#I hope you lose your job because you should not be in a position where you can

[spookyboywhump]

Shout out to doctors and nurses on tiktok for proving why people distrust medical professionals

[lewmagoo]

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

[partycatty]

anything with Lord Raiden.... please.... GILF fuckers need something 😞

lord raiden > you unwind me

raiden can't seem to control himself... only when you're around.

warnings: idk it's kinda mushy ig, possibly ooc raiden. i played 8-12 and yet for some reason he's one of the hardest characters to recreate on paper.

notes: not stopping til we can power all of chicago.

[ masterlist ]

• you can't say you didn't notice how touchy he was, i mean, it was considerably obvious considering the distance he kept from the others.

• hands behind his back, posture straight, eyes down and concealed by the width of his hat. he was an enigma, yet you somehow made him twitch like no other.

• he was visibly unsettled around you, falling quiet with tight lips or even stuttering over his words momentarily before forgetting his mortal crowd.

• "if we were to attack from the northern border—" raiden's thick arm stretched past you, just barely brushing against your arm but his towering form sending warmth down your back.

• "excellent observation," his hand would fall to your shoulder, squeezing tight. you've had to pull away before his nails dig in on several occasions.

• "your form is off," the telltale indication of flirting in most men, his large hands on your hips as he corrects your mistakes in the thickest silence you've ever been in. jesus, does he even breathe?

• the smoky air of netherrealm flooded your senses, making you lose your momentum in the siege. raiden would often check on you from a distance as he obliterated demons and the like, but when he noticed a flying creature honing in on your position, he quickly teleported to your side and pulled you in close, teleporting you elsewhere on the battlefield. your body was significantly more... mortal than his. and with his incredible form, you were no more than chest height. the rest of the battle was a hot blur.

• you have also been a victim of electrocutions on multiple occasions, to the point where you almost had to host an intervention. he was so on edge around you, for a reason you couldn't pinpoint.

• "lord raiden," you welcomed yourself into the room with a bow, holding a metallic item he requested you retrieve. "i have the—" as he reaches out to grab whatever it was, the current from his fingertips reaches what felt like your entire nervous system and you jolted, yelping at the sudden shock.

• you'd walk into the surveillance room, hoping for an update on the spy cameras assembled at the black dragon's hideout. while it wasn't even raiden's priority, you observe that he stuck around anyway. you were dressed more down than unusual, relishing in the cool air on a hot summer day with a tank top with your work pants. when raiden locks eyes with you, the surveillance monitors go haywire, eventually blue screening. everyone knows who to blame.

• you can't really say you're opposed to it, either. he was a large man that was good with his hands, well-spoken, mature, what wasn't to like? he was the perfect eye candy during debriefings, though you knew better than to act on your little crush.

• "not sure what sparky's issue is over there," johnny murmured, pointing a thumb in raiden's direction. you both glance over, realizing raiden was quite literally doing nothing but standing there pretending to be useful. "he's short circuited more times than i can count in the last week alone. do you know how many monitors we've had to replace?"

• "it's hard being a protector of an entire realm," you attempt to justify his behavior. "you should talk to him."

• "yeah, because the god of thunder needs a therapist," johnny sarcastically chuckled, crossing his arms. "you give it a shot. he likes you."

• "he likes all of us," you defend yourself. "that's kind of his job." johnny shoots you a knowing look before turning to find cassie. you decide to take the moment of rare silence in the special forces to approach raiden with casual intent.

• "lord raiden," you smile politely, lowering your head for a moment. "on behalf of the special forces, i'd like to have a word with you." he gives you a hum of agreement, yet he's the one that grabs your arm and pulls you aside, out of earshot of others. he locks the door behind him as you two stand in the hallway.

• "er..." you feel yourself beginning to sweat, the seven foot tall man stares blankly at you, jaw clenched and arms crossed as he awaits your words. "i... we... have noticed a significant number of incidents pertaining to you or your powers. we were just wondering if everything is alright, and if you need anything, we—"

• "that is more than enough," raiden holds a hand out at you, and you swallow thickly as he uses your full name. a thunder god is not someone to be in trouble with. he pauses for a long time, eyes darting between yours. his lips part as he struggles to articulate his thoughts. "though i must admit i agree with your observations. i have been... unwound as of late."

• "unwound?" you repeat, perplexed at his wording. "is there something wrong, lord raiden?"

• he hums for a moment, lowering his head. "you will have to forgive me." your heart flutters at his usage of you, rather than the SF.

• "i do," your voice lowers into a more gentle tone and you feel the human urge to place a comforting hand on his arm. when you try, though, you feel your hairs raise up the closer you get. "sorry." as you pull away, a flush to your cheeks, raiden grabs your hand and squeezes it a little too tightly. that funny feeling disappears, and is replaced by a new one.

• "i have been earthrealm's protector for billions of years," he starts after a long pause. "i have seen the horrors afflicted by corrupted gods, i have taken part in the bloodiest battles of mankind. i have gained it all, and lost it all."

• you're stone still, wondering where he's going with this sudden burst.

• "but nothing... nothing," he squeezes even harder. "has torn me apart, piece by piece, more than one... little mortal." the glow of his eyes feels like it burns into yours as your cheeks heat up.

• "i feel as if i have known for since the dawn of time," he confesses, his face eerily still. "you'll have to forgive my bluntness. this is not my strong suit."

• "what isn't?" you had a feeling, but you needed to hear it to be sure.

• "...feelings, i suppose," he averts his gaze, clearly turmoiled by this realization. "it's you. you unwind me."

• "...me?" you reply incredulously. sure, you liked him, but what the hell do you do when a thunder god confesses to you? "you like me?"

• "if that is how you choose to word it, then yes."

• "oh." your eyes focus on his hand enveloping yours so easily. it's a few moments before he tugs ever so slightly, and the static feeling returns to your skin.

• "forgive me," he insists again, a wave of shame overtaking him. "i suppose it was a ridiculous ask of you to return those feelings. i would advise for you to for—"

• "i like you, too," you mutter, never once envisioning the time where you'd have to say such a thing. "i just didn't... expect it from you."

• raiden never smiles, as kind of a man as he is. you had maybe seen it once or twice, but it never quite reached his eyes. this time, however, he was glowing more so than usual as his lips curled upward. at first, it looked strange on him, but it quickly warmed your heart to know that you struck a chord in him.

• "that... brings me joy," he admits, and you can tell he's physically restraining himself from a full-on grin.

• well, what now? you two fall silent for a moment, electricity (for once, not real electricity) coursing through your veins as you relish in the moment. you wonder if he's waiting for a kiss, or for you to say something. these internal questions are answered when he takes a step closer, looming over your figure. his hands can't quite figure out where to land, eventually settling on the sides of your face. he drinks in every detail, every crease and flutter of color in your eyes like he just might forget if he looks away.

• you raise yourself on your tippy toes, eyes flicking between his glowing pupils to his lips. just as you decide to close your eyes and move in for a kiss, you feel him physically pull you away.

• "not here," he gently insists, dropping his hands to slide down your arms and hold yours. "i would rather it be memorable."

• "i'm sure it'll be memorable anywhere," you insist, almost feeling desperate for a kiss from him. you wonder if it'll feel staticky. "if it's with you, i mean."

• "you're too kind," he runs his thumbs over your knuckles. "we have time, my dear. all the time we need."

• raiden wanted to take it slow, you assume. who knows when the last time he had feelings was, or if ever. mutually agreeing to keep things under wraps, you shake your giddy feelings and reenter the room with your coworkers, glancing up at raiden. his lip twitches though his face is stoic as always.

• "did he take it well?" johnny asks in a low voice. "or did he strike you down, or something?"

• "...he's fine," you try to wave it off, sweating at your temples. "peachy, actually."

• your eyes find raiden again, standing across the room. this time, he's not pretending to do anything. he's just staring back with a friendlier glint within the glow.

• "he seems in better spirits," johnny shrugs as he follows your gaze. "told you he liked you."

• "i guess you did."

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

One Last Lesson

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: okay so there's some switching on both sides but mostly dom!Spence, oral (f receiving), age gap (reader is over 21), teasing, pet names, marking a lot, p in v sex, praise/minor body worship, yk I love some dirty talk so- that's there, multiple orgasms, riding, marking- I hope I got everything??

Genre: Just fluff, Just smut

Summary: It's been a year, Spencer is yours, but it seems someone just won't back off at the alumni gala

A/N: I wasn't planning on a Pt. 3 for this yall it was a duology lmao- I saw the demand but I had nowhere to take it; so you can thank @shan-yee because their comment inspired the continuation of this saga :)

***

Spencer walks over to you and places his hands on either side of the counter you're sitting on. You're spending the night at his place and right now he's cooking dinner.

"You know, it's been almost a year now." He says kissing your neck.

"Since what exactly?" You ask him.

"Since you graduated is what I meant, but also since we made it official technically." Spencer squeezes your hand and then grabs a spatula from a drawer and walks back over to the stove.

"Oh yeah, we're a few months off from it I suppose." You hum.

"The alumni gala is this weekend. Do you- plan on going?"

"It's this weekend? Really? I didn't even realize."

"Oh." He says, his back is facing you but you're positive he's leading up to something and that answer didn't give him the lead up he was hoping for.

"Why are you asking?" You smile.

"Well I was thinking that if you were planning to go we could go together. I mean I'll be there regardless but like- it'd be nice to go as a couple. If you wanted to do that." He shrugs.

"Do you want me there Spence?" You ask.

"Of course I do. I always want you by my side."

"Then I'll go. We'll go. As a couple."

"You're sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" You frown. Spencer turns around to look at you.

"Well you know, I don't want you to be uncomfortable if people say-"

"I don't give a fuck what anyone might have to say. I like you Spencer, I like being with you. Nobody's random opinion is gonna make me stop feeling that way." You shrug. Spencer's eyes soften, adoration shining in them.

"Okay." He smiles.

"Oh, but when we go we should change the timeline a little." You say.

"What do you mean?"

"Instead of telling them we've been together almost a year, tell them it's only been a couple of months." You shrug.

"So if we've only been together a couple of months what's like- the rest of our story?"

"Well we can say we ran into each other at a bar a few months ago, got talking, and realized we had a lot in common- decided to see where things go and it's been great so far."

"Okay." He nods.

"I know you don't particularly like lying but it's for you. I don't want anyone doubting the ethics of our relationship and calling into question your job. So stick to that story and try not to oversell it with details. The more complex the harder it is to keep things straight."

"Well, what if they ask for details?"

"I can't imagine we'll spend a lot of time apart at the gala so chances are I'll be there to handle that for you but if you find yourself alone and they ask you something you don't want to risk complicating- just tell them 'things are still new and you don't wanna risk jinxing anything' and then find a way to change the subject to literally anything else."

"Things are still new and I don't wanna risk jinxing it- okay sure. You're a- good liar."

"I've thought about it before, in case anyone started asking questions- at least for the next few years. After a while, no one will care but you know, for now. I don't want you to lose your job or anything because of me." You shrug. Spencer walks over to you and tilts your head up to look at him. He kisses you sweetly and quickly.

"That's sweet of you to be that concerned about it but you shouldn't stress too much about my job." Spencer says.

"I know, I know, but I care about you, Spence. Of course, I'll worry about that sort of thing."

"You're so cute." He chuckles, returning to the stove to finish cooking dinner.

"Yeah, I know." You say jokingly, making him laugh harder. A few minutes later, dinner is finished and you move from your spot on the counter to the living room to eat and watch TV with him.

~*~*~

When the day of the gala comes around that weekend, you spend more time getting ready than you usually would. Your dress is a gold floor-length number with no sleeves and a dangerously high slit. You pair it with black lace gloves just because you can and your makeup is killer if you do say so yourself. Not that you have to, Spencer's reaction when he comes to pick you up is more than enough confirmation that you look drop dead.

"Woah." He breathes out, his eyes wide.

"Hello to you too Spence." You chuckle stepping into the hall and locking your apartment door.

"I- hey. You look stunning baby."

"Thanks, you don't look too bad yourself love." You wink at him as you loop your arm through his. He's wearing a black dress shirt with gold detailing which you didn't know he was planning on wearing when you picked your dress but how convenient that you match. You notice he's forgone a tie and left the top couple of buttons undone and part of you wants to skip the gala altogether, but you got all pretty so to the gala you will go.

By the time you arrive, it seems the event is already in full swing, the hall is full of familiar and unfamiliar faces between faculty, alumni, and current students- who apparently are welcome and encouraged to attend these things. In fact, you're barely there for 10 minutes before some of your former classmates get a hold of you and drag you away from Spencer. So much for being together most of the night. It's fine, you remind yourself, he's a big boy, plus he's got his script. You focus on the conversation you're part of, a few guys and girls from your department are playing catch up, everyone sharing the most important news from their lives post graduation. 

You find yourself in several more of those kinds of conversations with various groups of people over the next hour or so. Side effect of being half part of so many social groups during college you suppose. Every once in a while you steal glances at Spencer, who mostly seems to be enjoying himself with his colleagues. You know Spencer was expecting this night to be a sort of debut for your relationship at his job so you wanted to be with him most of the night but maybe this is fine, him with his people and you catching up with friendly acquaintances you haven't seen in a while.

