, and his eyes searched. There you were. Dressed in jeans, riding boots, and a t-shirt. One he recognized as an old shirt of his, which you had snagged from him in the early days of your secret relationship.

You heard him approaching. Heard his feet skid to a halt at the doorway. And your heart quickened in your chest. You turned in what felt like slow motion, your gaze falling upon the man you loved, standing at the entrance of your stable, breathless.

“Bobby,” you whispered.

You weren’t sure who moved first. But in an instant, you were both running toward each other. You met halfway, arms coming out to catch the other, to embrace the other. “You’re here! You’re really here!” Came your cry.

“I’m here.” And then he was kissing you. Arms secure around your body, lips soft and familiar. He kissed you and kissed you and kissed you. And you kissed back. Not even your mingled tears caused you to part. You didn’t want to. It was as if you were afraid this would all be a dream if you pulled away.

When you did part, he was smiling. That sweet smile that made his eyes disappear behind his cheeks. That sweet smile that made your heart sing. “Oh, I missed you!” you sobbed.

“I missed you too, honey. So, so much.”

You embraced again. He spun you around in a circle, and you giggled musically, overjoyed. He was finally here, with you, where he belonged. After months of waiting, months of agony, months of uncertainty, he was in your arms. No longer as the head of your security detail, but as the man you loved.

“I just can’t believe this is real,” came your soft confession.

“Believe it. This couldn’t be more real,” he assured you.

You held his face in your hands. “Oh, my sweet, beautiful man. I’m never going to let you out of my sight again.”

“Good, because I’m here to stay.”

You shared several more moments in that stable, holding each other, still in disbelief that it was finally over. The years of secrecy, the sneaking around behind the scenes. You didn’t have to hide anymore. You were allowed to love each other freely and openly.

Together, you walked back to your house that night, arms around each other, swaying as you walked, happy and content and relieved. You enjoyed a wonderful dinner, just the two of you, as the three remaining members of your security team had excused themselves to their own quarters to allow you privacy.

A lot had changed in the time that you’d been apart. You told Bob all you’d been doing, and he informed you what stepping down from his job, and enduring all that physical therapy, had been like.

He was no longer part of the secret service, and he never would be again. The fear of being found out and losing his position was no longer on the table. There were no superiors to appease. No presidents to serve. He was free to be his own man. To live his life. To love who he wanted.

To love you.

Things were not automatically perfect now that he was with you. But they were better. You would have to figure out some things. And eventually, you would have to tell your family that you were in a relationship with him. But for now, you could live in peace, if only for a brief moment in time. You were safe, on your little farm in Wyoming, with the man you loved. It was your own little slice of heaven.

And after all the difficulty you had endured, you were more than content with that. You could figure everything else out later. For now, you would live in that domestic bliss for just a little while longer. You’d earned it, after all.

Finally, it was your turn to live your life the way you wanted to, and not the way others dictated you should.

taglist (a mix of those already on the list/who might be interested):

@bradshawsbitch @sebsxphia @rhettabbotts @delopsia @milesmillergf @ohtobeleah @purelyfiction @honeymurdock @ihavealewproblem @high-speed-r @happyrebelruins @chasing-fics @roostersgirlfrxend @bradshawsbaby @whisperofsong @hangmanapologist @callsign-magnolia @callsignmedusa @withahappyrefrain @up-thereinthesky @peachystenbrough @damrlova @lovinglyeternal @laracrofted @bobfloydsbabe @nobody7102 @agentorange9595

#bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd

590 notes · View notes

wing-ed-thing · 5 months

Text

Marriage Pact (Erwin x Reader) Part III

Synopsis: To the surprise of the cadets, Commander Erwin is married to more than just his work. Their curiosity brings up fond memories of your and Erwin’s early days in the scouts.

Word Count: 6k

Tags/Warnings: Language, No Reader Pronouns, Fluff, Marriage Pacts, 104th Cadet Corps Shenanigans, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Original Characters, Alcohol

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

Notes: This has been done and edited for... far too long.

Affairs were irritatingly mundane during the days that followed the Military Ball. And after all the show-boating and money that exchanged hands, the Scouting Regiment certainly had something to prove.

“Shadis is putting you on expedition command?” You blinked in pleased surprise. Erwin stood in front of your desk, thumbs looped in a pair of straps that bisected his torso. He hummed in confirmation. You offered him a light applause with the soft tappings of your fingers. “Congratulations, that’s promising.”

“We can hope so.” Erwin shrugged with near indifference, brows jumping for only a moment as he considered the notion. He heaved a steady breath of air, likely already envisioning the increased workload.

“Hope so?” you laughed, not quite paying attention to his rigid body language. “You’re being set up to take command for sure—”

“Are you able to take my squads for a bit?” Erwin interjected. You blinked at him, taken aback by the interruption. He took a slight pause before squaring his shoulder back. “Sorry for cutting you off.” He tugged at his collar.

“No, not at all.” You shook your head, forcing yourself to maintain the cordial smile on your lips. You offered a gesture of your hand. “Continue.”

Erwin met your eye, matching your closed-lip smile of pleasantry, but only briefly. He dove right into business.

“I’ll be needed Tuesdays and Fridays. I was hoping you could take my squads. I asked Hange, but they’ve got their hands full with R&D,” he explained with a curt nod. You stared up at him, almost lost. Taking on additional bodies for two days a week was already a tall order, but taking on five extra squads might serve to be impossible.

“Okay,” you started, thinking before committing fully. If Hange couldn’t take them, you were likely the only one who could. Your eyes darted back at Erwin, who was waiting for your answer expectantly. Your lungs inflated with nervous air before you spoke again. “There’s no way they can be split—?”

“I don’t trust anyone else with my squads.” Erwin’s answer was swift. He stared at you with serious eyes and a severe expression. Erwin’s hands traveled from his leather straps as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. The sigh he heaved made you frown.

“There’s five of them. That’s— what?— over a hundred additional bodies?”

“Ninety-nine, actually.”

‘Okay, ninety-nine added to my eighty—”

“And I would owe you one.” Erwin leaned over the front of your desk. With one hand on the solid wooden surface, he imposed himself above you with his other hand back to clutching one of his ODM straps. The tips of his bangs swept gracefully over his forehead. Erwin glanced toward the door and then back at you.

You opened your mouth to retort, but your attempt at protest broke down into a resigned huff. You shook your head, raising your hands in defeat.

“Yeah, I can take your squads on Tuesdays and Fridays.” Your voice sounded more tentative than you’d have liked. Erwin quirked a brow. The crease on his forehead was subtle.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I can take them,” you said definitively, shooting him a glare of warning. “Don’t push your luck.”

Erwin’s brows bounced again as he surrendered a step backward. You cleared a few things off your desk in search of paper to write yourself a note.

“If you’re not busy, we could discuss details now. I could make us some tea.” You avoided his eye, a large part of you just wanting to use taking on his squads as an excuse to finally get some alone time with him to talk the whole marriage pact situation over.

“Shadis actually has me preoccupied. I’m actually due to meet with Edmonds any moment now.” He glanced at the clock on the wall before continuing to inch away. “I’ll send a memo by the end of the day.” He was already off by the time you looked up from your note-taking.

“A memo?” You nearly spat, standing as he began to walk out the door. You shouted after him. “I’m doing you a favor, Erwin! You owe me!”

He waved over his shoulder as he briskly walked out into the hall, not even bothering to look back.

“I know I do!”

***

There was a reason there were four section commanders.

Between your four squads and Erwin’s five squads, regular drills were crowded at best. The larger venue you scrambled to book for the following month was just large enough to accommodate your combined teams for standard practice. And for forest training, you were required to wear your ODM gear the entire day to get from one side of the grounds to another. You must have gone through five canisters in one session of supervising alone.

And so it went for the next few weeks. Almost every other day, you’d find yourself trudging up to the temporary training grounds far out of the way to meet over double the amount of soldiers you were used to. Erwin’s squads were about as obedient and competent as you could expect— Miche Zacharius alone took a hefty amount off your plate— but no amount of capability could take away from the fact that you were training half the branch two days out of the week. If it wasn’t for how well-coordinated your squad captains were, you might not have been able to pull off Erwin’s favor.

You stood at the edge of the forest with eyes toward the treetops on a particular Friday at the end of the month. The sun was already setting as you deliberated whether you wanted to let your total of nine squads leave for the day— the main deciding factor being your air tanks. If it were earlier, you might have switched your canisters, but after your last few rounds through the treetops, you decided you were satisfied with the work your teams had done. You watched them whip around among the branches, waiting until things felt right for you to call it quits.

The trotting of a horse sounded behind you. Just as you turned, Section Commander Fletcher dismounted.

“Are you getting paid for all this overtime?” he laughed, jogging his horse forward to meet you where you stood. You heaved a deep sigh, hands on your hips just out of the way of your massive sheathes.

“Can’t say I am,” you announced in the way otherwise polite words come out in fatigue. Fletcher pulled up beside you, gaze glued on the treetops above. A full squad of 28 members whirled by, maneuvering expertly through the branches and artificial targets.

“Wow,” he mused, a hand shielding his eyes from the beams of the setting sun, “You’ve got a well-oiled machine out here.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“You’d think I’d have it figured out, considering I’ve had them about a month now.”

“This isn’t figured out?” Fletcher raised a brow, jabbing his thumb up toward the flurry of scouts. You let out an amused scoff, head tilting up to bask your face in what was left of the light.

“Flying by the seat of my pants,” you jested, but your words were true. Fletcher let out an amused puff before mirroring your posture.

“Hell, if this is you making things up as you go, I’d love to see what you got when you do have a plan.” He shook his head in silent admiration. His eyes flickered to you, irises huddling in the left corners of his eyes as he studied you through his peripheral. “No wonder Erwin went to you first.”

“He came to me because Hange was busy,” you laughed, “Honestly, Hange might have had better luck anyway. They’re more used to handling all the moving parts than I am.”

“Well, you’re doing great.” Fletcher nodded affirmatively. “Although, I can’t say I’m not pressed that I was the only one Erwin didn’t ask to take his squads…” His lips formed the slightest pout. “I could have sworn that Hange said he went to you first. Either way, we could have split them and done drills together.”

“Two of us and three-quarters of the branch? No, thank you.” Another laugh erupted from your throat, and you turned to fully face him for the first time that evening. You gave him a once over, noting the state of his uniform. “Um, Fletcher? You know your backplate is supposed to go on your back, right?”

You reached over to loop your finger through the leather strap connected to his backplate and ran over his shoulder. His attention shot straight to where you tugged before Fletcher’s face drooped in reluctant acknowledgment. He held his hands up in defeat.

“Yeah, I know. But I got everything on before I realized, and I didn’t want to take it off and start over.” You withdrew, subconsciously looping your hands around your own tattered ODM straps. Fletcher continued with some more frantic waving of his hands. “Look, don’t tell Shadis. I’ve already faced disciplinary action for one too many mishaps with the uniform. He says if it wasn’t for my record on the field, I would have already been demoted.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone who always has it perfect,” you tried to assure him. With the condition your straps were in, you were probably in uniform violation far more often than Fletcher was. Although, being as high ranking as you were, it probably wasn’t the greatest example to set for your squads. At least with you, most people couldn’t usually see that your uniform wasn’t up to policy in the first place without a full inspection. Fletcher was less lucky.

You heard your name a distance behind you, and by the time you turned again, Erwin had already ridden up the grassy hill on his white stallion. You perked up in surprise. Erwin spared a quick glance toward your company.

“Ah, and Section Commander Fletcher,” he remarked, not particularly content at the other section commander’s presence. Erwin smoothly slid off his saddle, tying up the reins to a nearby post with a flick of his wrist.

“Erwin! It’s good to see you finally resurface!” Fletcher waved. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Erwin retorted curtly, gazing briefly at the trees. The branches rustled with movement. “Don’t you have affairs of your own to prep for, Fletcher?”

“All about business as usual, I see,” Fletcher chuckled. His horse bumped him with its muzzle, and Fletcher gave the opposite side of the animal’s face a few pats. “It was quite the day today. My soldiers deserve the early break.”

“So soon before the next expedition.” Erwin’s eyes narrowed slightly, although his expression remained nearly undetectable. Despite his subtle dismay, Erwin’s demeanor remained straight and proper. “How intrepid.”

“If we work them too hard before the big day, they’ll be too exhausted to make responsible decisions.” Fletcher regarded Erwin nonchalantly, speaking lazily with his hands and a complacent twinge to his lips. Erwin blinked at him, scowling.

