#of my things and burial if I were to die | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lewmagoo · 7 months

Text

to my heart, he carries the key | bob floyd

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

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

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

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

Things had changed in The White House.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And thus, new leadership walked onto the stage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And when we get there?”

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

“Yes sir.”

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

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

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

“Whatever it takes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach dropped. “Bobby, what—”

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

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

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

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

“But-”

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

“With my life,” you replied without hesitation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You did.

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

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

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

“Where are we going?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you would cherish the time you were allotted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that better?” He asked.

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

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

Your chest warmed. “I love you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You need me, honey?”

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

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

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

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

You nodded.

“Words, lovey.”

“Yes sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm,” you hummed around his thumb.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feels so good,” you whined.

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

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

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

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

“Bobby,” you whimpered then.

“I know, baby. I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D-don’t tease,” you squeaked out.

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

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

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

“Oh!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, unfortunately, it did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he had no idea how many more there were.

He would soon find out.

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

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

“Drop the fuckin’ weapon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah! So she is here!”

And just like that, it all fell apart.

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

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

“Bobby!” You wailed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then, hope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then, you heard it. “I-in here!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Bobby,” you tearfully spoke.

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

“But I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey kid,” Bradley greeted you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that was out of the question.

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

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

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

Your mind was elsewhere, longing for your Bobby.

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

They were going to operate immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll have the nurse bring you some.”

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

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

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

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

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

But his worries were far from over.

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

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

“Like hell,” Bob muttered in reply.

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

“Go ahead.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does she know she was used as bait?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you want me to lie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need to tell you something.”

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

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

You stared at him. “What?”

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

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

“Sweetheart, my mind is made up.”

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

“No, nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

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

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “What—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hoped he was right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that was just what you did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bobby,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good, because I’m here to stay.”

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

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

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

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

To love you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

580 notes · View notes

to-the-stars8 · 18 days

Text

Learning to Love Slowly

Jason Todd x Reader All Chapters AO3

69- Burial Plots and Romantic Dorks

Jason pressed his sweaty forehead against yours and smiled down at you. Quietly, he praised just how beautiful you were. When he spoke to you like that, you couldn’t help but want to give him everything. With one more kiss to your lips, Jason finally rolled to lay next to you. Just as you were going to leave to wash up, Jay tugged at your arm.

“Lay down,” was all he said. You did as he asked, laying your head on his chest as he wrapped an arm around you to secure you there. Once you were comfortable and cuddled up close to him, Jason added, “That’s my girl.”

Giggling, you turned to place a kiss on his pec and said, “You are such a romantic dork.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Miss ‘If you die you better buy two burial plots because I’m coming with you’.”

You playfully smacked his chest. “Listen, who else is gonna put up with me, huh?”

When Jason grew quiet you suspected that the conversation had taken an unforeseen lull, but then his hand came up around your shoulder. His fingers gently pushed your chin to look up at him. “I don’t think you realize that anyone would be extremely lucky to have you as a partner. I know I am.”

You looked away so he wouldn’t see the effect his words had on you, but it was useless. You were nearly positive he could feel just how fast and hard your heart was beating since your chest was pressed up against his side. Luckily, if he did, he didn’t say anything.

Things fell quiet between you, but it wasn’t awkwardly so. There was something so intimate about just existing with someone you loved. Fully relaxing against him, you ran your flat palm up and down Jason’s abdomen, feeling every muscle and scar as you did.

As you did that, he wondered if you knew just how much you had him whipped for you. It could have been the sex still on his mind, but his body felt hot just by your touch. The smallest of your touches could have him satisfied for weeks.

Yawning, you stopped your caressing and began to detach yourself from him. The chill came to Jason suddenly, and he thought it unfair that you should leave him feeling this way.

“I have to pee so bad,” You said, waddling to the bathroom.