Just as you're settling with that idea you catch Professor Greene beelining towards Spencer and you can't help the internal eye roll when she walks up to him with a megawatt smile. You split your attention between the conversation you're currently part of and Spencer's interaction with Professor Greene. With things official between you and Spencer, you're much less worried about her honestly but you watch Spencer for signs of discomfort so you can rescue him if needed. You haven't heard much of her from Spencer since your little stunt last year with the hickeys so you're surprised to see her so friendly with Spencer. When you catch her place a hand on Spencer's arm and he awkwardly breaks the contact you decide to step in.

"I am- so sorry to cut this conversation short, I just- it looks like I need to rescue my date from a conversation he absolutely does not want to be part of but I will find you again to finish this before the night ends okay?" You tell Jordan, a friend of yours who you had classes with literally every semester of university.

"Girl don't even worry about it go save your man." He chuckles waving you off.

"Thank you babes, if I don't catch you again tonight, I'll just text you." You rush out before making your way over to Spencer and Professor Greene. You keep your pace light so as to not look vexed but you reach them rather quickly.

"Spencer! There you are! I've been looking for you." You smile, placing your hands on his arm gently. He relaxes with you at his side, matching your smile with one of his own. You turn to Professor Greene, still tucked against Spencer's side. "You're Professor Greene, right? I'm y/n." You stick an arm out to shake her hand and she takes it albeit a little hesitantly.

"Have we met before?" She asks with a curious frown.

"Not formally." You smile.

"I'm- gonna grab a drink. Y/n, do you want anything?" Spencer asks.

"I'll have a mojito if they can make one. If not then I'll just grab champagne from one of the trays floating around the room." You tell him.

"Professor Greene? Would you- like anything?"

"No thanks, Spencer." She says with a tight smile.

"Okay well you two wait here, I'll be back in a sec." He says jogging off. You can't help but smile as you watch him go.

"He's so sweet." You say before you can stop yourself.

"Oh that's cute." Professor Greene says.

"Sorry?" You turn to her.

"Are you one of Spencer's students?"

"No, I've graduated. Almost a year ago now. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's just- perhaps I'm assuming but it seems like you have a bit of a crush on him." She says and you can't help the surprised chuckle you let out.

"Excuse me?" You ask with a smile.

"I'm not judging or anything. It's cute and totally not unusual! That's why I asked if you were one of his students, I mean- not that anything would come of it but having a crush on your professor and all is pretty common despite the- taboo around it. I one hundred percent get it." She explains.

"Oh, do you? You get it? See- the thing I get is that you have a bit of a crush on that professor but I'm fucking that professor so I'm not sure you one hundred percent get it seeing as we are not in the same boat." You say, your tone deceptively cheery.

"Excuse me?" She blinks at you incredulously.

"I'm not daft Professor Greene and neither is Spencer- it's quite obvious you fancy him which is totally not unusual and not that anything would come of it but I one hundred percent get it. See you don't need to placate to me because I'm the person he came here with. I'm the person he'll be leaving with." You say. Professor Greene's eyes narrow for a moment before widening.

"Wait no you have definitely been a student of his, I remember you. A plucky thing- sat in the front row."

"Surprised I left an impression." You cross your arms.

"Spencer always seemed particularly concerned with you."

"I was his best student." You shrug.

"Oh I'm sure you were. Extra credit will do that." She scoffs.

"I didn't need to suck his dick to be the best in his class I'm just that good. We only started seeing each other a couple of months ago not that it'd really make a difference he still wasn't interested in you at any point. You'd think by now you'd get the hint." You say and she levels you with another glare.

"Did you know they make flavored mojitos? The guy at the bar asked me what flavor you wanted. You didn't mention a flavor but I know you like passionfruit so I hope that's okay." Spencer's arrival doesn't break the tension between you and Professor Greene but you shoot him a sweet smile as you take the drink from him.

"Passionfruit's perfect baby, thank you." You tell him. "I was just telling Professor Greene here about how we got together."

"Yeah, Spencer, I didn't know you had a girlfriend!" Professor Greene says with a smile that's too wide to be genuine.

"Oh! Well, yeah things are still pretty new, I haven't made it a point to go around announcing it. Plus it's not like we're close or anything." Spencer shrugs and puts an arm around you casually, pulling you closer to him.

"Well yeah I know I know it's just- well that's kind of a big deal, isn't it? A girlfriend. You've got a bit of a bachelor reputation you know." She says and you let out a sharp disbelieving laugh.

"Do I? That's news to me." Spencer looks at you with a chuckle.

"Oh you know what I mean Spence."

"Not really but I guess it doesn't matter. I'm pretty private about these things, even though I'm obsessed with her."

"Aw you're so cute." You gush with a hand on his chest.

"Well you do make quite an interesting pair. If you'll excuse me, I see Darla and I've been trying to track her down all night so I'll leave you to each other." Professor Greene dismisses herself and rushes off to start another conversation elsewhere.

"'I didn't need to suck his dick to the best in his class'? Are you insane?" Spencer turns to face you with an incredulous smile on his face.

"To be fair it didn't start there!" You say.

"Oh yeah? Give me the breakdown."

"You left and she made a snide comment about me having a crush on my professor that 'wouldn't go anywhere', I got a little snippy with her and then she implied the only reason I was one of your favorite students is because you were screwing me but like I'm smart I don't need to fuck you for an A I already had one before you even touched me so- I was basically just telling her that."

"When you say a little snippy-"

"I honestly don't think you want to know." You shake your head.

"What did you say to her?"

"TLDR, I told her she has a crush on you and I am fucking you so we're not really in the same boat which was- probably escalating but she started it by trying to patronize me." You shrug and Spencer sighs though you can see his shoulders shake in silent laughter.

"You are-" he stops to laugh again. "Incredible."

"Thank you baby." You smile.

"Honestly that was very uncomfortable but I will admit there was something... captivating about that battle of wits you had going on." His head dips to press a kiss to your neck.

"Captivating huh." You hum.

"Yeah, you're hot when you get all territorial." He smiles down at you.

"You're saying that now because this time I didn't take it out on you." You chuckle.

"I mean, I certainly wouldn't have been against walking in tonight covered in hickeys like last time." He mutters.

"Naughty boy. Keep that up and we'll have to leave early you know." You muse.

"I mean I've spoken to everyone here I need to talk to." Spencer's hand slides down over your ass for a moment.

"So worked up so quickly."

"Come on princess, let's get out of here. I owe you one hell of a thank you for dealing with Professor Greene." Spencer mutters in your ear trying to sway you.

"If we're going to leave early, you'd better make it worthwhile professor." You tell him pulling him through the party towards the exit. He stops you just outside the hall to pull you into a kiss.

"Don't I always?" He winks at you and takes the lead then, walking you to his car and helping you into the passenger side. Once he pulls out of the parking lot, you put a hand dangerously high on his leg, rubbing up and down his thigh 'absentmindedly', watching the way his fingers grip the steering wheel tighter with each passing moment. At red lights, you lean over to kiss and nip at different spots on his neck, you didn't mark him up before going out but there's no reason you can't do it now. By the time you're back at Spencer's apartment, you can tell your teasing did exactly what you wanted when he rushes you through the lobby and into the elevator. He hardly lets the elevator doors close before he corners you against one of the walls. Spencer kisses you, rough and hot, his hands gripping your upper arms.

"You'll be the death of me one of these days." He breathes out. The elevator doors open then and you drag your fingertips up his thigh with a dangerous smirk before getting off. You can hear him let out a harsh breath before he follows you to the door. Spencer unlocks the door and lets you in, barely shutting the door before he pulls you against him in another searing kiss. One of your hands tangles in Spencer's hair tugging lightly which he rewards with a grunt and a nip at your lip. Eventually, you pull away from him, grabbing his chin a bit to tilt his head out of the way of his neck.

"Hm- they're not great but- by the end of the night I'll mark you up so well it'll be like a signed my name on you." You hum kissing him again.

"Whatever you want princess. Tonight's about thanking you, any particular way you want me to show my gratitude? Because personally, I'd like to peel this dress off of you and bury my tongue between your folds." Spencer mutters, trailing soft kisses across your neck and shoulders.

"That- that sounds like a great way to start." You say.

"Perfect." Spencer pulls you down the hall into his bedroom. His hands drag down your arms, pushing the sleeves off and subsequently dropping your dress to the ground. He lets one hand grab onto yours to help you step out of the dress and immediately drops to his knees in front of you. Spencer pulls one of your legs onto his shoulders, grips the back of your thighs tightly, and buries his head between them. You jolt forward as his tongue swipes through your folds, catching your clit and you tangle your fingers in his hair to steady yourself.

"Oh god." You gasp as Spencer pushes his tongue inside you, thrusting in and out, caressing your walls all while moaning at the taste of you and the feeling of you pulling his hair. Spencer can feel your legs start to shake and tightens his hold on your thighs when he drags his tongue up to focus on your clit. "Fuck!" You squeak, actually squeak, when Spencer flicks at the bundle of nerves with practiced precision that has you trembling in his hands. 

"Spence." You moan his name in warning, your orgasm building quickly. He increases the pressure slightly, just enough to push you over the edge with a cry, your fingers tightening in his hair, holding him against you as you ride out your orgasm against his mouth. As the aftershocks of your release ease, Spencer eagerly laps up the juices flowing from you, his nose brushing your clit with each draw of his tongue. You gasp when Spencer hooks his arm under your leg still draped over his shoulder and presses his hand at the small of your back as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks harshly on the little button. You jerk against his ministrations but his hold is steady- even as he releases your other leg to bury two fingers between your walls. He pumps the digits quickly and you can feel another orgasm building.

"Holy- shit that feels good." You whimper and you feel Spencer smile around your clit for a moment before he continues to suck on it feverishly. Spencer pulls your second orgasm from you so quickly that you don't even realize how close it is until you're screaming from the force of it. Spencer works you through it, his fingers slowing but not stopping until your walls ease up against them. He gazes up at you as he licks his fingers clean before kissing just below your belly button. He kisses his way up your body, hands trailing over your skin until he's at his full height.

"One hell of a thank you baby." You say breathlessly. Spencer laughs and leans down to kiss you, cupping your face with his clean hand. You use the time to pull his shirt free and undo the buttons, then focus on his pants, tugging off the belt and shoving the slacks down his legs. You let Spencer walk you back towards the bed and lay back when your legs hit the edge of it. You watch as Spencer finishes undressing himself and crawls over you.

"I'm not done thanking you yet princess." Spencer says kissing your neck. He lines himself up with your entrance and sinks in with one thrust. He groans against your skin at the feeling of your wet heat engulfing him. "If I believed in heaven this would be it." He breathes out and you giggle a bit. That is until Spencer cocks his hips back and rocks them into you pulling a moan from your lips effectively ending your giggle fit. Spencer sets a dangerous rhythm of sharp, deep thrusts that have your back arching off the bed.

"So good- Spence, feel so good inside me baby." You moan, your nails marking angry red lines down his back as he takes you.

"I know princess- fuck I know." He grunts reveling in the sting of your fingers clawing at him. Spencer can feel his balls tightening as you drip down his shaft and he leans back to toy with your swollen clit. The sudden extra stimulation has whines and mewls falling freely from you as your third orgasm rushes you. The feel of your walls spasming around him sends Spencer into a frenzy, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his own release. Your mind clears just in time to catch the signs of his impending orgasm and you muster enough strength to flip Spencer onto his back. He blinks at you in shock but only for a moment as you start riding him and his face scrunches up in pleasure. Spencer throws his head back and you lean forward to darken the hickeys you left earlier and add more as promised. He lets out a string of curses and grips the sheets so tightly you think he might tear them as you bounce up and down his length. When you feel his muscles clench beneath your hands you sit up, examining the marks now covering his neck. You're more than satisfied with them. You thread your fingers into Spencer's hair and tug, forcing him to look at you.

"I wanna watch your face when I make you cum Spence. Don't look away." You tell him sharply. Spencer tries to nod but your hand in his hair stops him.

"O-Okay. F-fuck, whatever you want- please just let me cum." He begs.

"Go ahead baby." You tell him and that's all it takes for him to let go, hot ropes painting your inner walls.

"I was supposed to be expressing gratitude here." Spencer says after a few moments of silence, when his breathing is settled.

"I feel plenty thanked don't worry love. It's way more fun having you beg me to cum anyway." You say turning your head where you lay just enough to kiss his chest. Spencer lets out a small disbelieving chuckle and you can feel him shake his head as his hand strokes down your back.

"I love you." He says.

"I love you too." You say with a smile. How lucky you are, to have your crush work out so perfectly. Although if you ask Spencer who the lucky one is he'll surely say it's him. Luck is the only explanation for him to now have the object of his desires for months in his arms like this every night. Thank goodness you called him out that day in his office, or he'd have never gotten this far.

***

Part 2

Tagged Users: @regulus-black-223048, @perkypink19-blog, @p0ssywhippedcream

[pathologicalreid]

Ok, first of all, I'm OBSESSED. You understand Spencer as a character SO well!