“Well, it’s good that we ran into each other,” he said, “You’re needed at headquarters. Something about one of your squads duking it out in the mess hall again.”

Fletcher’s face just about went white, and he needed little encouragement to mount his horse and start racing back toward Trost. He shouted something over his shoulder as he rode away. You only caught bits and pieces of promises to resume talking to you soon.

You watched him retreat down the hill, lost in fatigue from the day.

“Fletcher is an idiot.” Erwin’s voice cut through your daze. The harsh bite of his words hit you like an electric shock, causing you to perk up in acute astonishment.

Erwin didn’t meet your eye as he watched the speck that was Fletcher and his horse in the distance. He just stood there, posture straight and face stoic as he looked off toward the Walls. You opened your mouth to comment, but he soon brushed past you, leaving his scent in his wake. You stalled for only a moment before following him.

“What?” You wondered if you had heard him right. Erwin hardly spoke disparagingly of others— particularly not his peers— let alone so blatantly.

“For all that natural instinct Shadis sure puts a lot of stake in, Fletcher is an absentminded fool who won’t make it to see winter.” The inflection of his voice rose at the end of his sentence as if he were talking about a nice breeze. He shrugged, an uncomfortable and rigid indifference about him. Erwin focused on the equipment of his gear, standing just ahead of you at the edge of the forest.

“That’s mean.” You frowned. Erwin tightened one of his thigh straps.

“You know it as well as I do; no need to be coy.” He began rolling up his sleeves. You checked the time, wondering if Fletcher wasn’t the only superior officer to let his subordinates out for the day. “It’s better if he kept his destruction to his own squads. I don’t trust him around anything of mine.”

Perhaps you were devoting too much mental energy to your agreement, focusing too much on what exactly your relationship with Erwin was because his words left his lips and paralyzed you where you stood. You stopped mid-step, head jerking slightly in surprise.

“Anything of yours?” The words left your lips before you could even think.

You quickly snapped your mouth closed, meeting Erwin’s gaze with your own slightly widened eyes. You stood frozen, almost afraid to move. Erwin’s forehead creased, his mouth contorting downward with acute confusion. He cocked his head toward you, trying to decipher what the miscommunication was.

“I don’t trust him around my squads?”

“Oh,” you breathed, avoiding eye contact. You shook your head as if to physically dismiss the thoughts racing around your head. You covered your face with your hands, hiding the embarrassment and mortification that contorted your features. “I thought you said something else.” You shook your head again.

“What did you think I said?”

You continued to avoid meeting Erwin’s gaze even as you stepped up next to where he stood. You waved your hand in the air, not doing a great job of looking nonchalant. You stared straight ahead into the forest in an attempt to look normal.

“Don’t worry about it. I take it you want to round them up?” You gestured toward the trees. Your canisters were on the lower side regarding fuel, but you could afford to take one more trip around the training grounds. Luckily, Erwin didn’t pry.

“I’d like to catch the tail-end of their progress,” Erwin hummed. “And to see how severely I’m about to be out of a job.” You shot up into the trees together, landing on adjacent branches.

“Yeah, when you get promoted to commander, I’ll be working overtime taking on your teams while we train your replacement.” You were already on another branch, an impressive distance from where you started. Erwin wasn’t too far behind as you each signaled for your squads to regroup.

“You seem to be under the impression that Shadis will be relinquishing his title soon.” You could barely hear Erwin’s baritone voice over the wind in your ears. You whipped through the treetops together, expertly avoiding the soldiers flying through the air from the other direction.

“I thought we talked about playing modest?” you teased, swinging just ahead of him.

You landed next to each other, having reached the far end of the circuit. Your team captains were already leading your nine squads back the way you came to regroup and dismiss for the day. There was a notable shift in the air, no doubt caused by Erwin’s commanding presence. Everyone was eager to show off their coordination with the two of you present and watching.

“You’re talking as if you aren’t also very well qualified.”

“Erwin,” you grumbled with a roll of your eyes. You slapped him on the bicep with the back of your hand, “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying…” He whistled, playfully mocking the smile you tried to fight off. He didn’t even bother to hide his snickering. Erwin never looked old by any means, but even so, when he laughed, he seemed to become five years younger.

“Alright,” you sighed, the corners of your mouth still slightly upturned, “Let’s wrap this up. But I hope you know you’re taking charge on this one because I’m sick of looking at your squads—” You snickered, absentmindedly turning toward Erwin.

He stood with the thick wood of a branch beneath his boots, and his hand wrapped around an anchored cable which kept him steady. Erwin simply watched you. You dared to think he held something sentimental in his gaze, just like the night you made your pact. You turned to look over your shoulder, which garnered a chuckle from Erwin.

“Hey—” You were quick to snap in jest but weren’t allowed to say much else.

—“Would you like to grab a drink tonight?” Erwin mused.

You almost lost your balance right then and there. You instinctively moved to grip your own anchored cables.

“Yeah, sure,” you answered quickly, perhaps too quickly, “What time?”

“Let’s meet outside the gates at, uh, seven.” Erwin punctuated his decision with a decisive nod. His anchors reeled back in with a snap before he cast them out again into the forest. He didn’t miss another beat, already gearing up to set out through the branches again. You heard yourself agree before you both set off, ready to rein in the troops for the day.

***

You barely had time to stop home before it was time to meet Erwin, but you’d be damned if you were going to show up to your date in your uniform and the grime from the day on your skin.

To a lack of surprise, Erwin showed up early. He leaned against the brick pillar that held the left-side gate outside the Trost headquarters, seeming to have also changed clothes. Erwin retired his uniform straps and trousers for a pair of beige slacks. A grey leather jacket draped over his elbow, the dark color contrasting his white button-up. When he saw you, he perked up, pushing off from the pillar to meet you.

“I hope you’re okay with a walk,” he announced, his projected voice bouncing off the cobblestone street as he gestured in a vague direction with his thumb.

“Sounds good to me!” you answered, jogging up to meet him directly in front of the closed metal gates. You set off down the road together, chatting about random things from the day.

You didn’t see Erwin very often outside of work— although, given the nature of your professions, you still continued to see each other for obscene amounts of time between meetings, expeditions, and trainings. Even in contexts where you’ve slept within the same vicinity of each other, you were in uniform and on duty more often than not.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but consider how different he looked without his uniform— like something was missing. You wondered if you looked the same, although you didn’t have time to do much special preparation of your appearance between work and your meeting time. Your hair was still in an ODM-safe style.

You didn’t consider that this would become the norm when you were married. However, a growing part of you was gradually becoming more convinced that Erwin wasn’t actually serious about the agreement at all. Quite frankly, he hadn’t brought it up once, and you were sick of how often your pact had been on your mind. The extra thoughts only served to ruin the perfectly decent friendship you had with your coworker.

Things were never like this with Erwin before, and surely, a soldier as high ranking as you had better things to worry about; at least, that’s what you told yourself.

“I do appreciate your help this past month,” Erwin said, somewhere between your passage between walls Rose and Sina.

“It wasn’t too bad,” you admitted, not quite able to accept his thanks, “Your team leads are amazing. I couldn’t have done it without them.” Erwin’s brows rose in pleasant acknowledgment.

“That’s great to hear.” He nodded as you turned onto a familiar street.

The pub sat on the corner, and Erwin moved ahead of you to grab the door. Only then did you realize that the place Erwin took you to was Mulligan’s.

—“You said you liked the ale here.” He smiled. He was definitely talking before you tuned back into reality, and you already missed the first part of what he said.

You carried on with a simple hum and pleasant smile, drifting into the pub with Erwin, who led you to the bar. The far wall was covered in military memorabilia. A military police cloak and a set of ODM straps were displayed in the center, surrounded by hand-drawn portraits of service members from all three branches and newspaper clippings of various achievements. A set of wooden stairs sat on the far left of the wall, leading up to a loft area with seating. Erwin ordered ales for the two of you.

“We don’t get to do this too often, do we?” Erwin draped his jacket over the back of his stool. “I think the last time we even saw each other out of uniform, it was—”

—“Walkers’ retirement party,” you said in unison, smiling at the memory. Your mouth remained slightly agape as you struggled to calculate how long ago that was.

“That was— what?— twoish years ago?”

“Three.”

“You’re kidding.” Your cheek molded into your palm as you rested your elbow against the bartop. You squinted slightly as you glanced up at the ceiling. “I remember Baker’s promotion was two years ago, and I thought Walker left a week after or something.” Your ales appeared in front of you. The rim of your glass brushed your bottom lip as you spoke. “Because that was the year Baker had to separate those two rookies who got tied together during training.”

Erwin shook his head, swallowing his sip of ale.

“Walker retired three years ago, but he got so bored he tried to get his old job back about a year after Baker was promoted to his old position.” He motioned decisively with his hand as if painting an abstract, invisible timeline in the air. Your lips formed a circular shape as the memories clicked.

“Right.”

“Not that the minutia matters,” Erwin quickly clarified. He waved again in the air before taking his ale to his lips, meeting your eye from above the rim. “Three years seems like too long of a time to me.”

You stared into the foam on the top of your drink, watching as the white bubbles formed a perimeter along the section where you had been taking your sips. You averted your gaze as you spoke.

“Would that be considered normal for colleagues?” you asked with a raise of your brows, playing with the handle of your glass. Erwin studied you for the briefest moment in your peripheral before shifting in his seat with a shrug.

“I find the length rather excessive,” he admitted, expertly avoiding your actual question as he slung an ankle over his opposite knee. He sat somewhat straight with an arm on the back of his stool, and the other mirroring yours leaned against the bar. “It’s nice we could meet at such short notice. Talking about work all the time is hardly conducive to our dynamic, don’t you agree?”

“Excessively formal as always,” you sighed. You almost thought you saw him let out a single puff of amusement before he dove back into his ale. You saw your chance and took it. “But I’m glad you brought that up, because I think it’s time we talked about—”

“If a little bullying was all I needed to do to get you to visit, I would have done it sooner!” The chatter in the pub was cut by the booming voice. All heads turned toward the loft as an unnatural silence overtook the space.

Marie appeared at the top of the steps leading down from the loft, a tray of empty steins and glasses balanced on one hand. Her apron only served to emphasize the size of her enlarged stomach. Marie waddled down the steps, a few servers and patrons rushing to her aid. All talk within the pub slowly returned as most people turned back toward their drinks.

“Shit— Marie! You’re gonna fall!” One customer hurried to her side, taking backward steps down the wooden planks to give Marie his arm for stability. A server quickly scooped the tray of glassware away, the towers of empty beverages clinking and wobbling on top of each other.

“Oh, thank you, Steven. I could have gotten that.” Marie blinked, not watching the rest of her journey down the stairs.

“A business owner shouldn’t be bussing tables, let alone pregnant! Please go home!” a server urged. Marie only offered him a light smile, not acknowledging any of the pleadings that clamored around her as she made directly for you and Erwin.

“You didn’t bully me into anything, Marie,” Erwin sighed playfully. He stood out of his seat, but not before offering you a swift dip of his lip to you in apology. Erwin heaved himself up, ready to face Marie’s complaints, and you followed suit. Marie wasted no time in pulling him into a tight hug.

“Oh, sure, sure. Nothing to do with that military schmooze-fest last month. I haven’t seen you here in years, Erwin! Shame on you!” You barely had time to think before Marie let Erwin go and latched on to you next. She slotted herself a bit to the side to properly hug you. Her demeanor seemed to melt as she grasped you firmly by the shoulders.

“Wonderful to see you again,” she said, smiling warmly.

“It’s good to see you again, too,” you reciprocated.

Marie pulled away, hands crossed over her chest as she took in the both of you.

“Drinks on me tonight!” She accented her exclamation with a single nod.

“Marie, please—” Erwin attempted to reason with her, but Marie wouldn’t let him get a word in before she was already talking to the bartender.

“Thomas! Please refill these ales— Oh! And put in for an order of pretzels!” Marie met your eye and offered you a wink before disappearing into the throng of patrons. Even then, Erwin wasn��t allowed any time to complain as the door to the pub swung open wide enough to hit the adjacent wall outside.

“Fuck! Be careful, Hange!”

“Yoo-hoo! Is that two workaholic scouts I see emerged from their caves to party with us?” Hange threw their hands up in the air, completely blocking the doorway. A few prominent regiment members piled in behind them, uttering various grumblings about moving out of the way. Miche’s face popped up over the crowd.