As he lay there, alone, Jason thought about getting up. Yet, his body wasn’t inclined to do it. He liked laying like this in your bed, almost like it wasn’t only your bed but that it belonged to the two of you.

It took a couple of minutes, but eventually, Jason found it in him to get up. Just as he was going to roll out of bed, you ran back into the room, now with underwear on, and leaped onto him.

“No, I forbid it, you cannot leave,” You said into the nape of his neck. Jason wrapped his arms around you, liking how your body felt against his. “Do you think we could be, like, closer? For some reason, I don’t think this is close enough.”

He was beginning to wonder who the romantic dork was in this relationship.

#jason todd #red hood #bruce wayne #jason todd x reader #romance #batfamily #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #alfred pennyworth #dick grayson #batman #dc comics

194 notes · View notes

stormhearty · 2 months

Text

Pairings: Former Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Triggers: nightmares, mentions of blood, death, depression

Summary: It has been several years since your death and your tenth death anniversary is coming up once more. It had, and always will be, a difficult time for the Inner Circle — the regret and remorse evident in the River House. Even though it had been a decade, the evidence of the loss of your light still echoed heavily throughout Pyrthian. Here are how the Inner Circle copes and mourns during the death anniversary.

Note: From this request! Thank you for sending this request and for loving Pushed to the Edge! I do hope this is a bit of extra angst for the ending. It's mostly in Azriel and a bit of Rhysand's POV. We all know that Feyre mourns often the reader's death (since she goes to Day Court during the burial), so I thought it would be good just to mostly focus on Azriel's and a bit of Rhysand's. Also, the meanings of the flowers I placed in the description for Helion’s ceremony for the reader’s death:

Calla - beauty Cattail - peace White Heather - protection Purple Hyacinths - sorrow Ivy - affection White Poppies - Consolation, eternal sleep Tea and dark crimson roses - Mourning and I’ll always remember Sweetpea & Cyclamen - Goodbye, departure Amaryllis - Pride Pink Carnations - I’ll never forget you Iris - Your friendship means so much to me

I hope you all enjoy!

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

His hands shook as they dripped in blood, warm and sticky. Hazel hues followed the trail of blood to a familiar body.

A cry of grief escaped his lips as he crawled over to your body, Truth-Teller piercing through your chest. Your body was unmoving from its prone position. Azriel gently cradled your body in his arms, tears blurring his vision as he looked at your features — one that was etched with so much pain that his heart ached at the sight of it.

“I’m so sorry, my love… I… I’m sorry that I abandoned you, I’m sorry for my infidelity towards you… I’m sorry that I killed you. I’m just… so sorry…” He was sorry for many things. There were too many things he could apologize for but none of them he could whisper to you to bring you back to him. He would have to pay for his transgressions for the rest of his immortal life — the Gods would never give him another chance with her; the Gods would never gift him with another mate as amazing as her.

He was about to press another kiss against your forehead only to watch shadows, his shadows, rise from the ground and slowly start to wrap around your body.

Azriel growled at them, “Leave us alone, leave her with me.. that's all I ask. Don't you fucking dare take her…!”

They didn't listen to him as tendrils of darkness fully wrapped your body before taking your body in whips of shadow. He tried to grab your body before it disappeared but failed.

“No…!!!”

Azriel woke up with a start, chest heaving as he painted, his hand stretched out as if to grab something — your body — from the shadows. His body wracked with a strong shiver, before he slumped against the headboard, a groan escaping his chest as he ran his hand over his face.

Another nightmare.

Every night, for the last decade, he would dream of you — in all different scenarios — ones he would have you in his arms, in bed, sweet and gentle moments; others ( and most of the time ) it was your death, feeling the echo of the mating bond resonate in his chest, watching your body die in his arms, or even watching himself stab you through your heart.