Second of all, could I maybe request a part 2 to neophyte? Maybe where reader wakes up in the middle of the night from nightmares (seeing all the faces of those she killed, all the faces of those she couldn't save, or whatever else tickles your fancy) and reaches our to Spencer?

sympathy for the devil | S.R.

previously

Following your previous talk, a bad case leads to you taking Reid up on his offer to help.

who? spencer reid x platonic!BAU!reader category: angst content warnings: anxiety, exhaustion, nightmares, gore (cm), general cm violence, suicide word count: 1.71k a/n: do you remember that episode after m*eve dies where spencer tried to talk that guy out of offing himself? that's where i got the idea for this from. thank you for requesting! i hope you enjoy it!

At the shot of the gun, you launched into a sitting position. Placing your hand over your heart as if it would slow the pounding, you inhaled deeply through your nose.

Using the heels of your palms, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and groaned. That nightmare made three tonight alone, always the same, always Josh Quinn. Sighing, you pulled your loose t-shirt off of where it stuck to your clammy skin and got out of bed, walking into the kitchen to acquire a glass of water.

The team had started to notice your exhaustion. Just yesterday, Rossi had taken you for a coffee trip and tried to talk to you about it, but you just told him you were figuring it out. JJ tried to get you to go to a boxing class with her, but you could barely drag yourself out of bed for work, let alone to get your ass kicked.

You tried flipping through your scrapbook. When Spencer told you he hung the photos of people he had saved and victims above his bed, you decided to make a scrapbook.

But you didn’t save Josh Quinn, he killed himself. Blew his brains out right in front of you because you failed. You failed to talk him down off of that metaphorical ledge, and he killed himself.

Months ago, you talked to Spencer about how you had begun doubting your ability to do the job, and he convinced you otherwise. You wondered if he still thought the same. He was the only member of the team who hadn’t reached out to you, so you doubted that.

You swirled your water in the glass and sighed, it was three in the morning, and you had gotten approximately two hours of sleep. Assuming the team didn’t get called out to a case, you should be able to make it through the workday, but it had been almost two weeks since you traveled. You were pushing your luck.

Grabbing your phone off of the charger, you wandered to sit down on the couch. You scrolled through texts. Your mother, whom you had been neglecting to call back, was concerned. She threatened to call your boss, but she didn’t have Emily’s number.

For a split second, your thumb hovered over Spencer’s contact. You remembered what he had told you, ‘If you ever need help processing the job, or anything else, you can call.’

People said things all the time that they didn’t mean, but you were desperate, so you pressed the call button. On the first ring, you panicked and hung up. What were you thinking? It was three in the morning; you’d wake him up.

Dropping your phone in your lap, you set your face in your hands. You felt like you were finally losing it.

And then your phone started buzzing. Furrowing your brows, you looked at the screen to see that Reid was calling you back. Now it would be rude for you to not answer, so you swiped your thumb across the screen and brought your phone to your ear. “Hi,” you said meekly.

“Hey,” he responded, “What’s wrong?”

Your shoulders drooped, “There’s nothing wrong, I’m fine.”

He cleared his throat on the other end of the line, “You’re calling me at three fifteen in the morning. There’s something wrong, Y/N.”

Scowling, you pulled your feet up so that they were tucked underneath yourself. “I’m really sorry for waking you, Reid.”

“I wasn’t asleep. I was reading, had no idea what time it was,” he said to you. You weren’t sure if he was telling you the truth, or if he was just trying to make you feel better. “Are you alright?”

You closed your eyes tightly, “Yes,” you choked out the lie. “I’m fine.”

The other end of the call was quiet for so long that you checked to see if the call had dropped. “Hang on, I’m coming over,” he said.

“Uh, no, please don’t do that,” You spoke urgently.

There was a jingling that came through the phone, probably car keys, “Something is blatantly wrong, and you aren’t telling me what it is. If I’m there in person, you might be more willing to talk to me.”

Or maybe you’d feel forced to talk to him. You bit your tongue, “Okay, Spencer.”

Fifteen minutes later, there was a gentle knock on your door. You coaxed yourself off of the couch and to the door, opening it and crossing your arms in front of your chest self-consciously.

Wordlessly, you opened the door wider, effectively inviting Spencer in. He was dressed similarly to you, in a plain t-shirt and pajama pants. His glasses were donned upon his nose, you had forgotten he even wore glasses. Once he was inside, you shut the door behind him, and he set his things on the entryway table.

Matching your closed-off stance, he looked at you suspiciously, “What is going on with you?” He asked.

You had wholly expected his tone to be accusatory, but instead, it dripped with concern. Concern for you. Your face fell, “I don’t know,” you whispered. “I don’t know,” you said a little louder that time.

“When did it start?” He asked, gently ushering you over to your couch, he had you sit down before sitting in the armchair across from you.

Shrugging, you absentmindedly picked at the skin surrounding your nails. “Josh Quinn,” you muttered.

Slowly, realization dawned on Spencer’s features. “That wasn’t your fault,” he told you sincerely. “Are you listening to me?”

You nodded softly, “I couldn’t save him,” you rasped, your face crumpling as you did. The last thing you wanted to do was cry in front of Reid, and yet, there you were. “I tried; I thought that if I could just make him see what I saw that… He was only seventeen.” He had killed three of his classmates, but he didn’t need prison or to die. He was a kid, he needed someone to hug him and tell him it would be okay.

“Do you trust me?” Spencer asked.

The question threw you for a moment. “Of course,” you trusted Spencer. You trusted the entire team with your life. You couldn’t be a team without that kind of trust.

His mouth tightened for a moment, “Then trust me when I tell you that no one could have talked him out of killing himself.” You weren’t sure you had ever seen Spencer so serious.

You leaned back, letting your body meld into your couch cushions, “You could have.”

Spencer shook his head, “No, Y/N. I heard everything you told him. You did everything right; I would’ve said the exact same things.” His eyes studied your body language for a moment, “Once a person makes that decision, there is a point of no return. Quinn made that decision, and there was nothing you could’ve done or said to change his mind.”

Trying to understand what he was telling you, you nodded softly. “I killed him,” you murmured.

“No, you didn’t,” Spencer corrected you immediately, leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees.

Your brows narrowed, “I might as well have. He might still be alive if I had done something different.” Pulling your knees to your chest, you took a shaky breath.

Following him with your eyes as he moved, Spencer sat next to you on the couch. “Did you pull the trigger?”

“No, but-“ you started.

“Then there’s nothing else to it. You didn’t kill him. His blood is not on your hands, do you understand me?” He said sternly.

Begrudgingly, you nodded in response. “I don’t know what to do,” you whispered helplessly. “I see him when I sleep, his brain all over the walls. It’s…” you faltered, “it’s haunting me.”

Spencer gave you a moment before responding, “Your ability to feel so much sympathy toward people like Quinn is what makes you such a great agent – a great profiler” He told you earnestly.

You shrugged, “The firearm’s instructor at the academy told me that my sympathy would get me killed in the field.”

“Well, if the firearm’s instructor at the academy hasn’t changed in the last fourteen years, then he’s an ass,” he told you.

A small laugh escaped your lips, surprising you as much as it did Spencer. “I’m glad that’s a universal experience,” you responded as the silence between you shifted from awkward to comfortable. “Thanks for coming,” you whispered.

Spencer smiled at you, “You’re welcome, but why did you take so long to call?” He inquired.

“What do you mean?” You asked, leaning forward, and resting your chin on your knees.

He sighed, “That case was almost two weeks ago, Y/N. If you haven’t been sleeping for two weeks, that’s a problem. Why didn’t you call?” He repeated quizzically.

Shrinking back into yourself, you frowned, “I was embarrassed and tired. I wanted to try to figure it out on my own before I went to someone else.”

“You’re not alone, you know?” Spencer said, his voice was gentle like you were a wild animal that he was trying not to spook. “Wait, you do know we’re friends, right?” He asked, “We aren’t just coworkers, we’re friends. Everyone in the BAU is your friend, whether you like it or not.”

Turning to face him, “I know we’re friends, Spencer. Coworkers don’t just show up at each other’s apartments because one of them is having a hard time.” Maybe you didn’t realize how good of friends, but it certainly brought you some semblance of comfort to know that you had people in your corner.

You watched as Spencer pulled out his phone, his fingers nimbly typing on the keypad of his artifact of a phone.

“What are you doing?” You asked, being nosy and trying to read what he was typing out.

He kept typing, tilting the screen away from your view, “I’m telling Emily that you’re sick and taking the day off.”

Your lips parted in surprise, “Spencer!” You reached out for his phone, but he lifted it over his head, having already sent the text. “Do you have younger siblings?” You asked.

Spencer shook his head, “No, only child. Why?”

“Because you act a lot like an older brother,” you grumbled.

previously

please remember to like, comment, and/or reblog if you enjoyed!

[isa-beenme]

Hello!! Do you think you could right a sort of enemies to lovers relationship with Azriel? Maybe where he and the reader get into a heated argument, and the bond snaps when the tension hits its peak? If this doesn’t inspire you, please don’t feel as though you have to accept my request! This is my first attempt at making a request, so I apologize if I did it incorrectly. Also, I wanted to note that your writing style is one of my favorites, and I hope you are proud of your work! That’s all, thank you for your time!!

THE SOOOOOOOOOONG

Listen to it please thank you

Loved your request, darling, it's actually much better when you send the whole story, I usually struggle when I try to think of a whole story alone (I swear I'm creative but it's hard to get things in your head out of nothing)

I try to be proud of my work as much as I can, thank you so much 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

THIS WORK was sooooooo fun to do, I swear at some moment while I was writing this I laughed at my own story, super cool

I thought: "I'm gonna make this super serious" amd ended up with this, which is much better

This Is Love

Your family always meant everything to you. Being Rhysand's cousin meant you would be inserted in everything he did. Being his second in command meant you would be involved in every plan. And being all of that meant you would be part of his Inner Circle, which automatically involved you in everything they did together. From training, to family dinner and trips around the Courts for the meetings, you did all together. And you loved it. Again, your family meant everything to you, and spending time with them was on your top list of favorite things to do. I mean, when a certain Shadowsinger wasn't completely involved.

Working with Azriel was always fine, perfectly fine, actually. Rhysand often paired you up together to work because everything fell into place with the two of you. Your mind always seemed to think like one. But that teamwork only made itself present when the topic was your position towards the court and your job. Outside that, you both were a mess. Training with him was a dread, from him pinpointing each - non-existent - mistake, to you lashing yourself on him each time he made you angry, it's been more than 250 years of both of you trying to win one another in the training. It never happened.

Family dinner was also horrible since both of you had very different visions in every single topic someone started, not just that, somehow, no matter how many times you and Azriel changed seats with someone, it doesn't take a week until you find yourselves seated next to each other again. On top of that, you and he possess the ability to winnow, yet, Rhysand always thought it was necessary for you to winnow together. No matter how many times you said it wasn't necessary, Rhys only ignored you, the necessity of traveling with him making you hate your life just a little bit more.

But if spending time with your family was on your top favorite things to do, game night with Azriel was on your top things to make yourself miserable. It was a common scene for the rest of the Inner Circle to see you and him screaming at each other at some point. Sometimes one of you thought the other was cheating. Sometimes you started saying the other was winning too many times and should be taken out of the game. Sometimes it was the complete opposite, "if you lose so much, maybe you should step back and stop occupying space". Tonight it wasn't different, your favorite fight was ready to start as Azriel explained the rules to the new game.

Besides the usual crackling tension between you and Azriel, this night seemed to be at its worst peak. For weeks now, both of you seemed to be on the edge with one another, even in work, your usual camaraderie was replaced with sharp remarks and piercing glares. Everyone around the table exchanged puzzled looks, uncertain of what exactly had caused this escalating feud.

Azriel couldn't understand why every word from you grated on his nerves, nor could you fathom why Azriel's mere presence felt suffocating. The build-up of unresolved emotions and unspoken desires had been simmering for days, and now, it was about to reach its boiling point.

The Night Court's game night had started off innocently enough with your usual truth or drink game, something to light up tension (or build it, in your and Azriel's case), but as the evening wore on, the tension between you and Azriel became palpable as the Shadowsinger tried to introduce a new idea to the table. It began with a harmless disagreement over the rules of a card game, but it quickly escalated into a heated argument once the match started.

Azriel's patience was wearing thin as you challenged every decision he made during the game, the cards he dropped and the ones he chose, everything seemed horrible in your eyes. The other way around too, your matches weren't valid, you couldn't pick certain cards and no, it wasn't your turn yet. His usually calm demeanor was now strained, and he couldn't help but feel irritated by your persistent need to question him.

-I don't understand why you always have to question everything I do - Azriel snapped at some point, his shadows flickering around him as a testament to his growing frustration.

-Maybe if you didn't act like you knew everything, I wouldn't have to. "Boo, I'm Azriel and I don't let people play the game because I invented it and none of you understand how to play it" - You quickly shot back, their voice laced with sarcasm

The room fell silent, and your friends exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the mounting tension between the two of you. But there was no going back now; the floodgates had opened, and all the pent-up emotions were rushing to the surface.