“Yo,” he nodded toward Erwin. The volley of scouts flooded the pub, spreading across empty tables and chairs. Hange, as well as members of yours and Erwin’s squads, began to approach the bar.

It was the last weekend before your next expedition.

How could you forget about something like that?

***

Jean didn’t expect such a mild reaction out of you, especially after they had trashed what he could only assume was one of your most prized possessions. The moment the door opened, visions of extra brutal drills and penalties beyond his imagination flashed before his eyes, his dreams shattering like the broken picture frame on the floor. Jean could only imagine what a cross-branch punishment entailed.

Eren was quick to try to explain, quickly lurching forward with your first name spilling from his lips, thankfully with your rank. A few other members of his cadet class tried desperately to explain their presence in your office, but you remained expressionless.

You stood wordlessly in the doorway, and as the room erupted into defensive panic, your eyes were only focused on the shattered picture frame. Jean saw you in his frozen silence, following your line of sight to the floor. He knelt down to salvage the mess.

“Don’t touch it; I don’t want you cutting yourself.” Your voice was neutral and level. You crossed the office in seconds, plopping your miscellaneous files on your desk before plucking a broom and dustpan from a tall cabinet.

“Let me get that!” Jean and Eren exclaimed in unison.

The cleaning process was slow. The only noise that dared to vocalize in the room was the soft brushing of broom bristles on wood. Your scouting paraphernalia sat in its usual closed wardrobe just above a small office trashcan now filled with broken glass and the broken frame. One of the seams where the wood had been glued at the corner had fractured, forming a jagged line.

You stood as still and expressionless as you did when you first entered while Jean finally articulated their presence in your office after hours. He considered your neutral demeanor the worst part of getting caught. There was no yelling or a scrunched-up look of disgust, just active and silent listening. You only nodded, seeming to think to yourself without giving away any hints about the nature of your thoughts.

“We wanted to know if you and Commander Smith were married,” Jean admitted plainly. There wasn’t any way around the truth. He studied your blank gaze. You were listening but didn’t have commentary to give quite yet. He bowed his head sheepishly. “I know that talking about things like that is really inappropriate, and coming into your office is even worse. We’ll replace your frame and accept any punishment you deem fit.”

“Speak for yourself…” Eren muttered.

“Now’s really not the time for—!”

When you spoke, “There’s ten of you?” was all you said.

Jean assumed you were counting heads for when you reported to Commander Pixis— or worse, Erwin. But it wasn’t until Jean sat on your worn, leather-covered couch with a cup of tea in his hands that he started to wonder.

You didn’t answer Jean’s question until the last cup of tea had been poured.

You sat with it, looking into your reflection in the steaming beverage as you perched on the front of your desk. The picture— which looked rather flimsy without its frame— sat to your left. You crossed your ankles, the tips of your shoes brushing the floor as you leaned back on one palm. You took a sip of your tea.

“Yeah—” You shrugged. —“Erwin and I are married.”

The room collectively choked.

“See—?!” Jean could only get out one word before he broke into a coughing fit, the words rushing to his lips before he could even think about the liquid in his mouth. He covered his face with his arm and sputtered into the fabric covering his elbow. A violent dribble of liquid splashed over his chin. You offered him a cloth from your tea cart. “See? I told you! I told all of you—!”

“God, Jean, shut up!” Connie’s speech was muffled by the tea cracker passing through his lips. Eren smacked the back of Jean’s head before stepping to the other side of Mikasa. Jean’s coughing fit began again.

“I think that's so cute!” Christa’s exclaim cut through the brewing feud on the other side of the rug. She leaned forward, squishing her face into her palms with a childlike glimmer of excitement in her blue irises. Ymir rolled her eyes, much more interested in the bowl of snacks making the rounds. “How did you guys meet?” You laughed almost giddily.

“We were section commanders together before I transferred to the Garrison!”

The smile on your lips gave away the fond thoughts and memories that flashed across your mind. The group of new scouts huddled together, the eleven of you forming a circle sprawled out across your office. They sipped their tea, eager to indulge in a self-imposed late-night story session. “And now we’ve been married for almost ten years.” Reiner held his hand up shallowly in the air, his fingers slightly curled.

“I got a question for ya,” he began. You nodded like a teacher fielding a student’s question. “Has he always been so…” Reiner trailed off, leaning deep into his seat on the couch that faced Jean’s. He stretched his arm out so that it rested on the tops of the adjacent cushions. “Uptight?”

“Reiner!” Bertholdt scolded under his breath, nudging him for emphasis. Bertholdt sank slightly lower in his seat, expertly balancing his teacup and saucer.

You hardly took offense as anticipated, laughing out loud instead.

“I suppose Erwin’s always been more strait-laced, even back then!” you mused, glancing up at the ceiling in thought. You swung your feet, drumming your fingers at the front edge of your desk before returning your attention to the group. “I will say, though, it’s a good trait to have in a commander, especially for the scouts— not that I have to tell any of you that. He humored me a few times when it came to, you know, your usual antics, but we all— Erwin included— knew he was being groomed for that commander position. He liked to stick to the— the rules if that makes sense.”

You nodded before sipping your tea. You thought that answered the question, but unbeknownst to you, you only served to further pique everyone’s curiosity. However, none of them were able to ask any of their burning questions before Christa’s voice silenced the entire room.

“So, when did you fall in love?” she asked, and her words bounced off the wooden fixtures in the office. It seemed as though all attention turned to her as she sat giddy, a knee to her chest as she anticipated your answer. You took a moment, apparently too long of a moment, as tense silence filled the room.

You tried to hide your shock, voice stalling in your throat as you struggled to find a good answer. Mikasa stared at you with a sharp keenness in her eyes.

“You aren’t in love, are you?” she said as more of a definitive statement than a question. You were quick to answer.

“No, I wouldn’t say that.” You shook your head, still searching for what to say. “I—” All words stalled in your mouth when you looked up at the gathering of scouts. All eyes were on you, waiting silently. Staring. You sighed. “We had a marriage pact. And that’s not to say we don’t care about each other.” That last part tumbled from your lips like an avalanche.

“A marriage pact?” Reiner grumbled, but once again, you didn’t even have time to answer.

“It’s when two people promise to marry each other if they reach a certain point in their lives and are still single,” Ymir explained before you could. She looked at you as if allowing you to tack on any details she left out. You could only nod.

“That’s not very romantic,” Reiner bluntly spat. A few low hums of agreement dotted the room. You didn’t register how his words rattled something in your chest.

“So, what, did you both turn a certain age and just… what? Get married?” Eren leaned on the back of the seat where Armin sat. His elbows sunk into the worn leather. “How does that work?”

“Did you have an actual wedding, or was it, like, courthouse?” Connie asked with his mouth full of a tea biscuit.

You sat on your desk with your tea in your hands. Your grip hadn’t left the saucer and cup handle in the moments you sat on the hot seat of their gaze. Your agreement with Erwin wasn’t something you necessarily kept secret. Still, the pointed questioning stirred something within you you couldn’t identify. The former cadets remained huddled together, clearly intently interested, with no signs of leaving anytime soon.

You sighed, refilling your tea.

“There was a couple under my command who had a marriage pact. I was telling Erwin about it one night before an expedition,” you began, and the entire room sat in interest as the sun set on the other side of your tall office windows.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: It's so odd writing "Christa" instead of Historia. I also wonder how many of my deep cuts land whenever I write for this section of the timeline. Sometimes I wonder if people think Marie is an original character. I mean, given how little she's in AOT she might as well be.

On another note, I really wanted to wrap things up in this part. But I think there was too much set-up for the last expedition/proposal for it to fit in one chapter. Once I hit 5k I knew my fate was sealed...

I don't know if I should write the wedding because I imagine it to be small and intimate. It might make this fic 5 parts. I only really wanted to write 3. I know engagement usually drops the more parts there are. People don’t seem to like long stories, but I dunno what do you think?

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Stupid, Stupid, Emotionally Unavailable Erwin Smith (Levi x Reader x Erwin)

Notes: I’m happy to add people to the tag list, but requesting to be added without interacting with any part of this series outside of your tag request will result in a swift block

@goddessinsweats @lionhearted-soldier @answer-the-sirens @piercedddriver @scarletrosesposts @thewrittenromance

#erwin x reader #erwin smith x reader #aot x reader #erwin #erwin smith #snk x reader #x reader #x you #reader insert #attack on titan x reader #aot fanfiction #erwin fanfic #erwin smith fanfic #erwin x you #erwin x y/n

123 notes · View notes

long-live-astronerd-ghost-king · 1 year

Text

Poor Barman Part 4

~ Runs In The Family ~

~and the Ghost town~

Bartender picks syrups for cocktails.

Danny*appears behind him without sound*: Hello.again.

Barman: Boy, a couple more meetings and I'll think you're my stalker.

Danny: Nothing like that. My parents think that I rarely go out so they dragged me to the supermarket.

Maddie: Danny, where are you? Hello, sir.

~~~

Maddie: Yes, our boy is so shy. In his hometown he always runs away before being attacked by ghosts. Jack and I were so sure that in a new city with high crime Danny would be even more stressed. There are so many dangerous people here.

Barman’s gaze shifts to the innocently blinking boy standing behind. Danny draws a halo above his head by using strange green energy.

Bartender: Really, Mrs.? tell me more

*remembers yesterday when this “quiet as the mouse grave” boy tried to get into Killer Croc's mouth to inspect his fangs and almost made him write a letter of resignation*

~ and a chip off the old block~

Next night

Bartender: In conclusion, your immensely loving overprotective parents are unaware that you not only got into in a bad company but also rule it.

Danny: Hey, what management are you talking about. At school they don't even trust me to be a DJ.

Boy brings marshmallows on a stick to one of the Red Hood's thugs who immediately pulls out a lighter

Danny: I just love making new friends :D

Danny: Besides, overprotective doesn’t sound very respectful. Don’t say that in front of them. My mom’s name made of "mad" and "die" parts for a reason. She could break Two-face's spine as a light workout.

Barman: I believe in it.

~ and the last brain cell of the Fenton family ~

Danny *shows the Bartender a photo*: This is my sister Jazz. She wants to be a psychologist. She has the best grades in Amity Park!

The bartender*is happy that there is at least someone adequate in the boy's family*.

Danny: Tomorrow she will come here without me to discuss some publications with Dr. Quinzel. Don't give her any trouble.

Barman: I was wrong

Danny: What?

~~~

Danny: And so, guys, why are you were bad boys?

The holding cells at the Gotham Police Station.

All criminals are sitting in the opposite corner from the 14-year-old boy.

Police officer: You're listed as an emergency contact for him.

Jazz: And what did he do this time?

Police officer: He placed Mr. Freeze in a strange non-melting ice. Persuade him to releave the villain and Commissioner Gordon will let your brother out. We cannot offer an interrogation. It's a waste of time.

Jazz: Mr.Barman,hello,what are you doing here?

Barman: One of our bouncers sent someone to the hospital so the Boss sent me to pay his bail for him.

Jazz: I see. More importantly, Danny, come here. now. You’re in big trouble, little brother.

Danny *walks through the wall and throws handcuffs on the officer’s desk*.

Barman: You know what, I’ll come back later. I just remembered I left the iron on in the bar. Have a good day.

Danny: See you soon.

Barman: I hope not.

#dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dc x dp #maddie fenton #danny fenton #Danny Phantom #dp #killer croc #waylon jones #jazz fenton #barman #harleen quinzel #harley quinn #commissioner gordon #two-face

715 notes · View notes

the-blue-eyed-firebender · 2 months

Text

Just a lil Royai fic rec.

I'm new to the FMA fandom, but these two now live in my head rent-free. And so do these fics. Enjoy!

Catharsis by kekkubean

Rating: M

Word count: 5K

Summary: She knew better. And now a little girl was dead because she wanted to believe that her father’s behavior existed in a vacuum.

Or,

When Riza learns of the Tucker incident, she doesn't handle it well.

Excerpt: At her feet, Hayate whined, she imagined disapprovingly. It was definitely too early to be drinking, although thankfully she skipped training him on understanding the appropriate hours for alcohol consumption. Riza met his gaze and they regarded each other for a moment as the burning subsided slowly. Hayate cocked his head to the side, curious, and whined again softly, as if he could read her wretched mind.