Ever since that fateful day, he has not gotten a decent night’s sleep. Dark circles stained underneath his hazel eyes and those hazel eyes, that used to shine for you, have dullened. Very little things had made him brighten up nowadays — probably the only thing was the birth of his nephew, Nyx. And Nyx has been the only thing that has kept him surviving all these years — along with living with the guilt and pain of your death.

Azriel let out a muffled sob, pressing a hand against his lips as he allowed the nightmare to pass wracks of shivers through his body. Hazel hues shifting from his sweat-stained bed to the large floor-to-ceiling windows, the glow of the full moon beaming down into his room.

He knew he wasn't going to get another wink of sleep tonight. Slipping out of bed, bare feet pressing against the cool wooden floors, he slipped on a simple black tee and sweatpants before stepping out of his room, and down the spiral staircase to the massive garden of the River House.

Azriel usually avoided the gardens, knowing that Elain would be there tending to them.

Their relationship was non-existent at this point. After your death, he cut off all contact and interactions with her, feeling disgusted with himself with even just the sight of her.

For the first couple of months, Elain tried to rebuild her relationship with the Inner Circle; however, after her lies were exposed, it had been a tough road. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel had ignored her, to the point that Rhysand had ordered Elain to live in the old Townhouse to give comfort to the rest of the family. She would only come to the River House when Feyre would ask her to help tend the gardens. Otherwise, even the Archeron sisters had little contact with the middle sister.

Azriel’s feet led him to a familiar part of the gardens, the only place he would go to that would calm the echo of the empty mating bond in his chest.

After your burial, Feyre sent the image of the statue that Helion had created in your making to the Inner Circle. And in honor of you, Rhysand made one as well — a statue of you, but in Night Court fashion — the opposite of your image in Day Court. Wearing a dark blue dress, one covered with stars, with a moon circlet on your head.

Azriel basked in the statue’s liking to you, seeing the moon’s light radiate behind the statue like a halo made him smile — just a tiny bit. He shifted, sitting down on the bench that was in front of the statue. He leaned forward, pressing his elbows onto his thighs.

“…Hi my love…” he whispered as he looked up at the statue, “Another nightmare… brings me to you.”

A sigh escaped his lips as he felt tears prick the edge of his eyes, and he blinked to fight them away. He has fought so many tears every night, that Azriel felt like his whole body had dried up with how many tears he had shed since your death. He knows he shouldn’t complain, that his grief was evidence that he deserved all the things he had done to you. We all will continue to live with our betrayal. Live and regret, as Rhysand and Cassian told him that day.

Staring back up at the statue, his eyes glanced up at the twinkling stars above Valeris and muttered the singular wish, a wish he had wished for every year, “I hope that at Starfall I will see your light twinkling in the skies above, where you will streak across that beautiful night sky, finding your peace…”

After sitting in front of that statue for several hours, he decided to fly up to the House of Wind to the training balcony and train there. He forgone his black shirt and focused on his training, using every ounce of pain and grieving to train. He stayed up there, time passing quickly until he felt the claws of his brother scrape down his mental shields. Azriel sighed and looked up at the bright blue sky, not even noticing how the day had become midday, the hot sun beating down against his sweaty skin.

“…Azriel…” a light, airy voice called his name.

He let out an animalistic growl before he grabbed his shirt from the chair he had flung it onto, slipping it on his form before spreading his wings to fly. He heard the quickened steps, seeing Elain in his peripherals, the middle Archeron’s sister’s eyes begging at him to look at her.

“…Stay away from me, Elain… I swear to the Gods, if you try to look for me again, I’ll have my High Lord and High Lady dump you on the borders of the human realm to leave you to their discretion…”

Elain frowned at him, stepping into his view, “You cannot put all the blame on me. I have tried to win you and my family’s graces back… I don’t know what I can do to get on your good graces again…”

Azriel glared at the Made-Fae, “… No, I cannot put all the blame on you, I blame mostly myself on falling for you. I never realized why I had after being mated to (Y/N) for nearly fifty years… I could have had my forever with her… And yet, my blind infatuation with you cost us that. I don’t want to do anything with you, as my way to repent… my way to live and regret for the rest of my immortal life without her…”

With one last glare, and without letting the Made-Fae say anything else, Azriel shot off into the mid-day sky, waving through the cool air of Valeris and back to the River House. He landed on the balcony and entered, walking into the large dining room where his family was situated. He noticed the solemn air that coated the room as he sat down in his usual spot, next to Mor and across from Cassian. Hazel eyes wandered the table and noticed the absence of his High Lady.