-I don't act like I know everything, and I don't talk like that - Azriel retorted, his voice tight with anger - I just wish you'd stop acting like you have all the answers! Sometimes it is okay to listen to help because, guess what? I indeed invented the game and there's no way of you learning how to play it, if you don't listen to the rules!

-Well, forgive me for not blindly following you like everyone else. I'm not afraid to question things when they don't make sense! - Your eyes narrowed, jaw clenching as you shot back.

-And I'm not afraid to take action instead of endlessly debating every damn decision! - Azriel's temper flared, his wings twitching in agitation.

-I think what you're really good at is fucking my life! - Your family gasped at your words, shocked by the intensity.

-It's just a payback for every headache you give me every time you breathe near me - They quickly turned their heads to Azriel, equally shocked by his response.

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, it seemed as if you were both about to explode. Your family exchanged worried glances, unsure of how to intervene in the escalating argument. But just as the situation reached its breaking point, a strange shift occurred. As Azriel locked eyes with you, an unexpected intensity replaced your anger. It was as if the universe itself had decided to step in, forcing you to confront the undeniable truth.

The room seemed to blur around you as you stood there, chests heaving from the heated exchange. The fight had reached its peak, and in that very moment, the mating bond snapped into place. The sudden connection was overwhelming, a rush of emotions and sensations that neither of you could comprehend. Your anger dissolved into confusion and shock as you felt an unexplainable pull towards each other.

Azriel's wings, once tense and defensive, now softened, as if beckoning every step you unknowingly took closer. Your guard came down as well, replaced by a mix of vulnerability and curiosity.

Your friends watched in astonishment as two adversaries stood there, seemingly lost in a world of their own. The room is filled with a charged silence, the kind that accompanies a revelation that changes everything. Even if none of them knew exactly what revelation was going on at that moment.

But as the realization set in, Rhysand and Feyre exchanged knowing smiles. It was no secret for them that you and Azriel had an underlying connection, a bond waiting to be acknowledged. They had witnessed the chemistry and unspoken feelings simmering between the two of you, and now, it seemed the universe had decided to intervene.

Your eyes met Azriel's once again, and this time, there was no irritation or hostility. Instead, there was an undeniable spark of understanding and attraction, a recognition of the emotions that you had been hiding from each other. Neither of you spoke a word, yet you communicated on a deeper level, the mating bond solidifying your connection at each passing second. It was as if all the walls you had built around your heart came crashing down, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to him.

As the reality of the mating bond settled in, your heart raced with confusion and fear. You couldn't understand why fate would choose someone you had built such animosity towards to be your mate. Feeling overwhelmed and unable to face the truth, you turned around and ran, needing time and space to process the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

Azriel, though taken aback and hurt by the sudden rejection, couldn't ignore the pull of the bond drawing him to you. With determination, he chased after your steps, his heart heavy with worry and longing. He caught up to you as you were getting closer to your room. Gently reaching out to touch your shoulder, you recoiled as if his touch burned.

-Please, let's talk - Azriel pleaded, his voice tinged with sadness - I never wanted to hurt you. The fights... They were a defense mechanism, a way to hide my own feelings and protect myself from the pain of loving someone who seemed to hate me. You started this, I just… Thought I should defend myself.

-But why you? Why did it have to be you? - You whispered, voice breaking with emotion. Azriel's eyes softened, and he took a step closer, his hand hovering near your face, yearning for the connection you both feared and desired.

-I wish I had an answer for that. All I know is that the bond doesn't choose who we love, it just binds us to our other half. And for some inexplicable reason, it chose us - He could see the pain in your eyes and knew that he needed to be honest, to show vulnerability despite his fears of rejection - The truth is, the more you fought me, the more I fell for you. Your fire, your strength, everything about you drew me in. But I was terrified of what it meant, so I pushed you away.

-I didn't know what to do with my feelings either - You admitted, opening a place in your heart that you swear to never look at again - I tried to convince myself that I hated you, but it only made things worse. Every fight, every argument, it was just a way to hide how much I… I wanted to be by your side. Everything was simple with them but you? You made me feel things and I didn't want it - Azriel's heart ached at your words, and he took a step closer, finally touching your cheek gently.

-We can figure this out together. I don't want to fight anymore. I want to be here for you, to understand you, and for you to understand me - Tears finally spilled from your eyes, as you looked into Azriel's soulful gaze, feeling the sincerity of his words.

-It won't be easy, but maybe we can try - You gave in, hugging him tightly, filling the void in your soul that you ignored for so long.

You and Azriel knew that you had a journey ahead, to step down from the fights and finally accept the truth that maybe, just maybe, you both were meant to be. Even in disagreement you found a way to each other. Although you would definitely keep your provocations going and Azriel would stay at your feet for anything you did, that was your way of loving and for the first time you were fine knowing what tomorrow would bring.

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

[Post-Credit Scene]

The Inner Circle sat around the table, looking perplexed and bewildered after the explosive game night that had just taken place. None of them could quite wrap their heads around what had unfolded. Nestha glanced at Cassjan, who raised an eyebrow, silently communicating his own confusion. Feyre and Rhysand seemed to be the only ones who understood the situation, but none of them made a move to say something as they kept talking to each other in their minds.

-So, did anyone understand what just happened? I mean, they are usually weird around each other but… This weird? It's worrying - The general scratched his head and finally gathered the courage to say something.

-Beats me. The brute is right. But I have to admit, seeing them argue like that is always quite entertaining. It's the only reason I've been coming for the past centuries, honestly - Amren replied with a snarl, eyes rolling as she threw her cards on the table.

-Oh, for sure! It was like watching a drama unfold right in front of us every week. But I can't believe they just bolted like that. Do you think they're okay? - Mor inquired, a mix of amusement and worry kicking in.

-If I had to bet I would say they are killing each other - Cassian said, playing with the deck of cards.

-Or fucking - Nestha chimed in with a laugh - I mean, when I didn't accept the mating bond with Cassian I acted exactly like them. If you don't understand the feeling you might as well hurt the person you hold those feelings for - Everyone seemed to agree as the bets started to grow around the table.

-Knowing those two, they probably needed some time alone to sort things out. Maybe it's an understanding finally kicking in - Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his eyes twinkling with mischief - The group exchanged curious glances, trying to understand their High Lord.

-Well, whatever it is, we can't say it was unimportant. That was probably the most explosive family game night we've ever had - Feyre couldn't help but add with a grin.

Just then, the door to the game room creaked open, and you walked in with Azriel by your side, hand in hand, with smiles on your faces. The Inner Circle's jaws dropped in disbelief as they took in the sight in front of them.

-What the...? How did you...? What? - Cassian sputtered, at a loss for words.

-You know, it's funny how things work out sometimes - Azriel looked around at their stunned faces and chuckled.

-Yeah, we had a little heart-to-heart and sorted some things out. Turns out, we had a lot of misunderstandings to clear up - You and Azriel smiled at each other, making the whole Inner Circle shocked.

-So, you two aren't going to be at each other's throats anymore? - Amren raised an eyebrow, a sly grin forming.

-Oh, we definitely will - You said when you looked back at them, your head finding its way to Azriel's shoulder.

-Just not today - He said and kissed you head, hearing some gasps from the table.

-Are we witnessing a truce? - Mor whispered to the General, who just shuddered, as confused as her.

-Let's just say we have a newfound understanding of each other - Azriel replied, you and him sharing a knowing look.

-Well, that's a relief! We were starting to wonder if you two were going to start a war right here in the Night Court - Feyre laughed, reaching out for her mate's hand.

-Glad to see you've made up. Just... maybe tone it down during future game nights? - Rhysand smiled after clearly speaking mind to mind with the Shadowsinger.

-Okay, so… the rules of the game? - Nestha questioned, her cards still secured in her hands.

-It doesn't matter right now, you can choose it - Az said, making everyone turn their eyes to him. Shock covered every face in the room. Never, in their lives, do they think Azriel would give up on something. They turned their eyes to you, expecting some remark.

-Yeah, you guys can keep going - A wave of gasps and terrorized looks were exchanged between your family - I think Az might be hungry, aren't you?

-I might be. Will you make me something? - He asked, getting so close to you that your noses almost touched.

-It will be my pleasure - You said before dragging him towards the kitchen, not even noticing the mouths of the Inner Circle opened.

-Uh uh, no. I prefer the war. Tell them to come back and fight again, I don't like the way things worked - Mor leaned back in her chair, disbelief covering her posture.

-You know what? I think this interaction was more scary than the Cauldron - Amren said, finally giving up her cards as she threw them on the table.

-Come on, it can't be that bad, right? - All of the older members looked at Nestha with scared faces, even Rhysand, who knew exactly what happened between the two of you - Okay, apparently it is.

-What do we do now? - Feyre finally asked after silence filled the room.

-We hope that this Court doesn't crumble down - That was all that Rhysand said as he began separating the cards again, a whole new game starting that night.

[ceasarslegion]

I mean this in the nicest possible way but somebodys media tastes do not inherently mean anything. And yes that includes if someone has positive associations or mixed feelings or anything short of total hatred of harry potter. I mean this in the nicest possible way but that series was one of the biggest cultural phenomenons of the 2000s whether you like it or not and you look like a massive asshole if you unironically go around saying shit like "if you ever liked harry potter i hope your transphobic ass dies." And if youre about to claim that i must support jkr and i must be a terf because i said this im informing you right now that that is the exact behavior this post is about.

I am so goddamn sick of people acting like hate campaigns against random ass people is an acceptable response to having had any association with the most popular childrens series of the 2000s at all. I am so goddamn sick of you chucklefucks acting like this is the pinnacle of trans activism or helps us at all. Do you think i give any hint of a fuck about what books someone read as a kid when i exist in the real world as a trans person who is affected by actual legislation? Do you think it helps me at all to be constantly reminded of an incredibly influential person who wants me dead who wont shut up, who you keep feeding attention to like your goddamn life depends on it every time she trolls for outrage on twitter? Do you think that helps us? Do you honestly think it helps us when you start talking about how people should lose their jobs over liking a book?

But sure. That youtuber with a video titled "i played the old and terrible goblet of fire game from start to finish" where they go haha look at how glitchy this is for 45 minutes is the most pressing issue in the world to us.

It also yknow, totally sounds amazing and helpful to how your cause looks to an outsider when you unironically say shit like "if you like that extremely popular book than you must be a terrible bigot who deserves to die." Youre not scaring anybody away and you are presenting us in the most favourable light to somebody on the fence who could still be swayed. Get it together.

[dotster001]

I love the idea that Sirena doesn’t really like any of her kids, she wanted a perfect doll vs a child. Reminds me of Riddle’s mom. After each kid started to show their true personality vs a babbling baby, she would start talking about another baby, not cause she wanted another but because this last one was « defective » I bet Floyd has huge screaming matches with her over if they should punish the kids for a bad grade, or « looking bad » in public.

Picture Sirena learning about poor reader, and now you have a beautiful woman holding a knife to your neck while Floyd barters for your life! Maybe to mess with Floyd she hires you as a gardener! They’re being super toxic towards eachother while trying to get you to fall for the other! Kids need a mother/father figure in their lives after all! If something were to happen they hope you would be willing to step up!

Warning: toxic Sirena, also this turned into a ramble,

Yeah. She and Floyd hate each other, but if she wants to ever be head of the Leech family, (after Papa Leech dies, and after she finishes her plan to kill Floyd) she needs an heir. Otherwise the position will go to Jade. As it is, she is very nervous that Papa Leech is leaning towards co ownership between the twins, and she can't have that.

Unfortunately, thanks to Floyd's influence, these kids all have a stupid flaw, free will. It's ridiculous really. Don't they know their whole purpose is to be her pawn?

She knows the Leech family reputation, and while Floyd has yet to go to the lengths she has to get rid of her, she knows there's a possibility that one day he'll finally snap and take her down. In fact she's a little surprised it has taken this long, considering the way she's seen Jade and Azul seriously quietly talking to Floyd, and throwing glances her way from time to time. Every time they have those "chats" Floyd always just sighs and rolls his eyes. It tells her all she needs to know. She's safe right now. Though she had, in her youth, hoped to be engaged to Jade, she knows now that she's lucky, and begrudgingly owes Floyd one, because Jade would have killed her by now if it wasn't for Floyd's protection.

And she knows where that protection comes from. Her family has it's own connections, so she learned, just as the twins did, how to play people like a chessboard. Floyd is lonely. Floyd hopes that one day, no matter how much they hate each other, they will one day fall in love and be a normal family. Also, Floyd spent his whole life dreaming of a big family. And she needs lots of children so that she doesn't lose her position to Jade when the time comes. So, she doesn't mind letting him have his big family, hell, it may be the reason she is still breathing. Until she realizes how strong Leech genetics are. None of these kids are worthy. None are good enough. And Floyd doesn't help by refusing to betrothe them to people who are worthy. (These are the largest screaming battles. Floyd refuses to let his children be miserable like he is)

It's after the birth of the youngest that she starts to formulate an idea of how to get rid of him, then send the brats to a school where manners and decorum will be pounded into them.