She briefly, morbidly wondered if Alexander and Nina shared thoughts, or if one of their minds dominated the other in that body, or if it were an entirely new—

Riza slammed her palms on the table, instantly suppressing the thought, and abruptly pushed herself up to standing. Hayate jumped and slinked off into her bedroom. She stood swaying for a moment, trying to gain her balance and some semblance of her sanity.

My thoughts: This one is canon to me. I can offer no higher praise for a fic. Before reading this, I never considered how Nina's fate might affect Riza, but it just makes so much damn sense. The way kekkubean writes trauma is blade-sharp. And the pacing, the dialogue, the characterization - exquisite.

Anytime by myrhymesarepurer

Rating: G

Word count: 838

Summary: It was not his Captain standing there in front of him. It was his master's daughter, so brutally burdened with ink, secrets so cruelly exposed to the world by one blasted broken zipper.

Excerpt: She lifted her head and blinked, feeling a great bit foolish that she stood in front of her superior, tortured over an issue he managed to solve in, oh, less than one second.

How very Roy Mustang.

My thoughts: I've read this so many times. It's one of the first I read in this fandom, and I keep coming back to it. It's short, poetically formatted, and utterly perfect in it's simplicity.

Beautiful People by That Hoopy Frood

Rating: T

Word count: 6.4K

Summary: Soon after the conclusion of the Ishvalan Civil War, Captain Maes Hughes receives a phone call in the middle of the night. The message is short, concise... and perhaps the most terrifying thing Hughes has ever heard.

Hawkeye's apartment. Now. Come alone. Someone has been hurt.

A promise was once made amidst the sands of a distant desert land: oaths will be upheld, and secrets will be scorched away. The sinful had waited too long; Roy Mustang was indebted to his promise, and Riza Hawkeye had come to collect.

Shut the door; it's starting to rain.

Excerpt: "You asked her to follow you… she would have walked over burning coals for you…" Hughes felt hot, angry tears running down his face. His glasses fogged. His voice cracked. "You were supposed to fall in love with her, Roy! You were supposed to marry her and have kids and be just be happy for once in your goddamned miserable life… now look what you've done. Look at what you've done."

My thoughts: Riza's back-burning is one of the most starkly absent scenes from the FMA canon. The scene has been written and rewritten in fanfiction many times, but this particular fic fills the gap in a way that is just perfectly brutal and raw. The addition of Hughes' presence makes the whole thing cut like a knife. Like Catharsis, this one is canon in my mind.

And now, a shameless plug:

The Counteroffer by theblueeyedfirebender

Rating: T

Word count: 2.6K

Summary: On the eve of Mustang’s inauguration as Fuhrer, Riza Hawkeye submits her resignation.

Excerpt: He pulls a manila envelope from the drawer and stands, sliding it across the surface of the desk in her direction. Her gaze falls to the hand he’s extended, long fingers and pale skin, the lingering scar of a transmutation circle still faintly visible, crosswise marred by another, thicker scar, twin to one on his other hand.

Something snags in her throat, but she swallows it down and picks up the envelope. It’s thin, like it contains nothing at all. “What is this, sir?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer, as if the routine honorific has stuck him somewhere unexpected. When he speaks again, his voice is thick. “A counteroffer.”

My thoughts: My first-ever FMA fic, complete with an ACOMAF Chapter 54-inspired confession (iykyk).

#if you know any of these authors on tumblr please tag them #fullmetal alchemist #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #roy mustang x riza hawkeye #fanfic #fanfiction #royai fic #royai fanfiction #royai #fma royai #maes hughes #black hayate #ao3 #fic rec #fma brotherhood #fmab #fma fanfiction #full metal alchemis brotherhood

41 notes · View notes

vee-beeee · 6 months

Text

Where you lead, I will follow

HIII

Since I posted a super long 2 parter Im going back to short and sweet ones for a hot minute

This is a tad gilmore girls inspired, theres a quote that ive been living by in here lol

Premise: You can Connor go for a walk in the snow during your break, you go get a coffee and Connor is cute

Warnings: Fluff as always, maybe a swear word, quotes lol

Connor x reader

SORRY IF THIS HAS BEEN DONE BEFORE

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

4 more minutes

You had to suffer 4 more minutes of Gavin's rambling until you could excuse yourself for your break.

And you needed a coffee desperately, its hard to deal with this guy without it.

"-and that's when I told him he should've checked the body! Hey, Are you even listening?" Gavin leaned forward from his desk, removing his feet from resting on the top, and snapped his fingers right in front of your face. You jumped in surprise, having been totally in a trance staring at the office clock counting down the minutes, and turned to look at him giving him a hard glare. You mumbled a half-hearted "I'm listening Gavin" to appease him before returning your gaze to the clock. Gavin seemed satisfied and started talking again, going off on another story about how he insulted some poor sap on the police force, and you sighed softly before putting your elbows on your desk and placing your cheeks in your hands, choosing to stare out the window now. Resigning yourself to this fate.

But you were saved, by a certain android.

"Detective, would I be able to accompany you on your break?"

You tilted your head to gaze up at Connor, who was standing before you. His hands were behind his back, his outfit looking clean and neat as always, and he was softly smiling down at you. You beamed up at him, seeing what he was doing, and you nodded gently at him telling him he could.

"Excuse me tin-can, but we were in the middle of something" Gavin leaned back in his chair, resting his arms behind his head, his face twisted in a scowled directed at the poor android.

"Yes, but it is her allotted break time starting-" Connor paused and looked off in the distance for a moment, before returning his gaze to Gavin "now"

The anger on Gavin's face was apparent, but after staring down an unmoving and unblinking Connor for a good 20 seconds, he scoffed and got up to stalk away. You gently stood from your chair, stretching your limbs and grabbing your sweater as you thanked him

"You're a life saver Connor. I don't think I would have lasted another minute." you chuckled as his lips twitched

"I don't think I would have either" You burst out in surprised laughter, while his mouth curved into a smile watching you. You definitely weren't expecting that response.

The pair of you started off, and as you passed by Connor's desk that he shared with a certain eccentric detective you quickly turned to said lieutenant before walking past. "Is it okay if I steal your android Hank?" the older man spun around in his chair, and he rolled his eyes at you both good naturedly, totally hiding a smile. "Fine by me, that'll get him off my ass for a minute" you and Hank chuckled as you watched Connor turn a little blue and look away.

You and Connor left the station after that, and you both walked down the snowy street, on route to your favorite coffee place. It was way colder outside than you remembered this morning, and you began to rub your hands together, breathing into them. Your lips were chapped too, awesome.

"Are you chilly? Do you require a warmer jacket, maybe gloves?" Connor leaned against you, and you pushed against him, smiling as you thought of a response.

"Lip gloss, actually"

Connor turned to you, and you giggled at his reaction. His LED was blinking yellow, and his eyebrows were furrowed. "Why would you need that?" you rolled your eyes dramatically "My lips are chapped, duh" his expression instantly softened, and he made his cute little oh face.

"I'm afraid I don't have that on me, however I can purchase it for next time" you gazed up at him, surprise written all over your expression as he grinned. You both fell into small chuckles, and for the rest of the walk you told him what shades would work the best for him.

He was right about on thing, Your hands were a little cold. You wished you brought gloves.

After acquiring the coffee, you were having trouble holding the hot drink because of how scalding it was. Though the small bit of warmth it brought was welcome.

"I can carry that for you, I don't necessarily input heat" you smiled gratefully at Connor and handed him your drink, taking care not to spill it. But as your hands connected, he grabbed your drink in one and took your hand in another. You stopped walking and gasped in surprise, looking at your linked palms. You turned your gaze up to his face and he was goofily smiling.

"I noticed your hands were cold. I have a setting that allows me to heat mine. Is this okay?" you melted, and looked at him with adoration as a soft smile spread across your face, lacing your hands with him, leaning in closer as well and bumping into him.

"Yes, this is definitely okay"

You walked all the way back to the station, hand in hand with Connor, both of you smiling like idiots.

Yeah, you started dating like a couple days later

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THANKS FOR READING

I hope this hasn't been done before, I added my own spin on it anyways

And I hope you enjoyed!! Its getting colder outside so this came to my mind

#dbh connor #dbh connor x reader #dbh rk800 #detroit become human #dbh hank

77 notes · View notes

owl-with-a-pen · 1 month

Text

Kara had been juggling so many duties over the last few days, it had really started to feel like she had a secret identity all over again. Her fingers had been a constant blur across her phone screen, so much that she’d jumped into several meetings without knowing what they were even about or – for that matter – that she had meant to have been leading them. She could have gotten away with that as Kara Danvers, but people tended to notice when Kara Zor-El got distracted - probably because it usually meant an Earth-wide threat was imminent.

She’d already had to reassure five separate co-workers that wasn’t the case, even going as far as cutting her final editorial meeting thirty minutes short so that everyone could start their Fridays early. Maybe that just made them more suspicious of her, but she was running out of time. Alex had already sent her three warning texts:

Car’s packed up, where are you?

Don’t make me call a DEO emergency just to get your butt out of there!

⌚👈🏻 ???

Kara rolled her eyes, catching her tongue between her teeth as she scanned the most recent notification. She sent a quick ‘OMW’ before slinging her bag across her shoulder.

She was halfway out the office door when a voice stopped her in her tracks.

“So, any plans this weekend?”

Kara froze.

Cat Grant usually spent her Friday afternoons lamenting all the charity dinners and extracurriculars she’d be forced to attend while Kara nodded along with a well-practiced sympathetic grimace locked in place. She’d long since accepted this as a one-sided expectation. After all, Cat didn’t really do small talk. Call it the journalistic disposition, but no question of hers ever came without intention.

She’d posed this particular question with an expectant air, her fingers loosely linked beneath her chin as she watched Kara with cat-like patience from behind her desk.

Kara took a shallow breath, knowing already what those piercing eyes were trying to gauge. “Actually,” she said, treading carefully, “I’m out of town this weekend. I’m visiting my adoptive mom with my sister.”

Cat’s lips twitched with something predatory. She lifted her chin, snatching up a pen from her desk so that she could play idly with the clicker. Every click was as intentional as her question, drilling deep into Kara’s skull. “Ah,” she said, nodding slowly, “and so I suppose one would assume that there won’t be much Supergirl activity to account for, then?”

Kara laughed, fiddling nervously with the collar of her blouse. “Even Supergirl needs a vacation every once in a while. You’ve seen the figures, crime is at an all-time low, National City can last a weekend without me.”

Cat watched Kara without expression, still clicking out a calculated rhythm. “I suppose,” she conceded lightly. “Especially with that new DEO division headed by your… friend, right? John?”

“J’onn,” Kara corrected.

“Yes, yes, that’s the one.” Cat bit her lip. “Wide shoulders.” Her eyes lost focus before she shrugged suddenly, setting down her pen with a prompt snap. “I wonder what he’ll be up to.”

“You know the DEO doesn’t give interviews,” Kara reminded her, trying and failing to hide the strain in her voice. “Not even to Supergirl.”

“Of course.” Cat pondered for a moment, cocking her head. “And the little green one works there too, doesn’t he?”

Kara sighed, the purposeful ignorance wasn’t lost on her, just as Cat had intended. She tipped her head back, resigning herself to the conversation. “What are you getting at, Ms Grant?”

Cat blinked, perfectly innocent. “Just counting heads. I only wonder if we’ll be seeing much of your Super Friends over the next few days… with you out of town, of course.”

Kara pursed her lips, drumming her fingers against the doorframe. “Well, they’re more than capable of managing themselves without me.”

“So, we will be seeing them?”

Kara spluttered. She’d really stepped into that one. “It’s a big city,” she recovered quickly, “I’m sure there’ll be out there somewhere.”

“Interesting,” Cat said, dragging the word out long enough to make Kara uncomfortable. She hummed to herself, running her index finger delicately over the items on her desk until she found her phone, snatching it up. “I need to make a few calls,” she decided, shooing Kara out of the room with her other hand. “Have fun with your—mother.”

Kara took that as her cue, making an awkward albeit flustered goodbye as she elbowed her way out the door. She didn’t try to listen in on the conversation once she was gone – she didn’t need to - Cat had seen through her as plainly as she had her old disguise.

Technically, what Kara had told her wasn’t exactly a lie. She would be seeing Eliza this weekend – after all, she’d been invited to Nia and Brainy’s wedding, too.