Rhysand noticed the look from his Spymaster and answered the unasked question, “Feyre went to Day Court this morning…”

That was all it took for realization to hit Azriel — it was your tenth death anniversary this week. A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he leaned back against his chair — ten years without your light. No wonder he felt horrible that day, no wonder why his nightmares seemed to be worse than ever before.

It was as if his subconscious knew.

Azriel knew that after this breakfast, he would be able to crawl back into bed and cry there — he didn’t have to do anything for the rest of that week. He would be able to wallow in his depression in the comfort of his room.

Rhysand, after the first year of your death, had declared that week a period of silence — a mourning period that allowed Valeris and most of Night Court to grieve over your death. To repent and live. It was a week where he didn’t send anyone on missions, and stores throughout Valeris were closed over the week.

The Inner Circle ate in silence, the clattering of silverware was the only thing that echoed in the grand space. No one said a word, though Azriel could feel the shifting gazes towards his way. His fingers gripped the silverware in his hands, feeling the metal bend in his strength. A frown tugged on his features, suddenly losing his appetite. He placed the utensils down, the evidence of his slight anger on the bent pieces of metal, before standing up.

He could see Mor, in his peripheral shift slightly. Azriel huffed slightly, unaware of the looming energy he was radiating until he felt a tap against his mental shields. Hazel eyes looked over to his High Lord who had given him a raised brow.

“Reign in your anger, brother… We are just worried, as usual,” Rhysand had whispered into his head.

They know how hard it has been for him over the past decade. The Inner Circle had been present through every nightmare, every depressive episode, every self-loathing that Azriel had gone through — and is still going through to this day. All of them had tried to help him lessen the burden of regret; however, they knew that the Spymaster would never let anyone shoulder his pain — not when he was the cause of it.

Azriel felt his tears line his reddened eyes, “…I know, and I thank you for that, brother… May I just grieve on my own… May I be excused?”

Hazel and violet eyes stared at each other for a moment before Rhysand nodded his head, “I will tap on your shields again when Feyre is at the ceremony…”

His head nodded before the Spymaster stalked out of the dining room, feeling all eyes on him. He climbed up those spiral staircases again before entering his bedroom with a slam of his door. A shiver wracked through his body, eyes shutting close as he tried to prevent another breakdown. He shuffled his feet, towards the bed and lay there.

He will never be okay — no matter how many decades, how many centuries have passed, he will always feel that emptiness of the bond in his chest. He would never feel you tug on that golden string that connected the two of you, nor he won’t hear your laugh whenever Cassian or Mor would tell you a joke. He won’t feel your fingers trace along his scars or place ointment on his hands whenever they were cramped and strained after a mission.

There were days — which were the worse of them — when he would hallucinate you were still alive. In that very bedroom, he would feel, smell, and see your very figure walking through that room. He could see your light, he could hear your voice… but whenever he would reach out to try to hold you, touch you, you would be gone in a whisp of light.

Azriel hated those days. He would find himself in a heap on the ground, crying. His brothers or even Mor would find him in that state at the end of the day and would plead for him to go to bed and rest. And with their help, he would lay in that large bed, bigger than his wings would span out to, to just stare at the expanses of that ceiling. Rest would never come to him easily anymore, not without a tonic from Madja or if Rhysand would slip into his mind and coax him to sleep.

He would continue to live on as an empty shell — one that would continue life without feeling your light.