....

....

....

As to beautiful woman holding a knife to my throat, ehehehehehhe that's definitely a thought. When I was making her picrew, I had an "Oh no, she's hot" moment, so tbh, if she held a knife to my throat I would be so distracted 😂 like, TWO pretty people are putting attention on me? Wowie wow wow!

She's so petty, she totally would hire you to work in her house, and not tell Floyd. Then she'd sit smugly as he freaks out when he finds you cleaning a toilet or something. I have ideas in place for you looking for a new job because "the economy", and you don't tell Floyd you're quitting, cause why would you, he's just a customer. Then he gets furious, because this must mean you hate him, how dare you, yadda yadda

But what if, when you are starting to think about quitting, this gorgeous woman comes in and just happens to be looking for a new housekeeper. You don't tell Floyd, cause why would you he's just a customer etc etc, he still gets crazy angry (as do the kids).

Sirena may be a terrible person, and someone who shouldn't be a mother, but she is an excellent lady of the house. She knows everyone's day to day schedule so that she can successfully keep you away from literally anyone but her until the absolutely perfect moment. You could be working in that house for months before you ever see a soul besides her.

She's a horrible person, and yells at you all the time for literally no reason, but the pay is ridiculously good, so leaving doesn't feel like an option. Besides, she says this is only her winter and spring home, and that they are a family of mers, and would totally be willing to take you with them when they return to their ocean home for summer and fall. And you've always wanted to visit the ocean, but never had the funds yourself, so you really can't pass up the opportunity. You can deal with some emotional distress for the opportunity of a lifetime.

It's probably Jade (Jr.) that finds you first. He's the youngest, and therefore hardest to predict, so it's hard for Sirena to keep him in check. But because he's the youngest, no one believes him when he says that he saw mom/dad cleaning his room. Pearl sees you next when she's ditching a social function, and from there the whole house knows.

Except papa.

Papa is still trying to track you down like a blood hound. He doesn't realize you are literally living in his home... because he himself is rarely home.

But the showdown is coming.

And you, who still is blissfully unaware of the trap you are in, are not ready for what's coming.

[vodika-vibes]

Hi again, hope you’ve been well! I just wanted to see if I could please ask for a hurt/comfort fic with either an alpha arc or a null, your choice of who specifically. One where reader is an informant of some kind, but they end up getting caught and interrogated before trooper of choose comes to the rescue. When they do maybe reading is having a panic attack after being severely injured. Thanks and happy writing!

Abandon Ship

Summary: You’re a member of the Republic Strategic Information Service (SIS) though you’re not a high ranking member, in fact, you’re not supposed to be doing field operations at all. However, when your supervisor orders you into Separatist space, your options are follow orders or lose your job. You manage to get off one coded message to Ordo before you’re captured. And all you can do is hope that he’ll come.

Pairing: Ordo Skirata x F!Reader

Word Count: 1802

Warnings: Torture

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Sorry that this took so long! I think I have several other requests from you as well. I feel so bad that it took me so long to get to this one. Anyway, I chose Ordo because I love him, though it was a toss-up between Ordo and Mereel, but given the subject matter, I thought Ordo would be a better fit than Mereel. I hope you like it!

You huff out a near silent groan of pain as you slowly, and painfully, uncurl from the protective ball that you curled yourself into when the interrogator came into the room.

Eventually, they’ll figure that you genuinely don’t know anything.

You’re smart enough to know that when they do figure that out, it’s game over for you.

For a moment, you lay on your back on the frigid, dirty, and wet floor. Trying to work up the will to get to your feet, or at least to crawl over to the “bed” that you were supplied when you were thrown in here.

Calling it a proper bed would be an insult to beds everywhere.

It’s little more than a thin mat with some ratty blankets thrown on top. But it’s slightly more comfortable than the concrete you’re actively laying on.

Slowly you press your arm over your eyes and try to ignore the burning in your eyes (tears will not help this situation) and the stabbing pain around your ribs.

You shouldn’t be in this position at all. You’re an analyst, not a field agent. There’s no reason for you to be anywhere but on Coruscant, or maybe a warship. You definitely should not be on Raxus.

You shouldn’t be in Separatist space at all.

You cringe at the sound of someone screaming further down the hall, at least you’re not alone in here.

It doesn’t make you feel any better.

Finally the throbbing in your chest and abdomen fades enough that you’re willing to slowly push yourself to your feet, and drag yourself to the bed on the other side of your cell.

All you can do now, you’re only option, is hope that someone will come for you. Either another member of the SIS, or maybe Ordo will answer your panicked, and heavily encrypted, message.

And if he doesn’t...well, you’ll die here. And no one will ever know what happened to you.

This time, as you roll onto your side so you’re not facing the door, you don’t bother to stop your tears.

It’s been...you aren’t sure how long. Longer than a week, definitely. But you don’t have an exact number of days that you’ve been on Raxus. It’s intentional, you’re sure.

Or, maybe not. The people holding you don’t seem to be all that proficient at the more psychological aspect of torture. Though they’re more than proficient in the more physical aspects.

Your shoulders twinge painfully as your arms are twisted behind your back, and heavy binders are snapped around your wrists, and magnetized to the chair you’re sitting on.

It’s uncomfortable, boarding on painful. And mixed with the staggering number of bruises you’re nursing, not to mention the open lacerations that have been prevents from healing due to your captors rubbing actual salt into your wounds, and the fact that your captor decided that using a whip on you was the best way to get you to work with them-

Yeah. You’re not having a good time.

Honestly, if you weren’t in so much pain, it’d almost be laughable. It’s like they read a storybook on how to be the most cliche villain ever, and are following it like a checklist.

“So,” You slowly lift your gaze to the man standing in front of you. He’s a massive human, and honestly looks like he should be modeling for GQ rather than being an interrogator. “You have been here for almost a month. And you haven’t even told us your name.”

You just blink at him and a flash of irritation crosses his face.

He walks over to you and grabs a fistful of your hair, before roughly jerking your head back, “All of this can stop, if you just work with us rather than against us.”

Once again, you just blink at him.

He growls and releases your hair, “Fine.” He walks away from you and turns to the men standing near the door, your personal torturers. Although, you’re pretty sure that one of them is new.

It’s kind of hard to tell, since they’re both completely covered in armor.

“Start removing appendages, start with her fingers.” He looks at you, “Remember, girl, you brought this on yourself.” And then he’s gone, and you’re alone with your old friends.

One of the men walks over to you and presses a button, releasing the heavy binders, and then his boot slams hard into your chest, knocking you and the chair over, and knocking the air out of your lungs.

“This one,” He drawls, “is stubborn. Hasn’t said a damned word since we found her. Though we do know that she’s SIS. I doubt this is gonna work like the boss thinks, but I’m happy to try.”

He walks over to you and slams his boot down on your chest again, pulling a pained gasp from you, as you struggle to catch your breath and from the pain. He lifts his boot long enough that you’re able to catch your breath, and kicks you in the side to roll you over.

“You like your job then.” The new guy says, and you’re at least aware enough to note that you recognize the voice. It’s familiar though you can’t quite pinpoint why it’s familiar.

“Course I do.” The man who kicked you kneels next to you, “These holier than thou pubbie assholes deserve everything that they get. You’ll learn.” He draws a, almost comically, large knife and lazily presses the tip against your cheek.

The knife is sharp, sharp enough that it doesn’t hurt as much as it could as it cuts into the skin of your cheek. You bite your tongue hard enough that you can taste metal.

He pulls the knife away from your face and jerks your arm out to examine your fingers, “I think...I’ll start with the thumb.” There’s something gleefully cruel in his voice, and your eyes snap shut as he presses the blade against the base of your thumb—

—And then there’s the sound of a blaster being fired, and the sound of something heavy falling to the floor.

Your eyes open when you feel large hands on your shoulders, encouraging you to sit up. And you peer up at the new guy who’s kneeling over you. You want to lean away from him, to press yourself against the wall, but you just don’t have the strength to do anything anymore.

He’s silent for a moment, and then reaches up and pulls off the helmet.

You blink at him. Once, twice, three times. Sure that your eyes are playing tricks on you.

“...Ordo?” Your voice is raspy from disuse.

His dark eyes scan your face for a moment, before he brings his gloved hand up to press soothingly against your cheek, “Sorry I’m late, mesh’la.”

“I...I didn’t think anyone was coming.” You admit as your hands, bruised and bloodied, come up to wrap around his wrists.

“Well, I wasn’t supposed to. The orders we were given were very clear.” Ordo says with narrowed eyes, “You were to be written off as a lost asset.”

It feels like a giant hand wraps around your lungs and squeezes tightly. Oh, you think absently, there’s the panic attack.

“Hey, hey,” Ordo’s other hand presses against your cheek, trying to draw your focus, “You’re safe now. I was never going to leave you behind. We’re going to get you safe and home. And you’re never going back to the SIS.”

Ordo sounds like he’s miles away.

“Kriff, cyar’ika, keep your eyes open-”

He looks worried.

The world around you starts going gray at the edges, and you try to open your mouth to reassure him that you’re fine, but the world goes dark. And, for the first time in ages, you don’t feel any pain.

You wake to the sound of a heart monitor beeping in your ear, and the scent of bacta in your nose.

The lights are dimmed, which you notice as you slowly blink your eyes open. And as you turn your head, you see that Ordo is asleep in a chair next to the bed you’re laying in, his feet propped up on the edge of the bed.

He looks tired.

Slowly you try to sit up, but a sharp pain makes you hiss, and his eyes snap open and land on you immediately, “What are you doing?” He drops his feet and leans in to encourage you to lay back, “You shouldn’t move.”

“Was going to look for a blanket for you,” You admit sheepishly.

Ordo sighs softly, his large hand coming up to brush some of your hair out of your face, “Well, don’t. You haven’t been in a bacta tank yet.”

“I haven’t?”

“No, you have an infection and it needs to be cleared before we can stick you in a tank.” He still looks worried, “You weren’t supposed to wake up yet.” Ordo adds.

“Sorry-”

“Don’t be.” His hand moves to your cheek, to trace the bandage that you can feel there, “I’m glad that you’re awake. You scared me, cyare. I thought you were going to die in my arms.”

You feel a surge of guilt, “Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” He scans your face for a moment, and there’s a glimmer of sadness. Ordo’s fingers ghost over bruises, and against your lips, “My vod’e thought I was going to have a heart attack when we managed to decrypt your message.” He admits, “Cyar’ika, what were you doing in Separatist space?”

You blink at him, “I was following orders.” You say against his fingers.

Ordo’s fingers stop moving, and something cold slides across his face, “Come again?”

“My supervisor ordered me to Raxus for a field mission,” You clarify, “He said if I didn’t do it I’d lose my job.” You stare at him, “Why did you think I went to Raxus?”

“...your supervisor said that you defected from the Republic.”

Panic washes through you and you can hear the heart monitor start racing, “I didn’t! I wouldn’t! I had orders! I-”

“Hey. Hey, hey.” Ordo’s hands are so gentle against your face and the ice in his gaze thaws into something warmer, and for you alone, “I believe you. None of us believed what we were told. You need to calm down.” He doesn’t pull his hands away even after your panic subsides, “I’ll tell the others to do some digging, but we’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

“...Thank you for coming after me.” You whisper.

He leans in and presses a light kiss against your forehead, “You can thank me by getting some rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“On my life.”

You release a quiet sigh. “I love you, Ordo.”

Finally, a small smile crosses his face, “I love you too, cyare.”

[naughtyneganjdm]

Comfort

Summary: Every night Joel suffers from nightmares and you do your best to comfort him. 

Characters: Joel Miller & the reader 

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45826480

Warnings: Swearing, smut, hand job, angsty, etc.

Notes: This is a short little one shot I did. I haven’t written in second person in a very long time, I just figured what the heck? Why not try it again? 

There it was again. The shaking and mumbling in his sleep. Having a relationship with Joel Miller was not the easiest thing in the world, but the positives far outweighed the negatives. It just meant being with Joel would lead to large amounts of baggage. That was something that you were willing to put up with. But most nights sleeping was always interrupted by the nightmares. Things that would often haunt Joel in his sleep. And he had been pretty open with you about what they could be. Whether it was losing Sarah, the horrible things he had done to survive or what he had done to protect Ellie. It was always one of those three things that haunted Joel.

It always broke you to know that he suffered every night during his sleep, but each night you did the same thing in attempts to help him. You slid in closer to him and wrapped him up in your arms from behind. Holding him in his sleep seemed to help him break his fears. Today you hoped it would have the same effect it normally did because this nightmare seemed to be one of his biggest.

Sliding in closer to him on the bed, you curled your arm around his waist and urged him closer to you. Just having your arm around him seemed to pull him out of his terrors enough just to have his breathing calm down. Almost instinctively, his hand lowered and his fingers hooked with yours. Just having that grasp on your fingers showed you that you were able to pull him from his nightmare enough to find comfort with having you hold him.