It didn’t matter, Kara rationalised as she hurried into the elevator, Cat could call on every source she had available to her and she still wouldn’t be getting this scoop. No one would. Kara had been incredibly thorough about that, using fake names when it came to bookings, throwing out red herrings to rival news outlets, all to ensure that the media didn’t get even one whiff of what was going down. No one was getting a camera into the service on her watch – well, except the photographer, and Kara had already run a series of extensive background checks on her.

As for general media speculation – well, she’d already warned the bride and groom to be that there really wasn’t much she could do about that. Every magazine in the country was currently building up the clicks with Superhero news and, right now, Dreamer and Brainiac-5 were trending across all channels. Cat certainly hadn’t helped with that; she’d sunk her claws into the story the second Dreamer had first been spotted out toting a Legion ring of her own. To avoid public knowledge of future events, the Legion was something of a forbidden topic when it came to interviews and so, for anyone outside of the loop, Dreamer suddenly wearing a ring matching Brainy’s was certainly turning heads.

Engagement had been thrown around hundreds of times, with other outlets outright claiming that she and Brainy had been married in secret. Nothing had been confirmed or denied by either party, but Kara had to admit it– you only needed eyes to see the chemistry between those two. They fought as one entity, complimenting each other’s stances, supporting each other in the field so that they always fell into step with each other. Just last week, Brainy had swept Dreamer into his arms amidst an explosion they’d narrowly escaped and the shot had been headlining every newspaper not twelve hours later. They were anything but discreet and, honestly, Kara had a hunch they were starting to enjoy all the attention. It certainly made her job as Maid of Honour that much harder.

Hiding this wedding was probably shaving years off her life.

At least it would be worth it when she got to see Nia go down that aisle.

When her phone pinged again with a fourth text from Alex, Kara groaned out loud.

You just lost shotgun privilege.

She just had to get there first.

#supergirl #supergirl fanfiction #kara danvers #kara zor el #cat grant #brainia #brainiac 5 #nia nal #my writing #i know i know it's not the wedding fic yet but i had this little scene stuck in my head and it'll probably be how the fic starts.#i've still got a few things i need to shape out but for now enjoy this lil sneak peek #i still maintain that nia and brainy have secret identities post kara's reveal but also that makes the possibility of the media finding out #even more dangerous #also happy easter and trans day of visibility!

26 notes · View notes

kmhnsecretexchange · 5 months

Text

Title: shared secrets

Author: @toomanysongsrae

For: @/nyajimehinyata 💖💖

Pairings: Komaeda Nagito/Hinata Hajime

Rating: Teen

Prompt: Cramping Hajime is bedridden and Nagito helps and comforts him during the tough time and they cuddle together

A/N: I can never just write the prompt, there needs to be a silly little backstory lmao I hope you enjoy it, even though I took my liberties with the prompt! This was so much fun to write

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52563106

Hinata groans, pulling the thin covers over his head. It’s useless — it’s simply too loud in the Hope’s Peak infirmary, too bright, the bedsheets too starchy and itchy, the mattress too thin. He can’t get comfortable, and that means he stays tense, which does not help the matter.

He swallows down a wave of nausea, not wanting to throw up again. It always leaves him feeling even grosser than before, the slimy sensation of sickness on his tongue that makes his head spin and his stomach twist even harder.

This is stupid. This is why he decided to go on testosterone as soon as his doctor allowed it — well, this and the need to stunt any more of his stupid premature puberty that left him with curves in all the wrong places when all the other children still looked like, well, children.

He had always known he was a boy, much to his parents’ confusion and embarrassment. Thankfully, they wrapped their minds around it when they realized it wasn’t a phase and Hinata was not going to change his mind, and have been supportive of his journey ever since.

Japan, however, is not the most accepting of places for LGBTQ folk, so when he got into Hope’s Peak, an Academy renowned by being open-minded and accommodating to all students, Hinata made sure to tell the Headmaster that he wanted all of his records to state that he was male. Full stop.

Which is why he is hiding under that stupidly thin blanket on an uncomfortable bed in the school infirmary, a can of lemon soda on the bedside table — because he had to say to the uncaring nurse that he had a stomach bug of some kind. Stupid, he knows, but it gave him such a thrill to be able to pass as a cisgender male, that it was all worth it.

Just as Hinata resigns himself to spending the rest of the school day in pain, he hears a familiar, breathy voice.

“Komaeda?” He peeks his head out of the cover of the blanket to blink at the white-haired boy sitting on the examination table by the infirmary door, getting his hand bandaged by a very frazzled Tsumiki, with the bored-looking nurse observing over her shoulder.

“Hinata-kun!” Komaeda’s head whips in his direction, a genuine smile spreading across his pretty face. Hinata’s cheeks grow warm. “What are you doing here?”

Hinata shifts nervously. Him and Komaeda had recently gotten over their differences and began talking (…and other, more intimate, things), but Hinata hadn’t come out to him yet. It felt too awkward to mention in passing conversation, but there was also the chance that Komaeda would lose interest in him once he knew. And that… Hinata wasn’t sure he could deal with that just yet.

“Stomach bug,” he mumbles, lowering his eyes to Komaeda’s hand. “What happened to you?”

“Oh, nothing important!” Komaeda exclaims, waving his free hand dismissively. “I scratched myself, nothing major. You know how clumsy I can get!”

“W-w-well,” Tsumiki stutters. “It was ac-actually a b-b-big cut, K-Komaeda-san! And it’s r-r-r-risky, with y-your cond-conditio—,” Komaeda shoots her a dark look, making her squeak in fear and drop the roll of sterile bandages.

“It’s fine!” Komaeda lifts his bandaged hand, moving it around to show Tsumiki, Hinata and the nurse that the bleeding had stopped and the wound was properly covered. “See? I’m all good. You can go back to class, Tsumiki-san!”

The nurse nods and goes back to sit at her desk, whipping out a gossip magazine, featuring their senpai, Maizono-san, on the cover.

“A-alright, Komaeda-san,” Tsumiki bows deeply to him, then turns to bow at Hinata as well. “R-rest a little, p-p-please! And get better soon, H-Hinata-san!”

Hinata nods goodbye at her absent-mindedly, ignoring her fumbling exit and choosing instead to watch Komaeda as he jumps off the exam table and makes his way over to him.

“So, stomach bug?” Komaeda sits himself on the edge of the bed, facing Hinata. He wrings his hands in his lap for a moment before extending one to carefully push a stray lock of Hinata’s fringe away from his forehead. It’s an intimate gesture in a semi-public place, and Hinata’s eyes dart towards the nurse, but she seems too focused on the magazine to pay them any attention. “My poor Hinata-kun…”

Hinata flushes, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. “It’s okay,” he mumbles. He’s considering pulling a hand out from underneath the blanket and running his fingertips along Komaeda’s delicate knuckles, asking him what happened to his hand, maybe entwine their fingers if he feels brave enough, but another cramp hits him hard, and all he can do is curl tighter, his eyes squeezing shut as he tries to stave off the newest wave of accompanying nausea.

Komaeda’s fingers comb through his hair sweetly, and all Hinata wants to do is melt into his touch. “Sorry,” he eventually says, wincing internally at how frail his voice sounds. “I’m not the best company today.”

When he opens his eyes again, Komaeda is frowning at him with concern in his silvery eyes. “Hinata-kun,” he murmurs, “you should probably go home and get some proper rest.”

Hinata shakes his head, then has to close his eyes for a second as the room tilts dangerously. “No, it’s fine! I gotta go back to class anyway.”

“You’re definitely not going back to class,” Komaeda says, a pale eyebrow lifted. God, Hinata loves how expressive his face is. He watches as the pale boy whips out his phone and taps the screen a few times before slipping it into his pocket again. “Come on. I’m taking you home.”

“Ah,” Hinata winces. He doesn’t want to go back to his room. It’s a shared dorm, and his dorm mate, another boy from the reserve course, is the loudest, messiest, boy-est person he’s ever met. “It’s— it’s okay, I’ll just stay here.”

“You misunderstand me,” Komaeda smirks, helping Hinata sit up and grabbing his shoes. “I know you share a dorm room, so — I’m taking you to my place.”

“A-ah.” Hinata repeats, flushing again. They haven’t been in each other’s rooms yet, so this feels more intimate than anything they had done before — even more intimate than making out in the hidden corner of the reserve course library, apparently. “What— what about your classes?”

“We’re not graded by attendance in the main course. And don’t worry,” he says faux-casually, kneeling next to the bed and slipping Hinata’s shoes onto his feet, neatly tightening the laces before tying them in a pretty little bow. “Nothing has to happen between us, it’s just so you have a more comfortable space to rest in.”

Komaeda glances up, and Hinata notices his cheeks are flushed a pretty pink. He has pale, faint freckles on his nose, Hinata realizes — it makes his heart race to notice such a tiny detail.

“Unless you don’t want to?” He asks, head cocked to the side as he stands back up, holding his hand out to Hinata.

“No, no, yeah, it’s…,” he fumbles, taking Komaeda's extended hand and standing up. Hinata looks up those two inches Komaeda has on him and meets his eyes, sees the tentative hope in their depths — his pulse stutters at how close they’re standing. He smiles through the dull, constant pain in his lower back and stomach. “That sounds… really nice.”

——

They ride to Komaeda’s home in a sleek black car, with tinted windows and a privacy screen separating them from the driver — the driver, who wears a black suit and hat, as well as white driving gloves, just like you see in those Hollywood movies, and who opened the door for both of them with nothing more than a polite nod. It’s fancy and foreign, and Hinata sits stiffly, hoping he doesn’t bleed onto the obviously expensive cream leather seats.

Komaeda sits by the opposite window, his tie and top button half undone. He’s watching the world fly by outside the car window, but his hand rests on the seat between them, palm up in an obvious invitation.

Hinata breathes through the sharp pain of a new cramp, and places his hand in Komaeda’s.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees the other boy smile.

——

After the shock of the fancy car and the polite driver, Hinata shouldn’t be feeling the way he is — and yet, surprise and wonder flows through him as Komaeda leads him inside his home. Well, inside his mansion.

He kicks off his shoes in a daze, gawking at the wide expanse of white marble floors and tall ceilings, the walls decorated by expensive paintings. As Komaeda takes him by the hand up the lavish staircase with an ornate handrail, he can’t help but feel like he’s in a museum, not a home. It feels too performative, too impersonal. Hinata wonders what Komaeda’s parents do to have such an opulent home.

Finally, after it feels like he just took a tour through the Louvre, Komaeda rushes him into an actual, lived-in space. “Stay here,” he says, ducking into what has to be the en-suite bathroom as Hinata looks around the potted plants, filled bookshelves, and piles of magazines about Hope’s Peak Academy. He’s such a fanboy, he thinks fondly, pretending the walls of his own bedroom at home aren’t covered in posters of Hope’s Peak alumni.

“There, change into these — hopefully they’ll fit alright,” Komaeda smiles, handing him a set of pyjamas that are softer than anything Hinata ever touched before. He sheepishly hopes he doesn’t bleed through — everything here is worth more than his own existence. “I’ll be right back.”

Hinata changes into the soft, comfy pyjamas, his heart just as soft for a short moment. Who could have told him that Komaeda — harsh, sneering, uppity Komaeda, the who teased and taunted him for being a mere reserve course — that this Komaeda was the same as that Komaeda. He smiles, touching the lapel of Komaeda’s signature green jacket, and then something inside him clenches — literally— and he has to hold onto the desk chair. He feels so sick so suddenly that he’s unsure if he can stay upright for much longer, so he half-shuffles, half-stumbles to the bed, cradling his stomach, dark spots at the edge of his vision. Even his thighs are cramping, the muscles winding themselves so tightly into knots that he falters and tilts forward, collapsing onto the bed in a moaning heap. Fuck.

Of course, Komaeda choses that moment to walk back in the room, arms full of items he haphazardly drops onto the desk. “Hinata-kun!” He exclaims, rushing over to a curled up Hinata and placing a cold hand on his back. “Are you okay?”

Hinata groans into the plush comforter, embarrassment creeping over him.

“Hmm,” Komaeda hums sympathetically, rubbing his hand over his spine, up, then down, then soothing circles on the small of his back, right where it aches. “Get under the covers, will you, Hinata-kun? I’ll help.”

Hinata nods, feeling grateful, if a little pathetic, and shuffles into Komaeda’s bed. The mattress is nice, without any springs pushing through and poking him in the ass, and the bedsheets slide over his skin pleasantly, cooling his feverish skin. His eyes slide shut without him thinking about it, the quiet, shaded room doing wonders to his nausea, and even though he’s half-sitting, slouched uncomfortably forwards, he feels closer to falling asleep than he did in the two hours he spent laying down in the infirmary ward at Hope’s Peak.