Rhysand let out a shaky breath after Azriel had left the dining room, a hand running through his dark locks as he slumped against his chair.

It had been difficult, the last decade was like walking on broken glass around Azriel. The High Lord knew that his brother was suffering, but Rhysand also knew it was the consequences of his actions — of all of their actions against (Y/N). All of them, especially himself and Azriel, would continue to suffer for it.

Rhysand was thankful to the Mother that Feyre had been there throughout the past decade to help shoulder the pain, to shoulder the regret. And he had tried to do the same with Azriel; however, the former Shadowsinger wouldn’t let anyone touch him, wouldn’t let anyone help him through his emotions. And he watched as Azriel broke himself apart because of his pain. The High Lord watched every single day, every year, for the past decade, his brother becoming a shell. Even when he had sent Azriel on missions, the Fae would come back, finishing his assignment quickly and swiftly, though Rhysand could see blood and bruises that contrasted against leather.

Every time, every single time, Azriel had returned from those missions, Rhysand had seen the increased amount of wounds against immortal skin. And when confronted, Azriel had whispered in truth, “It’s the only time I feel pain… To feel the echo of the pain against my skin… Any other time, I can’t feel anything…”

That had broken the High Lord.

He had banned, much to his dismay and Azriel’s anger, the former Spymaster to go on said missions. He had changed Azriel’s title, and became an emissary, along with Mor to the Continent. Azriel hated him — and probably still hated him to this day. But it was the only way to keep his brother from hurting himself, from being hurt, and to keep his family together — as much as possible.

The High Lord stood up from his chair, giving a small smile to his family as he left the dining room and walked his way to his office, allowing the silence to seep into his body. Rhysand busied himself with work, the only thing that would occupy his time and mind during the week of mourning. If he didn’t, he would, like his brother, be stuck in his mind — in his nightmares — of failing you as your High Lord.

He felt a tap of his mental shields, his mate scraping and sending down a wave of love towards his end.

"Are you okay?” Feyre asked him and Rhysand leaned against his chair and allowed his mate to send visions of her time at Day Court.

“I think so… Just, trying to keep myself occupied you know. How is it at Day? How is Helion?”

“He’s probably the same as you and Azriel.. all of us, mourning. But he’s keeping up appearances, he is ensuring this year’s ceremony will be grand. It is her tenth year being gone from this world…”

Rhysand wouldn’t hold it against Helion if this ceremony would be a grand, beautiful one to celebrate your life… to mourn for your death. You had, after all, deserved it. You had risked your life, your light, to protect all of Prythian… you had to be celebrated one way or another.

He watched the vision of the grand Day Court halls, lined with Calla, Cattail, White Heather, Purple Hyacinths, Ivy, White Poppies, and Tea and dark crimson roses — all flowers that echoed the sentiments of all of Prythian. It was a gorgeous sight, one that Rhysand wished to see in person. Tears pricked his eyes as he wiped them away with a finger, as he felt another wave of support from his mate.

"Be safe, darling Feyre… If you need me to take Nyx, do just call me… I can take him from your hands…"

A small laugh echoed, and in his head he could see the image of Nyx standing next to his mother, looking up at the golden statue of you.

"I think he deserves to know who she is, Rhys… He will be fine…"

With one last tug on that bond, Rhysand closed the connection between the two of them.

A book, he had thought, a book would be good to immortalize your story. With ink and paper, he started to write… determined to ensure your story would be known for centuries to come.

A tap against his shields started Azriel from his stupor. He straightened in the armchair he had occupied in his bedroom, eyes darting to the window to see what time of day it was. He hadn’t slept for the past few days, his nightmares plaguing him even while awake. He would mindlessly walk around that room, keeping himself occupied to keep the nightmares at bay. He didn’t sleep, he hadn’t showered — he wallowed in his sadness.