Nuzzling your nose in against the back of his neck, you deposited a kiss against his flesh before closing your eyes. Joel seemed to get more comfortable in your arms and you didn’t mind holding him like this. Yeah, he woke you up during the night, but it never bothered you much. Just knowing that you were capable of helping him was enough for you. Joel was worth every minute you spent trying to comfort him to let him know that he wasn’t alone in the darkness.

“Thank you,” Joel’s deep voice slurred telling you that he had woken from his slumber. Bringing your hand up, he deposited a kiss over the back of it before pulling it in closer to his chest. Cuddling his head further into the pillows, he slid back in closer to you and enjoyed the warmth of you wrapping your arms around him.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” you hushed him, pressing another kiss against the side of his neck before getting more cozy with him in your arms. “It’s not like I have a hard time holding you like this. I like it really.”

“It should be the opposite though. I should be taking care of you in your sleep,” Joel reminded you with a saddened sound. His thumb was stroking over the back of your hand while he held onto it. “I’m supposed to be the one protecting you.”

“You do that all the time,” you reminded him knowing that he felt bad about you having to deal with all the negative things that came from being with him. “I think sometimes it’s okay for me to take care of you. This is the one time where I feel like I can help you and keep you safe. So let me have it.”

“It really doesn’t bother you?” Joel gazed back at you with his dark eyes meeting yours.

“Of course not,” you shook your head knowing that he likely had a hard time believing you. “You mean everything to me. And I like having you in my arms. Sure, having you spoon me is nice but this…this feels incredible. To have the warmth of you in my reach. To be able to kiss the back of your neck and know that just holding you comforts you enough to help you sleep through the night. It makes me feel special.”

“You’re special regardless,” Joel responded with a long sigh. “I just hate feeling like I’m not good enough for you because I am so…fucked up.”

“No, you are more than enough for me. You will always be perfect,” you assured him, your hand tugging loosely from his so you could caress up and over the planes of his chest through the shirt that he was wearing. When he came home tonight, instead of undressing and getting into his pajamas, he just crawled into bed with you. So that meant he was still wearing his plaid button down and his jeans. It told you that it was a busy day and he was just tired. You always knew it had been a tough day when he was too tired to change out of his clothes. Tracing your fingers down over his abdomen, you reached the bottom of his shirt and pushed it up. Stroking your fingers over his stomach had him taking in a sharp breath while you traced shapes over his skin. “Don’t ever worry about that. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Joel responded making you smile. It took a while to get that from him, but you loved it and whenever he said it, it made you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. It was something that you would never get sick of hearing. Hearing those words from a man like Joel Miller was like an addiction to you. Taking your time, you traced over the center of his chest making him hum before your fingers slid back down toward the belt in his pants. Pulling it apart slowly, you heard his breathing getting louder and he gazed back at you. “You don’t have to do this…”

“I want to,” you lifted up enough to lean over him while you pulled apart his belt to meet his lips in a lingering kiss. Joel faintly nibbled at your bottom lip when you snaked your hand beneath the material of his jeans after getting them open. His moan vibrated against your bottom lip when your fingers wrapped around the root to his masculinity. Palming over his warm flesh, you felt chills filling your body with the deep rumbles of groans that fell from his throat. “I like making you feel good.”

“You’re too good to me,” Joel panted looking down when you managed to pull him out from beneath the material of his pants. Licking his lips, Joel watched your fingers delicately wrapping around his shaft to start stroking over his semi-erect cock. “Fuck…”

“We just need to get you to relax,” you whispered against the side of his neck working your hand over his flesh, enjoying the sensation of it growing harder with each caress you made over his body.

The sounds Joel made while you touched him drew a fire to grow deep within you. Kissing faintly at the side of his neck had him panting and it didn’t take too long before he was absolutely throbbing in your hand. Lifting up, you braced yourself on your arm so you could watch as you took your time to slowly trace over the veins in his shaft that led to the swollen tip. With the faintest of touches from your fingertips, it had Joel’s cock twitching eager for something more. Caressing over the tip, you could hear him whimper and you knew it was his way of begging you to do something more than just tease him.

Giving in, you firmly wrapped your fingers around his shaft stroking them down to the base of his erection before pulling up. With each stroke over his body, his breathing grew louder and his hips started to thrust forward into your grasp. A loud swallowing sound was heard from Joel and you did your best to keep it together hoping to get him to a release.

“Fuck,” Joel moaned, his hand grasping tightly to your wrist and you could feel his body tensing up. Working your hand faster over his solid length, you could feel him throbbing in your grasps making his winces louder and closer together. “Y/N…”

Hearing him groaning out your name like that was so incredibly sexy. You were drawn to Joel in general but hearing him moan and say your name like that drove you crazy. Joel’s body tensed up before you and it led you to slow down your movements knowing that you wanted to tease him right as he was on the edge of his release.

Tipping your head to the side, you could see that by the small amount of light the moon was providing through your window that tiny drips of precum were developing at the tip of his cock. Stroking your thumb in over the slit over the swollen head, you collected the precum and brought it up to your lips. Joel’s eyes followed your movements when your lips parted, accepting your fingers into your mouth. Wrapping your lips around them, you hummed out when you sucked the taste of him from your fingertips. It made Joel let out a desperate pant, his lips parting when you moaned. With a smirk, you watched his Adam’s apple bounce in his throat before you spit into your hand and adjusted your positioning to wrap your hand around his swollen cock again.

It was aching in your grasp and with each caress of your hand over his body, Joel eagerly thrust his hips forward on every pull back. He wanted that friction to help him reach his orgasm and you wanted to give it to him. Joel’s eyes slammed shut and his jaw flexed when you felt his cock twitching in your grasps. With a wince, the first line of cum poured out from the tip making you moan in Joel’s ear. Working your circular motioned caress over the tip, you continued to watch the strands of Joel’s cum spurt out from his cock when you got him to the orgasm he was so desperate for.

Pumping your hand over his length a few more times, you made sure that you milked him completely of his release before lifting up enough to reach for the tissues that were beside the bed to do your best to help clean the both of you up. Joel’s breathing was loud as he rolled over onto his back, his eyes closed tightly while he licked his lips in a dramatic fashion.

“We’re going to have to wash the sheets tomorrow,” you faintly kissed over Joel’s lips making him growl against your lips when he hungrily kissed you back. “Did that feel good?”

“It would have felt better coming inside of you,” Joel slurred, nipping faintly at your bottom lip with a tiny tug. It gave you goosebumps to hear him say something so dirty, but it made a smile tug at your lips. “But yes, that felt great. Thank you.”

“Let’s hope that helps you sleep tonight,” you looked down toward Joel’s softening cock that was resting at his lower abdomen.

“Come here,” Joel hooked his arm around you to pull you in closer to him so he could kiss you feverishly, his tongue brushing out over yours making you fall further in against his chest. Getting comfortable, you could tell that he just wanted to be close to you right now and you weren’t about to fight him. “I love you. So much.”

“Ditto,” you whispered, cuddling your head in over the center of his chest enjoying the sound of the strong heartbeats that you heard. Getting to share your life with Joel was a journey, but it was one that you knew that you enjoyed and you would never give it up. Not for anything.

[ivfrankenstein]

DEATH CHERISHES YOU | nuada silverlance x fem!reader;

the bloodstains on the stairs that had brought him here could be compared to breadcrumbs. step by step he was moving away from the original destination, consciously choosing to approach a new one. this one may not have been such an urgent matter for the prince, but another opportunity might not present itself for a long time to come.

farther on, the traces went away from the stairs and into the depths of the hall, from where a familiar dripping sound reached his ears. even at a distance it was effortless for nuada to hear all the breaths in and out of the person in there, so anyway, by the time his presence was noticed and all sounds suddenly stopped, it was definitely too late.

“you are easy to find, even when you're hiding.” he spoke first and purposely omitted the greeting, “shouldn't someone be watching you?”

“do they have to?” the voice from the darkness answered him with a question, “all my caretakers are busy at the moment. why don't you come visit me later?”

he stepped unobstructed around one of the columns on his right side and could now see the one talking to him from the back. it would be a pretty vulnerable position for another even without a bleeding wound on her arm. but he had more than once been able to see that she was not much bothered by this dangerous proximity. y/n was judged to be reckless and at times just a less skilled member of the team, which, nuada could tell, was hardly the truth.

“with seven nannies the child still loses an eye. are you familiar with that saying?”

“i am.”

it was very polite of her to answer him first, and only then to immediately clamp the end of the cloth with her teeth to tear it in two. the injury was deep enough that blood trickled from her hand to the floor, but y/n handled it with a dexterity that a less skilled member of the team could only envy.

“it's all a total waste of your blood.” he remarked, watching the small puddle below where she was sitting. there was all sorts of junk scattered everywhere. and the smell… it alone could suffocate a human victim.

“that troll has eaten over a dozen teenagers, in case you're wondering.” she forced herself to turn around and look at the expression on his face only to see nothing but a slightly raised eyebrow.

“one more ogre, one less.” he also gave her a nonchalant shrug, “there's not enough of you to catch them all anyway.”

“i’m not surprised you're more than okay with that information.” she said to his face before turning away again, continued to bandaging her arm and willfully badly playing the part where she wasn't dying to know what he was up to, “it just proves that an ogre as the only reason would hardly have caught your attention. so in that case, what brought the prince here?”

“the same as you.” it didn't cost him anything to tell her the truth, knowing there was probably nothing she could do about it, “it took me a lot of time and resources to find anything about this place myself.” except that what she wanted to get from him was different from what he'd come to share, “you did a great job, honestly. but it's for sure not the one that impresses me the most.”

it lasted less than a couple seconds, the way she stopped moving altogether, as if one single hint from him had paralyzed her to the bone. it was clear that the slightest interest shown in her ability would be met with the utmost wariness, which proved she was many things, but certainly not reckless.

“do me a favour, given my situation, and instead tell me if i should start worrying or not? it'll take me a while to remember where i left the gun.”

“oh, a gun, how uncivilised,” he said in a bored tone, “you have more delicate weapons with you. but i doubt you'll resort to any of them.”

“and why is that?” she asked, trying to stay focused, “i kept you from dying once because it was fair to your people. but for the second time, i hope your sister will forgive me for my non-interference.” her last words came out floating in a trembling voice. she was for now done with the bandage and turned to his side, with her hand clasped to her chest.

she seemed kind of particularly susceptible right now, and his years of being a corruptor suggested this might be a good moment to get close to her. but nuada's choice was to stay where he stood. from the beginning he was carrying this belief that y/n would want to know more without him seducing her into it. that's why he came. so he could see it for himself.

“by letting me live, you risked the fate of mankind by putting the interests of our race first. it's only fair for me not to fight you.”

“what a noble act. i know a few people for whom to take that chance would be enough to keep them happy for the rest of their lives.”

it might have seemed like an unnecessarily rude response, but it was clear to both of them that she was simply using the language of facts.

“and i will put my sister's name on that list with my own hand.” he confirmed it, “but as we've seen, that's not an acceptable outcome for you.” he paused to allow her to dispute it, but y/n only raised an eyebrow at him skeptically, willing to hear his explanation, “i'm going to guess that you've thought about the possible consequences of this decision of yours so often that you're now equally afraid of it and eager to discover it. you,” he pointed at her with an open palm, “already have so much of me in your thoughts that it's easier to let me go just to finally see.”

for a few seconds they looked silently into each other's eyes, almost like examining that gaze for recognition.

“if so,” then, as nuada assumed she would, y/n found an answer way too quick for someone for whom what she'd heard would be new, “i think it won't sound too presumptuous that to come to those conclusions you must have thought a lot of me yourself.”

the next thing the prince heard was his own laughter. how she succeeded in making a fool of him so easily by saying it caused him to laugh about it absolutely sincerely. it was so human, he couldn't even be prepared for it.

“that was a dirty trick.” she admitted before he could, “in my defense, it's getting hard to keep my attention, so..” she reached for the walkie-talkie fixed to her belt, but before she pressed it, she looked at the prince once more, “if you'll excuse me.”

“please.” nuada only said.

“death jr. to red.” y/n switched, bringing the radio to her lips, “death jr. to red. we have a royal guest in the neighborhood. over.”

he smirked and nodded in understanding, “as a good team member should.”

y/n said nothing more and just watched him escaping casually into the darkness again. from there he added, “i hope by the next time when we get a chance to finish our conversation, you don't have so much blood on you, my dear. although i must say that red suits you well.”

—gif: @amatesura 📿 also, english not my first language. so, i beg you pardon.

[eddiediazismyhusband]

God I wish I could be positive like other anons that said that for them 7x04 is the biggest confirmation buddie is happening. Please ignore this if you don’t feel like consoling me about my pessimist rant. I was optimistic but 7x04 made me a pessimist.

I just keep thinking “if 7x04 was supposed to be about buddie why was not about buddie?

Let me explain: it was the perfect setup for starting buddie. You know how it’s a bait and switch. They could have just not switched. They could have had Eddie go to buck instead of Tmmy and have Eddie say “you’re irreplaceable” which would have been much more meaningful and then “you know I can have more than a friend, right?” And buck could have said “maybe i don’t wanna be your friend” and boom you have bisexual buck and can get rid of that old ugly man.