Komaeda touches his shoulder gently. “Ah, and, Hinata-kun,” he says, fingertips touching the cropped hair at the nape of his neck, “you should take off your binder before laying down.”

Crap.

Hinata freezes, his eyes staring unseeing at the light grey duvet. Crap, crap, crap! He hadn’t come out to Komaeda yet, not because he hadn’t wanted to, but because… Well, truthfully, because he’d been scared. What if Komaeda lost interest in him? What if Komaeda felt… betrayed, lied to? Or, worse yet — what if Komaeda didn’t care, because he wasn’t actually that into Hinata, because this was just a bit of fun to him? All of these, and worse, had made Hinata’s insides shrivel in panic, and so he hadn’t told him. And now… Now Komaeda knows, somehow, and must be feeling so disappointed in him.

Hinata bites his lower lip and reaches behind himself for the binder clasp. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Komaeda politely busying himself with the items he had dropped onto the desk, and shame overflows from his pores, from his bloodstream, from his eyes. He rips his binder off and throws it somewhere close to the rest of his clothes, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand before laying down in a foetal position, facing away from Komaeda’s tall, slender figure.

Fuck. He should have said no to Komaeda back then, should have stayed in the uncomfortable infirmary cot and suffered, in silence, all alone, like he deserves for continuously failing to meet even the lowest of other people’s expectations of him.

“Hinata-kun,” Komaeda murmurs, brushing Hinata’s hair back with gentle fingers. “I have some tea for you.”

“S’okay,” Hinata murmurs moodily. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. I’ll be out of your hair soon. Sorry.”

Komaeda shuffles behind him, then places the mug on the nightstand. Hinata hears him step away from the bed, and smiles bitterly. There, just as he deserves.

But Komaeda walks back towards him. The bed shifts behind Hinata’s back, and then there’s a hand on his back again. “Alright, no tea,” Komaeda says quietly. “How about a hot water bottle, then? It always helps me whenever I’m cramping.”

It takes Hinata longer than he’d like to admit for the words to register in his brain. Does Komaeda mean…?

Pushing through the debilitating pain, Hinata sits up and turns himself around to face Komaeda. “You mean…?”

Komaeda smiles at him. “What, you thought you were the only trans kid at a school like Hope’s Peak?” He chuckles, not unkindly, and touches Hinata’s hand again, his thin, pale fingertips curling around Hinata’s thicker, tanner ones. “Half of my class is trans, Hinata-kun, myself included.”

“Oh.” Hinata licks his lips sheepishly, then curls up again. “Ow…”

Komaeda passes him the tea with a quirked eyebrow. “Drink. I’m getting changed and then I’ll rub your back while you rest.”

——

Hinata thanks whatever higher power there is that his cramping hit him on a Thursday, because it lets him spend the rest of the weekend at Komaeda’s. That Friday he’s practically bedridden, fighting back a migraine and waves of horrible cramping that leave him silently weeping in pain — thankfully he has Komaeda taking care of him, getting him cold patches for his forehead and hot water bottles for his stomach, rubbing his back and petting his head and kissing him all better. Hinata feels pampered, loved even, and he recovers quicker than ever.

By Saturday afternoon, he’s able to have lunch with Komaeda on his balcony, holding his hand and gawking at his view of Hope’s Peak campus. They share a lot about themselves on that weekend — about their families (or lack of it, in Komaeda’s case), about coming out, about their hopes for the future. Hinata learns about Komaeda’s health issues, about how bitter and hopeless he had felt when he started at Hope’s Peak, about how he is now starting to see a glimmer of hope in his future, and thinks about how lucky he is to be close to someone like Komaeda.

They learn about each other that weekend and find themselves falling harder for the other. On Sunday evening, when Komaeda’s driver takes Hinata home to his dormitory, they cuddle up on the backseat, sharing quiet laughs and quick kisses. Unwilling to let each other go, it takes them over thirty minutes to part ways, and only after a promise to meet for lunch on Monday does Hinata leave the car, slipping into his dorm building without looking back so he wouldn’t give into the temptation of going back into Komaeda’s arms.

He steps over the carelessly discarded books and chocolate wrappers on the floor and quickly changes into his pyjamas, still on cloud nine. He crashes onto the bed, the springy mattress poking his back, and pulls the scratchy covers over his head. He smiles at his phone, at the new photo of himself and Komaeda that he had just set as his wallpaper, pink-cheeked and squished together to fit into the phone camera, and then smiles wider as a notification from the other boy pops up.

Even though his body aches from two days of cramping, even though the bed is infinitely less comfortable than Komaeda’s, even though he’s alone in the middle of someone else’s mess — Hinata feels like he’s never been happier.

#kmhnsecretexchange #submission #fanfiction #sfw #suggestive #komahina #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #sdr2 #dr3

11 notes · View notes

kittenofdoomage · 1 year

Text

Risk And Reward

Fandom: Supernatural

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lawyer!Sam Winchester x female!reader

Prompt: LawyerSammy - fucking his secretary in his office - pining after his secretary and finally making a move

Word Count: 1653

Warnings: interoffice sexual encounters, power imbalance, smut, dirty talk

It had been six months of hell since you’d been picked from the pool to be Sam Winchester’s new assistant since Rita retired and you could understand why she had. Aside from the fact that your boss was devastatingly handsome, he also had a ridiculous workload, and he didn’t seem to be happy with your work no matter how perfect you tried to be.

You’d finally hit breaking point after the last client, despite landing the account easily. Sam’s temper was getting worse and he was beginning to become downright rude towards you. A friend on the other side of town had put your name forward for a position at a rival firm and you’d accepted, typing up a resignation letter that was sitting on your desk, waiting to be handed to Sam in person.

He’d just finished a meeting and had requested not to be disturbed for lunch. You waited until the designated time and picked up your letter, knocking politely on his office door and waiting for him to grant you entry.

Your nerves grew as you stepped into the office, finding him at the window, staring out over the city with his hands in his pockets.

“What is it, Y/N?” he asked, sounding weary.

“Um, I needed to give you something,” you forced out, trying not to shake as you approached, stopping a few meters behind him and holding your letter out.

Sam turned, dark eyes landing on you, then the letter. He took it, tearing it open as he watched you for a second before looking down to read the contents. His expression was indistinguishable and you waited nervously, wringing your hands. “I see,” he murmured.

“I’m happy to work out my notice here or I can help in general admin,” you stammered, avoiding his gaze as it settled on you.

“May I ask you something?”

The request stunned you and you felt silent, nodding hesitantly.

“Are you leaving because of me?” You froze, unsure how to answer. His lips twitched and he chuckled, shaking his head. “I must confess, Y/N, it would be a shame to lose such a talented assistant. It’s rare to find someone so competent in their abilities.”

You couldn’t help the outburst. “Then why are you so mean to me?” you demanded.

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You never said thank you,” you whispered miserably. “Not once. I busted my ass for six months and you’ve treated me like I have the plague or something.” His expression remained neutral and you felt like you could growl in frustration. “Yes. I’m leaving because of you. I love the work here, Mr. Winchester, but the atmosphere is… it’s toxic.”

For a second, he stared at you, then he dropped his chin to his chest, looking at the letter again. “It wasn’t my intention to be toxic,” he said quietly. “But I have a good reason for my behavior, if you would like to hear it.” You lifted your chin, folding your arms across your chest. “The problem is, if I tell you, there could be consequences, so I would request that you take what you hear lightly, and if it offends you, you are free to leave now, and you’ll be paid until the end of your notice period.”

The announcement was strange and piqued your curiosity. You took a breath, watching him closely. “What’s the reason?” you asked tentatively.

Sam smiled. “It’s stupid really. I find you incredibly attractive and I thought simply disregarding you would make it easier not to imagine bending you over my desk and fucking you blind.”

Your jaw dropped in tandem with your arms. The beat of your heart sped up a little, moisture pooling in your panties as you stared at him, almost unable to process what he’d just said. He waited, watching, an expression on his face that was a mixture of amusement and… expectation.

“As I said,” he muttered, standing a little straighter, “you’re free to leave.”

“Y-you… you find me attractive?”

He tilted his head. “Out of everything I said, that’s the thing you question?”

You spluttered, feeling heat creep up your neck. “I mean, that last part was - and the -” Huffing, you took a step back. “I really wasn’t expecting that. I thought you just hated me or something.”

“The polar opposite,” he drawled, holding up your letter. “You really don’t have to leave. I can… amend my attitude.”

“How?” you asked, making no move to take the letter back. “I mean, you just told me you want to, to - there’s a phrase for that, Mr. Winchester. It’s called sexual harassment.”

“Which is exactly the reason I never acted on my feelings,” he pointed out. “But I didn’t intend on making you feel like you have the plague. You’re a charming and capable young woman, Y/N. I would be remiss as an employer to let you go without a fight.”

You couldn’t get the image out of your head, of letting him do exactly as he’d said. There was no doubt in your mind that Sam Winchester would be an amazing lover, though the moral implications and possible consequences for your career could be difficult. “Can you promise you won’t be an ass?”

He smirked. “I can’t promise to never be an ass, we all have bad days.”

“Okay then, don’t treat me like you hate me. I might only be an assistant, Mr. Winchester, but I’m good at my job and I enjoy it.”

“It’s Sam,” he replied.

“Huh?”

“You can call me Sam.”

“Sam,” you tested, feeling an odd warmth in your belly.

His eyes darkened. “Maybe that’s a bad idea,” he murmured, unconsciously closing the gap between you. “Hearing you say my name…” He went still, looking down at you hungrily. “This is why I distanced myself. You have this affect on me that makes me want to -”

There was a warning on the tip of your tongue, a voice trying to remind you that he was your boss, that any encounter with him was probably the worst idea, but he was magnetic, pulling you in with simply a look. You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze boldly.

“Make you want to what, Sam?”

His hand curled around your hip, tugging you forward until you were flush with his body. “I believe I already told you.”

The first kiss was bruising and every ounce as hungry as you expected. He dropped your letter, letting it float to the ground as he manhandled you towards the desk, glancing at the door in concern.

“Everyone’s out at the conference,” you whimpered, grabbing his hand as it shoved up underneath your skirt. He found your panties easily, plucking them to the side so he could sink a single thick digit into your soaked cunt. “Oh -”

“Sssh,” he mumbled, nipping at your throat. “Need to be quiet.”

You yelped as he shoved you forward, hauling your skirt up over your ass before pulling your panties down, sliding his finger back inside you. After a couple of thrusts, he added a second, stretching you out as you squirmed face-down on the desk. It was hard to swallow down your cries at just his fingers, so you were unsure if you’d be able to keep quiet when he fucked you.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispered, lazily fucking his fingers into you. “I need to hear it.”

“I want this,” you whined, wiggling impatiently, unable to think of anything but having him inside you. “Please.”

He groaned, and you heard the zipper lowering on his pants. Curiosity had you twitching in his hold, wanting to see him but he was too quick, pressing the blunt hot head of his cock right against your soaked hole. With one slow thrust, he was halfway inside, and you gasped as you tried not to scream, clinging to the edge of the desk as if you could ground yourself against the unbelievable pleasure.

Sam moaned low in his throat, pulling back an inch or two before sliding back inside until he was fully sheathed, panting against your back. You closed your eyes, clenching around him, smirking when he almost snarled at the sensation.

“Just so you know,” he muttered, “there’s no policy against interoffice romance here.”

“I think there’s always a policy about fucking your boss,” you hissed back, whimpering when he gave a short shallow thrust that reminded you of the thick cock inside you. “But we’re a bit beyond that now.”

“Maybe I just need to get you out of my system,” he growled, grabbing hold of your ponytail. You yelped, feeling your own body respond with a flood of moisture and he chuckled, rocking his hips into you. “You really are intriguing.”

“Are you gonna talk all afternoon or are you gonna fuck me?”

He bared his teeth, lifting a little to pull back, slamming into you with a force that made you gasp for breath. There wasn’t any more talk as he started to move in earnest, gripping your hair with one hand and your ass with the other, fucking you harder and harder on each stroke. You tried to keep quiet, unable to do anything but endure the pleasure, and it wasn’t long before you were cumming hard on his thick cock, shuddering around him until he slowed.