And so when that scrape of darkness against his mind startled him out of his sadness, he lowered it slightly to allow his High Lord to send him the vision that his High Lady was sending him.

Tears pricked at the edge of his eyes as he saw that magnificent statue of you at your grave.

Oh, how he wished and begged for the Mother to allow him, even for a brief moment, to bask in that golden statue — to feel Day Court’s sun mimic the warmth that you had always radiated.

He watched from that armchair the ceremony, hearing Helion speak so fondly of you. Azriel could hear the High Lord’s voice crack and break at every mention of your name. He could see the pain in his features as he talked about how it had been ten years since your death. He watched as Helion looked at that statue with so much fondness — a father, mourning the loss of his child.

The ceremony lasted a couple of hours, allowing people to walk up to the statue to place all types of flowers on top of that gravesite. He watched as the familiar hands of his High lady held up a bouquet — a mixture of Sweetpea, Amaryllis, Pink Carnations, Cyclamen, and Iris — to the statue before placing it down on the grave as well.

He heard her whisper words of fondness, love, and regret before stepping away and back to her spot in the crowd.

The last thing he heard, was from his nephew, who whispered to his mother, “I wish to have known her… She is well loved, even after she has died…”

That had choked not only Azriel up, but he could feel the pain in Feyre’s voice as she looked down at the boy who was merely ten years into his immortal life.

“…I wish you could have known her as well, Nyx… She was a light in everyone’s life. She had made your uncle’s life the best it had been when she was still with us. We wish we could have done so much better to her…”

Azriel watched as Feyre caressed the black locks of his nephew before the vision passed. And all Azriel could do was cry — cry his love, his sorrow, his regret.

#acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #acotar angst #azriel x reader #azriel angst #( .inbox request : death anniversary )#( .one shot : pushed to the edge )

328 notes · View notes

bingwriterxo · 11 months

Text

a love more than love

pairing: wednesday addams x reader

summary: in which wednesday breaks her normal routine to visit you

warnings: mentions of death

word count: 750+

author's note: i posted this on wattpad a while ago, but i really enjoy it, so i wanted to bring it over to this platform, too!

"Isn't this your designated writing time?" Enid asked her roommate, watching with curiosity as the raven-haired girl dug through her wardrobe, looking for a specific piece of clothing.

Wednesday sighed, drew away from the piece of furniture, and turned towards the blonde. "Yes, Enid, but more important things have arisen."

"Such as...?" The blonde knew it was a dangerous game to pester the other girl, but she wasn't used to Wednesday going against her calculated schedule. It intrigued her more than it should have, and she wanted answers.

"If you must know, I'm going to visit Y/N," Wednesday admitted. "It's been one year."

Enid's gaze flitted to the floor for a moment before returning to her roommate. "Oh."

A heavy silence blanketed the two girls, and the Addams turned back around to continue her search, though it only lasted for a moment or two before she faced the werewolf again.

"Have you seen my sweatshirt? The one with the zipper?" she asked, tapping her foot on the floor as she impatiently awaited a response.

"Thing dragged it under the bed the other day," Enid said, pointing towards Wednesday's mattress. With a curt nod as a thank you, the raven-haired girl walked over to her bed before dropping to her knees and reaching beneath it, her fingers finding the offending item. She pulled it out, dusted it off, and then put it on over her shirt. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Wednesday ignored her question. "I'll be back before night fall."

* * *

The cemetery was completely empty of anything living when Wednesday arrived. She wandered through the area in search of your gravesite as she hadn't returned since the burial, but it wasn't hard to find: your tombstone--a stark white granite and surrounded by vibrant flowers, all left by friends that had visited that day--stood out amongst the others.

She sat in front of the gravestone, drawing her knees to her chest and resting her chin atop them, her arms wrapping around her legs. For a moment, she merely stared at the epitaph that had been engraved in the stone:

We loved with a love that was more than love.