It was the perfect setup, you need to change literally ONE SCENE. I literally can’t find a reason why they didn’t do it. My BFF said “they couldn’t make them come out at the same time” but they wouldn’t have. Eddie could have rejected him and then spend s7 coming to terms with his feelings instead of the shit that happened. I don’t believe in the “it’s cuz it’s a slow burn” theory because 6 years is slow enough. I wanna be a truther so bad but ever since 7x04 I’ve been slowly losing hope.

I flip flop between being optimistic and pessimistic… to me i can see the vision of whst they were *trying* to do with 7x4 but with no chemistry and one of the actors being so inept at their job it just fell completely flat… it felt unearned in a way bc we have seen buck and eddie interracting for 6 years, and the entire episode was centered around buck pining for eddie’s attention (im sorry, there is not way any of what buck did in that episode was out of any interest in Timmy Turner) just to throw the curveball at the end. The point of a bait and switch is thay the switch has to be believable, and earned— but it wasn’t because you spent the entire episode talking about eddie. Why not have buck’s jealousy be solely “oh i hate Tylenol, he’s so ughh and i hate him and i can’t stand him” bc if it had been that i would be more inclined to believe that buck had some sort of unconscious interest in him.

but that’s not what they did, they made him go gaga over eddie the entire episode.

another thing they could have done to make the switch effective is actually given Tuberculosis a role within the episode other thsn to show up and kiss buck… like showcase him and buck interacting more… build sublte tension there that makes it believable that buck is attracted to him… don’t just shove him in a corner and leave him collecting dust (don’t get me wrong i am NOT campaigning for them giving that man more screentime in fact i want that man off my screen as soon as possible which should have been the end of 7x3)

so from a narrative standpoint… to have eddie so intrinsically linked to Buck’s emotional arc in 7x4, i can absolutely see the vision of trying to do the whole misplaced feelings thing… even if they didn’t stick the landing at all bc lfj’s face is so stiff from all the botox that he can’t emote to save his life.

to me where things start to fall apart is after 7x4…. they had the perfect opportunity for buck to have his arc in 7x5, “mess things up with Tiramisu” (even though i fully side with buck in everything that happened on that date, like bffr) and then end the episode with them deciding to no longer pursue a relationship because they want different things (buck wants a relationship but is still new to this, Tire-Iron is old af and just wants a boytoy) and have them part ways… but they decided to double down on the relationship, having Buck invite a man he has known for 5 minutes to his sister’s wedding and then proceeded to make the wedding about buck??? that’s where the writers truly lost me. especially after they spent the first part of that ep establishing that Tricycle is nothing but dismissive and condescending to Buck just to make the whole wedding scene about them??? there was no need for that cringe-ass kiss (even if it had been a buddie plot point that kiss would have made me cringe bc the way it was written was so fuckin corny and also we waited too damn long for the madney wedding for it to be about someone else).

then ofc there’s the medal ceremony where we once again see Tuberculosis being dismissive of buck, and then 7x10 where he steamrolls over buck trying to have a meaningful conversation for him to just make a fucking sex joke…..

like i keep flip flopping back and forth bc i KNOW that T-rex has no substance as a character and no personality whatsoever beyond kissing buck, but i don’t understand why they’ve kept him around this long? There were plenty of opportunities to end things between them… 7x10 had a golden opportunity to solidify buck prioritizing bobby/eddie over his relationship and having Trampoline get upset and move on?? 7x9 could have had Bobby tell buck that he didn’t think Tablecloth was a good partner for him, comparing her to Abby and Taylor.

He was nowhere to be SEEN in 7x7

There could have been a moment in 7x6 where Eddie and Buck had a heart to heart (not even to make buddie go canon in that ep, but for eddie to point out that Truckstop doesn’t seem all that interested in him— hell or even hav HEN do it??)

After the entirety of 7b my trust in Tim has dwindled down so severely that I genuinely am trying not to form any expectations from s8… like i am fully prepared to just be disappointed again.

That being said I do think there is still so much potential for them to fix the mess quickly if they actually put in the time and effort… my issue is that idk if I trust them to fix the mess or just make it worse.

Plus if the same thing happens with s8 as s7 where they get renewed early on, that runs the risk of Tim changing the story yet again and dragging out plot points that don’t need to be dragged out.

Like it has fully been 6 seasons. Booth and Brennan were together by then, there is no reason buddie needs another full season…. especially after they’ve given themselves yet another wide open road to give us eddie coming to terms with his feelings; whether they go down that route or try to rehash shannon again is yet to be seen…

i saw someone else on here say something (and i cannot for the life of me remember who said it so full credit to that person for this quote) but it was along the lines of (and this is SEVERELY paraphrased) “tim made the choice to kill of shannon. if you wanted her to still be around then you shouldn’t have killed her. you made the choice, so stick with it.” and i feel like that applies to a LOT of the character regression/retconning we saw in s7

so i’m still in that boat of until they actually make the show good again, I’m gonna sit and wait because it’s not worth getting my hopes up and stressed about something that may not even happen bc the writers love toying either our emotions more than they love telling the story the way they themse have set it up to be told.

(also this applies to the show as a whole, not just buddie, there were so many plotlines in s7 that just careened into the realm of melodramatic soap opera to me in a way that was so ooc for the show… what happened to the little procedural dramedy? why is the cartel here committing arson? why are there pirates attacking a cruise ship in an arc that lasts all of 5 minutes? i miss the s2/3/4 era so badly (yes, say what you will about s4 but i enjoyed that season) and i really thought we were going to be getting that back in s7 (and pirate plot aside, eps 1-3 showed promise, and tbh aside from the kiss at the end 7x6 is one of my favorite episodes of the show in general, but as far as the season as a whole it just fell so flat for me)

[violetlunette]

Right, so I’m going to say something that will probably get me some flack but—I think Heinry’s worse than Rashta.

Notes:

*Anti-Heinry

*Slight defense—very slight—of Rashta

*Anti-Ergi

TRIGGER WARNING:

*Mentions of rape

Don’t misunderstand; Rashta’s actions are far worse, and she wrecked a lot of people’s lives. While I sympathize with her, I will never deny that she earned her villain status. However, all her actions were done out of desperation and ignorance.

At the start, Rasta had no idea what her presence would mean to Navier. She just thought the Emperor brought her into the family and that they would share him. And how would she? She was a slave isolated from the world and abused in every way by her owners. (And yet are portrayed as more sympathetic than her, but I digress.) On top of that, in their country, it wasn't uncommon for a kind to take a mistress. How would Rashta have known she was basically a homewrecker?

And then, it was only when others began manipulating her and Navier's brother tried to abort her child, that Rashta purposely lashed out at others to protect herself.

As the story went on, she was abused mentally and emotionally by everyone around her and gaslighted. She only believed one person was on her side, but he was the one behind all her pain and more. (Fuck you Ergi! I hope he gets stabbed with a yeevil fork and tossed out with the rest of the shit.)

I’m not saying she shouldn’t have been accountable, as she should have and was. And Navier's attitude towards her was justified. 

However, Heinry pulled a lot of shit as well, but unlike Rashta, he not only didn’t need to, but he knew better.

The western kingdom was not under threat from the Eastern empire, nor was his kingdom in need of anything. Heinry was just greedy. He was even going to take Navier as a political prisoner to make her fall in love with him through Stockholm. The only reason he didn’t is because of the divorce and Navier proposing marriage to him.

Then there’s his actions towards Krista. 

While not an innocent bird, I don’t think she crossed a moral line that earned her final fate. If I recall right, the worst she did was let a rumor spread. She didn’t even try to take advantage of Heinry when he was under the love potion and passed out on her lap. Yet, he forced her into suicide and had her remaining family spit on her memory. (Good job looking after your brother’s widowed wife, bird shit.)

And when you think about it, Heinry’s partly responsible for everything Rashta has done as he manipulated her through Ergi. Don’t get me wrong, Ergi’s actions are his own, but Heinry is the one who gave him the orders and helped. True, the former would have done what he did without the latter, but Heinry was the one to put him in the position to do so.

And on top of he spent a decade participating in rape by tricking girls into sleeping with him. (What they did is called buddy swap. Look it up yourself for details.)

And again, unlike Rashta, Heinry, a royal Prince raised with a royal education and more, knew better. He knew his actions were harmful and selfish but did it anyway for greed. And, again, there was no need for his actions. The Western kingdom was flourishing and under no threat from any other nation. They were said to be equal in power to the Empire, they just didn't have the name for--reasons.

Heinry wasn’t in a desperate situation where he was worried he would lose everything if he didn’t act, unlike Rashta. Worse, being a man of the world and not a slave, Heinry was well aware of the ramifications of his choices and that people would be hurt. Yet, despite all he did and unlike Rashta, he was never held accountable for anything. Why? Because he's the male lead, who's close to Navier. They get away with everything.

To sum it all up;

While Rashta's crimes were arguably worse, they were done out of ignorance, manipulation of several parties, and desperation. She had no idea what else to do other than what she did, and her choices were limited due to her gender, status, and knowledge.

Heinry’s actions were out of selfishness, greed, and of his own free will. No one pushed him to do anything, he CHOSE to even though he didn’t have to and had several options before him. Had he stayed his hand, he wouldn’t have lost anything. And again, through Ergi, he manipulated Rashta, so Heinrey has a hand in her crimes, as well.

He had choices and several options, and he chose the ones that hurt others. Yet was never held accountable for any of it and was even rewarded for being a terrible person. 

And that’s why I find him worse than Rashta.

[bridgetoesoteria]

🔥🐉Messages for 2024🔮✨

Sorry for the delay 😅 Got a bit carried away yesterday.

There are three decks for three piles, left to right. Each pile also gets two bonus affirmations to start their year 🥳.

Asking for messages/ what you need to know heading into 2024! Hope it resonates <3

Pile 1: Rider-Waite

Off the bat: I am getting something about your love life. It could be prominent for the first 3 months of this year.

Be less tense. Maybe get into yoga or pilates or something similar. Some people might enjoy strength training.

4 Card Spread: Ace of Swords, Wheel of Fortune, 9 of Cups (R), High Priestess. Bottom of deck is Queen of Wands.

I can see why some of you may be tense. I think you have a lot going on. In particular, there could be a toxic situation or individual you have been dealing with. I almost want to say managing. It won't be a relationship for all of you. It could be any domineering masculine figure in your life or a job situation. I'm saying this because right under the Queen of Wands is the Devil and a few other negative cards, bookended by the King of Wands.

Anywho, despite that I am getting a positive message for you heading into 2024. I kept hearing that "you know the truth." So I don't know if someone has been trying to gaslight you or if you are learning to trust your intuition. Either way, you only benefit from trusting what you know in your gut is the truth of a person or situation.

You are much more resilient than you may know. Or maybe you are just tired of having to be resilient (i feel that). I think that is going to motivate you to start taking more control of your life. I'm not a doctor and if you are feeling depressed, or just not okay emotionally, please reach out to someone for help. With the 9 of cups reversed, some of you may be feeling super unfulfilled, disappointed, and despondent.

The Wheel of Fortune is next to it however, it is my "things are looking up," card. So I see the lack of fulfillment changing. For some this may require you learning how to be more "selfish" or getting rid of a person with a selfish attitude! I see you giving them the boot and them just swirling away like they're being flushed 🚽 lol. These changes may even benefit you financially.

TL;DR: So I guess the overall message is to stand in your power. Remember you are that bitch/guy/person. Or at least you can be if you so choose. Better boundaries and less need for external validation will bring you a lot of peace. You know the truth and the right thing to do. You can trust your intuition

Pile 2: Lucid Dreams Beginners Tarot

Off the bat: You could feel a little scatter brained right now. You might feel like your mind is buzzing and there is a lot to do! Slow down a little so you don't mix things up. I almost grabbed the wrong deck for your pile. Double check everything. Don't lose shit!

You may want to meditate.

4 Card Spread: The Tower, The Fool, Ten of Pentacles, and Queen of Pentacles. Bottom of deck is Seven of Swords.

You know...just as I was beginning to shuffle, I got a message about the soft life. Maybe you should allow yourself to be pampered and blessed more. Not just by people but the universe and yourself.

Also, are there scammers in this pile cause I'm getting some finessing energy 🤣. If you are living a city girl type of life, tread carefully. Just giving this warning because of the 7 of swords and Tower. But you seem to think quick on your feet so you will be good. Work hard but keep your hands clean. You want to build a lasting dynasty.

For others, you could be planning a wedding or planning to elope. Maybe some of you are actually reconsidering marriage all together. It doesn't feel negative but more like, you feel you need more time on your own. Maybe a recent success at work or another area of life has you wondering about the health of the grass just yonder 🤔. Should you follow your heart or stay where you are? I don't know just don't do anything crazy and focus on your legacy/long-term goals.

I can't ignore all the pentacles. In some way, money and foundations are important. This could be related to your family, legacy, inheritance, career, etc. There is emphasis on your physical world. Some of you could be going against family traditions or in some way stepping out on your own. You feel ready to carve out your own path and it is hard to hold it in any longer.