“You’re gonna take the afternoon off,” he hummed. “Make your decision. I can’t promise that now I’ve had a taste of you -” He punctuated his words with another hard thrust, forcing a whine from your lips. “- but the decision on what happens next is up to you. We can continue, we can stop, you can stay or go.”

“O-okay,” you managed, gasping when he pulled you up against his chest, releasing your hair to grope your tits through your shirt.

“But right now,” he continued, “I want to fill this tight little pussy up with cum.”

#sam winchester #sam x reader #supernatural #spn #fanfic #fanfiction #au #smut #sinful sunday

62 notes · View notes

thisgirlnamedblusy · 1 year

Note

yay!!! thank you can i request a student reader x marilyn (the name is laura) smut 🫶🏽🫶🏽

i really can’t think of a plot tbh all of the good ones have been requested 😭😭

Yes!! Here it is!! :) Sorry about the language mistakes.

What do you want?

Pairing: Marilyn Thornhill x Fem Student! Reader (OC Laura, as requested)

Warnings: Smut, strong language, semi public sex

Word count: 1,162

Summary: You are interested on her, but you don’t know how to make her to pay attention to you

N/A: Requests are open!!! I love all your ideas :)

You were in class, not paying attention. You only whispered together with your partner. Botany class at least didn't bore you as much as the others, and for one good reason. Marilyn Thornhill was that reason. Since you met her, you couldn't help but behave badly to get her attention, since it seemed that for her you barely existed.

“Laura, would you mind repeating what I just said?” The teacher asked, causing your cheeks to blush.

“Um, I don't know. It's just that it's hard for me to hear you from here, Miss Thornhill,” you said with a certain cockiness. Your partner looked at you, surprised with your answer and lowered her head.

Marilyn sighed in resignation.

“I don't think it would hurt you to put yourself here then, there are two free seats right in the front row,” she answered you. You expected her to say something like that. You decided not to make things more difficult and obey your teacher, taking your stuff and going to the indicated place.

Reluctantly you dropped the stuff on the old table and snorted. The teacher shook her head, completely ignoring your behavior.

The class continued as usual, until the bell rang. You got up and started to walk towards the exit, but a hand on your arm stopped you.

“Laura, stay a moment,” the redhead told you, with a look that didn't tell you anything good.

“I have a class of nocturnal creatures now,” you said, extricating yourself from her grip with pride.

“I don't care,” she answered you. “You and me are going to have a few words.”

“What have I done?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“Laura, you were one of my best students months ago, but your grades have dropped considerably. You dedicate yourself to bothering and talking to your colleagues, and you don't pay attention.”

“Oh, have you noticed? I thought you didn't even what my name was,” you said ironically. Marilyn blinked rapidly, stunned by that statement.

“What are you saying?” She asked.

“Well, what I think, Marilyn,” you said, emphasizing her name.

“I know all my students, Laura. And I pay the same attention to each of them.”

“Maybe you paid more attention to me when I came to class with a skirt, or with a low cleavage…”You whispered, with a suggestive tone.

Marilyn looked at you somewhat scared, and her hands began to shake.

“What?” She asked, indignant. “If you continue with that attitude, I'm going to have to talk to Principal Weems.”

“Yes, do it. I'll have to tell her how you looked at my breasts through my shirt when you thought I wasn't noticing…” You whispered, taking a step closer to her.

“I want you to go, right now,” the redhead ordered, pointing to the door.

“Are you sure you want me to go? I think you’re not, I think you want me to stay.”

You were already so close to her that Marilyn couldn't run back, instead she collided with her desk. Her gaze darkened as she found herself cornered.

“What do you want, Laura?” She asked you, hissing.

You laughed victoriously, standing so close to her that you could hear her nervous breathing. You subtly approached her ear, licking your lips before speaking.

“I want you,” she whispered, placing both hands on her desk, blocking any escape route for the redhead.

Marilyn moved a bit, but she didn't push or yell at you. She seemed to be thinking what to do, as she looked around. Suddenly her hand went straight to your hair, pulling it hard. You hissed, but you kept that smug smile on your face.

“You are very cheeky. I am convinced that it was not by chance that you dressed like a whore when you came to my class. Maybe you're the one wanting me to look at you...” She told you with a brusque, but suggestive tone.

“Shall we check it?” You asked, withdrawing a bit and reaching for the buttons of her work clothes, undoing them one by one.

Marilyn looked at you as you slowly uncovered her chest. Her grip on your hair loosened, not quite letting it go.

When there was enough bare skin, you reached in and caressed her chest under her clothing. The redhead started to gasp, but she didn't move. She didn't do anything.

She soon reacted, now grabbing your chin. A passionate kiss came later, messy, hungry. Her free hand gripped your ass hard, lifting your leg up. You widened your eyes and bit your lip.

“Put yourself against the table and pull down your panties, now,” she ordered, pulling away from you.

“Here?” You asked raising and lowering your eyebrows.

"Do as I tell you," he whispered to you, as he turned you around grabbing your shoulders.

Impatient, she did the job, running her hands under your skirt, grabbing the hem of your underwear.

“They're going to catch us…” You said jokingly, letting the item of clothing slide down your legs, falling to your ankles.

“Is that you want? What do they see a young lady like you enjoy my fingers?” She asked you with a childish tone.

You nodded, as Marilyn pushed down your back slightly, stroking your center from top to bottom.

“Beg, Laura. Tell me you want me to fuck you, here and now,” she told you, while her fingers played between your folds.

You laughed mischievously, with your head resting on the wooden table.

“Please, Marilyn. Make me yours...” You murmured, unable to see what was happening behind you.

Her fingers entered abruptly, causing you a slightly indiscreet gasp. Her pace was constant, causing you to tap the table each time she moved.

The conservatory was filled with muffled groans and thuds on the wood. When you thought you had reached the limit, the redhead realized it, slowing down.

“Poor silly girl…” She whispered mischievously. “You're so desperate that you can't last even five minutes, huh?”

You did not answer. You just moved your hips to try to increase the pleasure. You weren't going to agree with her, you wanted to release yourself, and you wouldn't allow her to stop , even though in reality you had been wanting something like that for months.

Marilyn finally took pity on you, moving her fingers just as you needed. With a moan inappropriate for that place, and for that time of day, you arched your back and reached the peak of pleasure.

You turned around when her fingers left your body, hanging from her neck and kissing her messily.

The redhead put a hand on your chest, stopping you.

“You already have what you wanted, Laura. Now get out of my sight,” she told you grimly.

You nodded, licking your lips and putting your underwear back on.

“I still haven't shown you what I can do, Marilyn,” you said mockingly.

“If you’re good, maybe I'll let you do it. But tomorrow, I want you in a shorter skirt.”

#marilyn thornhill #marilyn thornhill x reader #laurel gates #wednesday #ms thornhill #oneshot #smut

23 notes · View notes

poisonouswritings · 2 years

Note

OZZY HELLO HI

if you would like and ur not busy 👉👈 i have a fluffy request for you

cat ilephta!mc *cough* val *cough* who’s never been scratched behind the ears before and he’s like how?? have you been depraved??? of such wholesome pleasure???

and so he scratches behind ur ears and ahhhhhhhhhh why didn’t you ask him to do this sooner

and then you start to purr and you startle yourself with it and he’s like >:) haha who’s the one purring now >:) and ur like shut up but you don’t dare tell him to stop

pleaSe i need to feel something

your obedient servant,

Ven

HI VEN!!! I'm never too busy for you :)

ehehehe i love val. she deserves headpats and scritches and to play with a laser pointer actually. I would write a proper scene for her but I do not trust my abilities to write her well enough so

GN!Reader, fluffy and wholesome, I'm a little rusty but I'm doing my best aofkfjisak

-----

"... What?"

You look up from your book. The confusion in Sage's voice makes your ears reflexively prick and the tip of your tail twitch. Though his tone isn't judgmental there's something about the curve of his lips that makes you self-conscious. "It's not that big of a deal."

Is it?

Sage finally rises from the pile of your pillows he'd been rolling around on. From where youre sitting at the desk, you can see white fur sticking stubbornly to the pillowcase.

"Haven't you ever been curious?"

He's giving you those big begging eyes, ears flattened against his hair and tail flicking back and forth. You're still not really sure if he actually has any canine in his blood, but he's certainly acting like it now. Especially with the slight whine at the end of his words.

You know him well enough to know what he's getting at.

Embarrassment prickles at the back of your neck. You want to look away but it's hard when he's staring at you like that. Especially when he slowly blinks - a cat's version of a smile. And when he sees the flush creeping up your cheeks, he grins.

"Aw, come on," he purrs. "Promise I'll be gentle~"

You hiss but there's no malice behind it. Especially not with how warm your cheeks are. Sage just laughs in response. Knowing he won't drop it now that he's got his fangs in something, you give a resigned sigh and mark your page with a loose slip of parchment.

"Alright, alright. Just keep everything over the shirt - I've gotta get that book back to Felix soon."

"Whatever you say."

Sage is smiling so big you see the tips of his fangs. He eagerly pats the spot in front of him, and you hop onto the bed so the mattress bounces just a little. You sit with your back facing his chest. The familiar warmth settles over you and helps to calm your nerves. You trust Sage, of course, but doing anything for the first time is scary. Plus, what if you-

... oh.

........oooooh.

Your thoughts fade away into a mushy pile as you slump back into Sage's arms. You're used to hearing his purrs but it's entirely different feeling it vibrate in your own chest. You instinctively tilt your head this way and that, trying to find the perfect spot. You could die right now and be happy.

The only thing that begins to being you out of your trance is Sage's laughter rumbling against your back. He nuzzles his cheek against the side of your head, making sure not to stop scratching.

"Heh. Look who's loud now."

You lightly elbow him in the side, enjoying the sensation far too much to string any words together. Your tail finds his, winding lazily around until they're entwined.

And you hear him purr softly in kind.

#last legacy #fictif last legacy #fictif #sage lesath #sage lesath x reader #fictif sage #last legacy sage #fren asks

64 notes · View notes

mint-yooxgi · 2 years

Note

Yan!Boss Jaehyun got furious when he found out that reader would be moving to another company, so he rejects their resignation letter and proposes them to be his lover instead

(Glad to see you posting new updates again 🤗hope you're doing fine~)

A soft knock from his office door has Jaehyun lifting his head from the papers on his desk, his lips tugging upwards slightly. "Come in."

Not even a moment later, his door is opening to reveal you, a wary smile on your face as you step into his office, "you wanted to see me?"

"Yes," a full on smile spreads across his lips now, yet his eyes remain intent upon your figure as he clasps his hands in front of him on top of his desk. "Please, sit."

In all your years working for him, you know he's not asking.

A small silence settles over the both of you as he observes you carefully. Beneath his intense gaze, you shift uncomfortably.

"I wanted to discuss something with you," he begins, his hand sliding over the topmost paper on his desk and pushing it towards you. "In particular, this."

Sparing a glance at the sheet he's just slid over to you, you see your resignation letter sitting in front of you. Your brow furrows, but you remain silent.

"I hear that you plan to switch over to work for Lee Tech in the coming weeks. Is that true?" His gaze is cold, calculating.

"Yes." Your singular nod confirms it. "What seems to be the issue with my resignation?"

"The problem," he shoots you a pointed look, his heart now thundering in his chest at what your admission means, "is that you're leaving me."

When he first saw the letter, he thought it was someone's idea of a bad joke. You couldn't be serious. How could you leave him after all this time? After all that you've been through together? Jaehyun just can't let you go so easily, you mean too much to him.

No, he won't let you go.

"I beg your pardon?" Your head tilts, voice portraying how caught off guard by his words you are.

"I do not accept your resignation."

You blink at him, incredulously. "You don't have a choice."

His jaw clenches. "You know the two of us have shared a special... bond of sorts throughout the years. I would hate for anyone else to have you. You are meant to be by my side, through it all. No matter what."

"What are you implying?" Your lips tighten into a thin line.

"I have a preposition for you." He takes your silence as waiting for him to continue. "Marry me. Let me care for you in all the ways that I know how, and more. I want you. I need you. You cannot leave me like this."

Taking this opportunity, he pulls out the ring he's always had stored in the top drawer of his desk for you. Ever since that first week the two of you met all those years ago, he's known that you are the only one for him, and like hell is he going to lose you to the Lee's of all people.

You're his, and nothing will change that.

With your gaze now focussing on the ring presented to you on his desk, your eyes widen in shock. Slowly, your lips part, your absolute bewilderment of this situation showing on your face. You blink, certain you're imagining things. Once your vision clears and you see that ring still on the table in front of you, Jaehyun looking at you with that same intense stare you've come to know from him, you know you're not dreaming.

Closing your mouth, you swallow the sudden dryness in your throat as you meet his eyes. "No."

Jaehyun has the decency to look shocked for a moment before he's schooling his features into that smug grin you know he only wears when he knows he's about to get his way.

Throwing your own words back at you, Jaehyun leans back in his seat, "you don't have a choice."

#ask #yandere jaehyun #jaehyun drabble #yandere nct #nct drabble #drabbles #ceo au

262 notes · View notes

curse-04 · 2 years

Text

Written for @hinnyfest

Prompt 6: "You are speaking about my future Hisband/Wife. Be more respectful."

A/N: Remember that After the War Fic I talked about in Prompt 1? Yeah, this one's from that too. Again, it's not based on the prompt entirely, but it does fit the requirements.

It's an AU though, so keep that in mind while reading this.

-------

It was over.

After three years of hard work, duels, sleepless nights, and a lot of travelling, it was finally over. All the Death Eaters had been caught, Sebastian Greengrass being the last of them.

Harry and Ginny could finally be free now. She was free to pursue her career as a Quidditch player in the Holyhead Harpies, well, she would have to apply, try out, and then get selected first, but really, anyone would have to have been dropped on the head as a baby to not choose her.

He would be comfortable as a Professor, he thought. Being an Auror wasn't for those who wanted to start a family. Maybe he could have done well as a Hit Wizard, dealing with low level murders and robberies, but being an Auror wasn't for him anymore. He'd had his share of Dark Wizards thank you very much.

"You've got the resignation papers?" Ginny asked.

"Yes," Harry said absently, double checking to see if they had missed anything.

"I'll miss this," Ginny said, sighing. "Us working together."

"Yeah," Harry said. He'd miss it too, there was a different charm in working with her as he'd come to find out over the past few years. She'd been offered the Charms position at Hogwarts, but she wanted to be a Quidditch player, and as amazing as it would be to keep working with her, he would rather she fulfill her dreams first.

"I might take the Charms post if I don't make it," Ginny said, hugging him from behind.

"You'll make it," he said, turning around in her arms. "I'll train with you if you want."

She smiled into his chest. "You, my love, are a shit keeper," she pointed out.

"I am a decent Chaser, though," he said, not bothering to argue with her point. Even a baby could score a goal if Harry was the Keeper.

"True," she acknowledged. "Maybe we can kidnap Ron and make him practise Keeper with us."

He laughed. "Why do you always insist on kidnapping him instead of just asking?"

"He's my brother," she said, as though that explained everything. "Why else do you think?"

He just shook his head. Ron and Ginny's relationship wasn't something he'd understand anytime soon. One minute they were at each other's throats, the other saw them laughing like they were the closest siblings to have ever been born.

"Guess we should go," she said, letting him go.

"Yep," he replied, getting ready to stand up.

Just then, the door opened, and their boss, or rather, their ex-boss, walked in. "Potter, Weasley," Robards said. "I have a mission for you. Briefing is at five."

"Actually, we're quitting," Harry said, eager to get this over with. Really, if this wasn't a sign from Magic itself that they should quit, he didn't know what was.

"Sorry?" Robards asked, blinking.

"We're quitting," Ginny repeated. "We already told you, once the Death Eaters are caught, we're moving on to other things."

"Like what?" Robards asked, furrowing his brow.

"Gin's trying out for the Harpies, and I'm going to be the Defence Professor at Hogwarts," Harry replied stiffly.

Robards barked an incredulous laugh. "You're telling me that you're going to become a jock," he said, pointing at Ginny. "And you want to be a washed up Professor?" He asked, pointing at Harry.

"Careful there," Ginny said, an edge to her tone that sent shivers down even his spine. "You are speaking about my future husband. Be more respectful."

"Of course," Robards said mockingly, holding his hands up in defence. "I don't know what came over me. Have your letters at my desk before long. Honestly, it's a shame you're leaving, you could have been the best."

"Maybe," Harry said.

"But we wouldn't have been happy, that's for sure," Ginny continued.

"And what's the point of living if you aren't?" Harry asked rhetorically, handing Robards the papers as the man left.

"The nerve of him!" Ginny raged a moment after he left. Harry had already made sure to put up a good Silencing Charm.

"Thanks for that, by the way," Harry replied with a smile, while also trying to distract her from thoughts of Robards.

"For what?" She asked.

"The 'be more respectful' part," he said, smiling wider as Ginny blushed.

"It wasn't that much," she protested with an embarrassed laugh.

"It was to me," Harry said, placing his arms around her waist.

Ginny bit her lip. "Well, I know a way you can repay me," she said, placing her arms around his shoulders with a grin on her face.

"Oh?" He asked, leaning down with parted lips.

"Mhm," she said, kissing him and moving to whisper in his ear. "You can make me a chocolate cake when we get home."

With that, she pulled back and made her way out of the office- probably to say goodbye to the others like they'd planned before- as Harry just gaped after her with a smile. He caught up with her shortly after she left.

"Witch," he muttered, throwing an arm around her shoulders as she smiled.

"You're about to be married, love," she said, tutting at him disapprovingly. "Whatever would your wife think?"

"Oh she'd encourage this, I'm sure," he replied, shaking his head in amusement as she laughed.

Harry was suddenly struck with the thought that this was his life now- this banter with Ginny, Sunday Dinners at the Burrow after a Quidditch Game, Teddy… it was all his life, not someone else's like it felt to him all those years ago, and he couldn't help but pull her a little closer to him.

"Alright, love?" She asked as they were about to enter the Auror Headquarters.

He kissed the top of her head. "Never been better, Gin," he said, smiling at her. "Never been better."

#harry/ginny #hinny #harry x ginny #harry potter #ginny weasley #hinnyfest

38 notes · View notes

judas-is-so-so-silly · 1 year

Text

This is my addition to the @petrifyingpapas creative challenge :)

This weeks theme was resurrection and im super excited to particpate in the coming weeks :)

Being sneaky in a Satanic Ministry was odd, Copia thought to himself, instead of sneaking around in the dead of night and stalking the library for secret books he found himself going through his dead brother's diary at 11 am on a Tuesday.

“Why did this stupido idiota write all of his notes in a notebook for little girls?” Papa spat into the furry pink diary. He turned it over in his hands, searching for some sort of sigil or spell to show him Secondo was using the journal's cover as, well cover. But he found nothing. Copia was beginning to feel hopeless when a punctual knock interrupted his thoughts.

“Si accomodi!” He shouted as he threw the frilly thing into the trash. When Sister Imperator poked her head into her son's office his heart nearly stopped and as she rushed in, placing herself in the armchair across from Copia.

“C,” she mused, “I trust that you’ve been handling the last tour's finances just fine?” Copia straightened in his plush chair and cleared his throat,

“Of course Seestor, what else would I be doing?”

The graying woman massaged the bridge of her nose and sighed, gesturing to the stack of paperwork on his desk, on the floor, and every other surface in her son's spacious office. She gave C another look, up and down and the slow blink of I know you’re full of shit.

“Just making sure you weren’t dicking off, like with your,” she finger quoted, “receipts”.

Copia huffed, “Mammina I’m doing my things, leave me be!” He attempted to shoo her with a flippant wave of his hand before turning his faux attention to focus on a paper. He scanned over it with a sigh.

To his dismay, Sister stayed planted with her arms crossed and an expectant glare on her face. C resigned to signing the paper, flipping it over, signing it again, and putting it in a stack. He worked his way through the piles on his desk for hours while Sister tidied his office, she even put on a record when she realized her boy was humming a tune. And by the time she kissed him good night and he shooed her away, Copias entire desk was clear. He leapt up from his seat and looked up and down the moonlit hallway to make sure Sister was gone before he turned his attention back to the journal. The now glowing journal lit up the bin a deep green.

He kicked the trash bin over and the diary toppled to the floor, the rich, emerald green glow now spilled across the floor. C perched himself in his chair and gazed down at the thing, asking himself why it would be glowing. Maybe I should have cleaned that spilled juice better.

The notebook violently flipped itself open before squawking: “C! Copia! Merda di ratto per il cervello!” In a voice that sounded horribly similar to the second Papa Emeritus

Copia crawled down off his chair and onto the paper littered floor,

“Fratello?” C poked at the notebooks fuzzy exterior with a gloved hand, “The fuck are you doing in a notebook?”

The journal sighed, “I’m not in a notebook stupido.”

“Well where are you? You’re talking through a girly little diary for Satana’s sake!” Copia gasped, “Are you in virile inferno?” C giggled to himself at the memory of Secundo lifting weights saying he wouldn’t be a withered old man like pops.

“Il cazzo? No,” the notebook, Secondo, tutted at his little brother, “I don’t fucking know WHERE I am! And why in all of Santana's scorched plains are you going through my shit.”

Copia swallowed, “well it doesn’t matter, you’re here! Talking to me!” He scooped the notebook up with a giggle, “And now you can help me figure out why you’re dead!”

Secondo sighed and Copia swore he could feel his brothers breath, “You fucking idiot, that’s what you’ve been doing? You ascend to Papacy and you’re playing ministry Clue?” Secondo laughed, “Is Seestor that maid, Mrs White?”

“Stai zitto!” C shouted as the notebook heaved with laughter, “She would be Ms. Scarlet!”

The notebook continued to cackle, “You’re such a mommas boy! HA!”

C sighed and lounged on his office floor as he asked the notebook about hell, the afterlife, his death, and how in the world to run a Clergy full of unruly satanists with his mother breathing down his neck. Secondo answered each question in a reluctant tone but his little brother could tell he was enjoying talking to him. When C finally fell asleep, Secondo stayed. He stayed until Imperator heard him calling C awake. He even stayed when she snatched him off the floor and tossed him back into his old office. He stayed for his fratello, knowing he still had questions. And Terzo wouldn’t stop complaining that he hadn’t had a turn, so they definitely needed to find their way back to C.

Translations: (taken from google translate I’m sorry if they aren’t right)

“Stupido Idiota” - Stupid Idiot

“Si accomodi” - Come in

“Mammina” - Mommy

“Merda di ratto per il cervello!” - Rat shit for brains

“Fratello” - Brother

“Virile Inferno” - Manly hell

“Il cazzo” - The fuck

“Stai zitto” - shut up

#petrifyingpapas #ghost fanfiction #this was… not that great #but I’m getting out there again ig

11 notes · View notes

barebcnes · 6 months

Text

@fallenregent asked: “ I feel like I’m a whore in spirit but not in practice. ” [Some meme I reblogged | always accepting]

McCoy almost chokes on his coffee, almost kills himself this way by pouring the burning hot liquid of life into his windpipe - which would have, in return, turned into a liquid of death instead by making him suffer through third-degree burns, ultimately causing him to succumb to his internal injuries. He knows that's how things would've went - simply because Leonard usually receives the bad end of luck, and he's just that sad idiot who's going to get the worst of what's offered.

Thankfully, though, he does not - he just almost chokes, as said, which means he's able to breathe out a few strong coughs before too much of his coffee can get down into the wrong hole. It's followed up by the doctor clearing his throat, blinking a few times, lifting both of his eyebrows as a somewhat incredulous - and quite skeptical - look stretches along his features, hazel eyes flicking over to the woman's form.

"---Congratulations, I suppose.", is what he says then, clearing his throat once again as he realizes how rough his own voice sounds. He takes another sip of his drink, then lets out a sigh with such intensity that it could very well move the Enterprise itself between worlds - no warp needed - before he puts the cup down onto his desk. "Or - my condolences, whichever you prefer, really. Feel free to choose one."

It's that kind of day today, huh? Leonard lifts his brows once more, a mixture of disbelief and resignation reflecting on his face as he pulls out his medical tricorder, getting everything set up so he can start to scan her, as he'd wanted to do from the very first minute.

"---So, I suppose you're not sufferin' from any STD's, then. Noted." Not that he'd wanted to know, but... well. Makes sense to add it to the medical report anyways.

#fallenregent #Verse; Main #(I AM SO SORRY ABOUT THIS I AM SO SORRY I SWEAR I AM SO SORRY-----)#Dammit Jim - I'm a Doctor not a QUEUE!

5 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

tucute-reality

Archiving Real Life Experiences with Non-Dysphorics

ozziefroggie

aubadent

anti god attack force

imawakeithink

grow

geonuo1018

제목 없음