Some of you could go back to an ex or someone you are separated from. For others, that could be the very thing you are rebelling against. I'm hearing "who said I have to choose you?!" You could just now be realizing that you have autonomy and the feeling is intoxicating. There is a male energy present. I can't tell if this is a family member or significant other. Be wary of this person. They are a bit stuck in their ways.

TL;DR: You want to take life by the horns. You feel so ready for it! I feel like it could have been a long time coming for many of you. See what it feels like to be free. Just don't get too carried away! Be wary of the intentions behind people wanting to sway you from your decisions. Keep focusing on your bag and carrying yourself with grace. Maybe you will make some mistakes but maybe they will be make for awesome memories! For some of you, marriage or long term partnership could be on the mind heavily.

(three wanted to come out so I rolled with it).

Pile 3: Muppet Bear Tarot

Off the Bat: I felt really chill starting this pile. I took a little break, had a laugh then came back to it. So maybe you are a little checked out and just going with your flow. The last few years may have been rough and all you want is quiet. As long as you are balancing your priorities, keep moseying down the lazy river of life ☮

Also, if you have been considering getting your first tarot deck...

🔆this is your sign🔆

There are plenty of budget and beginner friendly decks. Do some research then choose what you feel drawn to. Caution: Don't get too sucked into doing readings. I think many of us had that phase 😅

4 Card Spread: 8 of Wands, 5 of Cups, Queen of Pentacles, and Strength (R). Bottom of the deck is the World.

Again, I am getting the feeling that you are more focused on your day to day. You make sure your "home is in order," then you go off to your happy place. If this is not what you are doing, maybe this is encouragement to start. You could be mourning a loss, whether it is a person or a relationship. Or you could be feeling down for another reason. Its okay to do what you need to feel better. Maybe its a quiet night in with a cozy atmosphere or a solo trip.

In some way, releasing control will help propel you forward.

Some of you may be in a long-distance relationship and finally getting the chance to be together. For others, as you focus on healing yourself, you will naturally meet a love interest. Or an existing connection could unexpectedly develop into something romantic. I feel this person being emotionally safe for you. You are entering a new chapter in your life without even realizing it.

You may receive a message that you have been waiting on. Could be a DM, text, email, or even physical mail. Someone may have been sitting on it for awhile. I am not necessarily getting malice behind this delay even though it may be annoying.

There's definitely a chance for a fresh start. It could start slow but I have a feeling you won't mind that. This fresh start could somehow be related to you coming out victorious in a situation or just being "chosen."

Some of you may have family going to combat or returning from combat. I'm definitely getting a military undertone. This could be a young male that wants to make everyone proud. I think whoever that message resonates with will get it. For others, there could be a male who you would like to see do well.

TL;DR: Focusing on healing is the right thing to do. You have been through a lot so its okay to create your own safe space to reside in. Your blessings won't miss you. Even as you focus on yourself, good events and people will still find their way to you. Trust that the whatever high power(s) you believe in have got your back. You could experience rejuvenation in your romantic life. Also, a delayed message is coming through. Welcome to the next chapter of your life :). You deserve all the good karma headed your way this year. 🥰

Hope you loved your readings. May we all have a wonderful start to our 2024s 🥂🎇

~K

[thefirsthogokage]

So, the AMPTP basically said that the studios take too much risk to pay people anything for streaming shows. Here's John Rogers and David Slack responding to that.

(link to top of thread)

[Image ID: A tweet thread from John Rogers on July 23rd, 2023 that reads in its entirety:

Last time I had a failure - which was collateral damage in an argument between the studio and the network - I had to personally fire 200 people, they all were off payroll by that afternoon, and I was also out of a job. The executives all continued to get paid. So fuck off.

Actually, that’s not true. The failure after that one happened as collateral damage in one of the mergers, so it had nothing to do with the quality of the show. And I had to wait, forbidden to work, not earning a dime, as they shopped it for six months.

Also several of my writers were cheated of their expected salaries, some losing up to 75%, for reasons too complicated to explain here. Those executives, both studio and streamer, all kept their jobs. So double fuck off.

Actually no, my last failure was a show where after delivery the network made us wait *seven months … for a PASS*. Seven months where I was in first position, and again, was forbidden from working.

Do that was one pilot fee, cut in half with a partner, for a year and a half’s work counting development. Those executives, both studio and network, kept their jobs.

So *triple* fuck off.

Luckily I had my tiny sliver of back end from TRANSFORMERS - no, wait, no, because according to the Hollywood accounting while that movie grossed something like a billion dollars all in, it unfortunately wound up $36 million in the hole.

So QUADRUPLE fuck off.

If you’re dumb enough to take that AMPTP statement at face value, responsible adults should remove all the scissors from your home. You are the reason hair dryers have the “Do not use while sleeping” warning.

/End ID]

I believe that merger one was Leverage or The Librarians. Both were doing REALLY well before they got cancelled due to network shit, I know that much. So the network/studio one could be either of those as well. Probably Leverage?

(Link to top of thread)

[Image ID: A tweet thread from David Slack posted July 21st, 2023 that reads in its entirety:

The studios claim they shouldn’t have to share revenue for the success of the shows we make succeed because they assume all the risk.

Well.

To paraphrase a famous actor: There’s more than one type of risk, motherfucker.

While the studios and their new hedge fund besties may assume some modest financial risk, any losses just go on a balance sheet next to the C-suite’s golden parachutes.

The workers in this industry, on the other hand, risk a hell of a lot more than that.

Most working actors live with the constant uncertainty of never knowing where their next paycheck will come from or how long it will be between jobs. That’s risk.

If they work a second job, they often risk losing it every time they take time off for auditions or jobs.

Actors also generally have little control over the final product, so *every* role is a risk for them. Sure, it could be the hit that changes everything. But it could also be a flop that hurts their career for years. They become “the guy from that thing” and can’t get more work.

Under our old contract, writers put in untold hours of free work developing and rewriting pitches and scripts for features and TV. Much of this work is on spec. That’s a huge risk writers take on — yet the studios are happy to benefit from the upside without taking on any risk.

Writers, actors, crew, and directors also risk our personal relationships, spending long hours at work, frequently across the country or around the world. Our partners soldier on without us. Our kids miss us and we can only hope they’ll understand.

That’s a huge risk.

Stunt performers literally risk their lives for the shows we make. Productions and crews take every possible precaution to ensure their safety, but accidents still can and do happen.

You gonna try and tell us that’s not risk?

All of us risk our health and safety working insane hours to keep up with the schedules our bosses create. When was the last time David Zaslav or Bob Iger worked a Fraturday? Do they even know what one is?

In production, where 14, 15, and 16 hour days are common, people have died from falling asleep at the wheel driving to and from set.

And the studios have the fucking gall to say they’re taking all the risk?

We risk our finances, our families, our friendships, our futures, and sometimes our lives to make a product for you that you have no idea how to make yourselves.

All you risk is money.

And by the fucking way, we *know* you can afford to give us success-based pay — because you’ve been doing it for 83 YEARS.

Remember 1960? When both the WGA and SAG went on strike and won…

residuals for TV?

Residuals for TV *are* success-based pay. Great movies and TV shows re-ran more often, so the people who created and starred in them got more money as a reward for that success. It’s a great system that incentivized workers to bust their asses to make great shows.

And you know what happened to the entertainment industry in the 8 decades studios have been making these success-based payments?

IT THRIVED.

Studios made billions in revenue selling our product all around the world.

But now, the studios say they can’t afford it. They say it’s not “fair” for actors to ask for success-based pay because they don’t take on any risk.

That’s stupid.

It’s offensive.

And it’s a lie.

It’s shameful that the AMPTP and their studio bosses are trying to deny the workers who make their product a bonus for success that is time-tested and has 83 years of precedent.

And that they’re lying about it?

That’s just… uncivilized. #WGAStrong #SAGAFTRAStrong

/End ID]

The absolute fuckery of this statement that came from the AMPTP is that the studios thought this would gain them sympathy. They were wrong. They genuinely thought this was a good statement from them because they DO think they take all the risk because they can't see people who don't have their wealth as real people. They can't.

Wealth is a disease.

No one should make the kind of money these people make. It makes them so out of touch they think of themselves as gods among ants. They step on those ants? They don't notice. They don't care. They just keep moving forward to gain as much money as possible, even though they have no way to spend it.

Fuck the studios, a new system needs to be built around them so that they'll die.

[sports-on-sundays]

hii, could you do fluff with pau cubarsí where the reader is a volleyball player and he goes to watch her to a game but she loses and she is sad and disappointed of herself and pau tries to cheer her up? hope you’ve understood everything!

bump, set, spike / Pau Cubarsí

Summary: Pau x volleyball player!girlfriend!reader - Pau is there to comfort you after a loss.

Warnings: I love volleyball- but sorry if I got some of the game play wrong because it's been some months since I played a real game and I don't really watch it

Requested?: Yes, thanks!

It's the fifth set. Your team has won two, and your opponent has won two.

The score is close, nearly to fifteen, and it's your serve.

You breathe deeply, letting the whole world around you be drowned out. You have to do this right. A good serve is all you need to do. And pray that the volleys after that go in your favour.

You sigh, toss the ball up in the air, hit it, and watch as it soars through the air-

and over the net.

You sigh again, getting into position to be there to hit the ball back up as one of your opponents spikes it over the net. You run to bump it up, and wince as it leaves your arm, backing up, seeing it wasn't a very good hit.

You hold your breath as one of your teammates sets it straight up. You run to desperately try to bump it over the net, as it's now in the middle of the court, in front of the girl in sixth position, who just hit it.

You slide onto your knees and bump it up-

But it's not enough.

You watch as the ball hits the ground, right in front of the net.

Your head pounds as you press your sweaty forehead against the cold court.

"No..." you whisper.

You feel one of your teammates' hands on your back, and another says, "Hey, Y/n. Come on. You played well." She holds her hand out for you to take it, and you do. She pulls you up, and you walk off the court together, but not for a moment do you lift your eyes.

After you've showered and changed from your shorts, jersey, knee pads, and volleyball shoes, you're wearing a comfy yellow hoodie, grey jeans, and a light blue denim jacket. As soon as Pau sees you, he rushes to you, and exclaims, "Good job, Y/n!"

But you continue staring at the floor and murmur hollowly, "Thanks."

He frowns, and grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. He looks at you with earnest eyes and says softly, "I'm serious. You played so well."

You shrug and mutter, continuing to walk past him, "Yeah. And we were so close to winning, too."

Pau follows you, and you hear a sigh escape his lips behind you. You continue walking, pulling your hood over your face and tightening the drawstrings. When you reach the bus stop, you plop down, glad that there's not many people waiting here.

Pau sits down next to you and rests his hand on your knee gently. "I know it hurts," he begins tentatively, "to lose. But your performance was so good."

"No, it wasn't!" you snap, your nose crinkling up. "I wanted to play better, for you! You were there watching me... I wanted to... I wanted to at least win for you."

"Buttercup," he frowns, rubbing your knee a bit. "If you can play better than you played today, you're unbelievable. Because you played really well. I am impressed. I don't care what the scoreboard said. I saw how you played, how you put your all into it, and I'm proud of you. I really am. Okay?"

Your lip curls a bit as you stare at the concrete below your feet. "You shouldn't be. I was the one who lost the game..."

"Y/n, no you didn't!" he says right away, taking your hand. "That was an amazing last serve of you."

"Yeah, but my bump was bad!"

"But it's not all your fault! You're playing a team sport. You can't blame it all on yourself. You just can't. The other girl's set wasn't as good as it should have been! Maybe someone else should have gone for that ball, like the middle hitter. You went for it. You showed spirit. And I'm proud of you for that."

"Yeah, but... it didn't go over."

"And it happens, okay? Sometimes in the ninety-first minute, the perfect chance goes just wide of the post. Whoever missed that shot can't blame the loss of the whole game only on himself. You can't blame the loss on yourself, either. You won two sets, and for all five of them, you were the shining star. You were the best."

You sigh heavily. "You're just saying that because you're my boyfriend."

"No, I'm not. I watched the whole game. I watched every player. You were consistently the best."

"Stop..." you sigh, fighting a smile, trying to hold on to your disappointment at the result.

He smiles a little and says, linking his arm with yours. "Hey, forget waiting for this bus. You must be hungry after playing so hard." He pulls you up with him as he stands up. "There's a nice restaurant a few blocks away, and I've got some cash on me. How about I get my winner some dinner?"

You grumble as he pulls you along, "I'm not a winner."

"Well, you sure do play like one. Like I said, I don't care about the stupid scoreboard. I care about my girlfriend, and I'm proud to be dating the best player on that court."

"Hmmph," you murmur, glancing away, knowing if you catch his sparkling eye, you won't be able to keep the smile off your face.

But you give into the smile as he adds cheesily, "Besides, you'll always be a winner. Because damn, I think you've won my heart."

You groan, looking at him with a big stupid grin, and murmur, "Ah, shut up."

But he grins back. "There's your lovely smile. Now, let's go get some food."