It was a quote from your favorite Edgar Allan Poe poem, "Annabel Lee," and was a sentence that Wednesday had heard fall from your lips numerous times. It slipped off of your tongue in such an elegant way that it had seemed almost as natural to you as breathing.

"We loved with a love that was more than love," Wednesday recited in a murmur. She reached a hand out, traced the words with her forefinger, tried to ignore the feelings that were stirring within her. "I loved you with a love that was more than love."

Softly, she pressed her palm flat against the stone as though you would be able to reach out and touch your hand to hers, run your pinky along the edge of her own before looping the two together, bring her hand to your lips and press a light kiss to the tips of her knuckles. But you were no longer able to do any of these things, and she would never experience your fingers interlocked with her own again, and that thought alone caused a tear to slip from her eye and roll down her cheek.

"You weren't supposed to die." She pretended not to notice the crack of her voice, the guilt that was weighing in her chest, the sadness that invaded her heart. "It was supposed to be me."

It was Thornhill that caused your death: a single bullet had exited the chamber of her gun, and it had found its home in your stomach rather than Wednesday's. Minutes later, the raven-haired girl was left cradling your lifeless body with a horrible emptiness settling inside her.

"You loved everyone with a love that was more than love," she whispered, frowning. "It wasn't meant to end so soon." A sob threatened to erupt from her throat, but she swallowed it down. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, cara mia."

With a shaky hand, she pressed her fingers to her lips before touching them against the stone, a gesture that the two of you had made your own. When you first began dating, on days when Wednesday couldn't stand much physical affection--which was quite frequent--you would kiss her by doing that exact motion, and she often found herself returning it. It quickly turned into a normal act of appreciation, and the two of you found yourselves doing it on a daily basis.

"I will always love you with a love that is more than love."

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday series #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday netflix

842 notes · View notes

keline11 · 2 months

Text

Missa and Chayanne Day 2

(Another long post of mine to show how good of a father Missa is.)

Missa found chayanne playing dead and he was very scared.

Missa: ”Look at this! such a warrior, you can't die, you are very strong, of course! show them the trick I teach you (water drop) Yeah! Your other dad will be proud to see how much you have grown and the talent you have to play dead.”

They found a corpse of an admin.

Missa: “An asshole died here!”

Chayanne started to bury it.

MIssa: "That's it, that's right son, it's very good what you are doing. Let's respect the people that are no longer with us, because it deserves a dignified burial."

Missa: “Now let's have 16 seconds of silence in his name. Good job son, I want you to know that I am very proud of you, you took that like an adult, you grew up so fast.”

Chayanne and Tilin meet for the first time. (pipipipi)

Quackity: "Who is this handsome?"

Missa: "This is my son Chayanne, he is 2 days old, well he hasn't been born yet. He looks a lot like his parents, he has my eyes, can you see?"

Chayanne and quackity's beef start, chay attacked Q but missclicked tilin.

After this, maximus arrived and they started talking like moms calling each other girlfriend. (i miss maximus)

Chayanne "lost" his bicycle.

*Chayanne gives him a flower* (This flower can be seen 4 months later when missa shows his backpacks to philza <tres)

Missa: ”Ah! Thank you so much, I'm going to take this with me forever and I'm going to keep it just like the moms who put it between the books.”

They went to quackity's house but it was destroyed so chay started building it again.

Missa: “You know what you are right, we will attack being good people. What white glove attack is stronger than helping him? Let him know that we will not be like them, I am very proud of you son"

They see chayannes bicycle inside the house.

Missa: “Oh no, they robbed us, I thought that they didn't, i thought that they didn't really do it, that they were just doing it (acting suspicious) just because.”

Missa: “Do you want your bicycle?” *Chayanne says no* “I am very proud of you son, let's go…. Chayanne is simply the best son that everyone would like to have.”

(Missclick)

Missa" “Nononono, chayanne, it's ok don't worry, don’t worry I am here, i am here, everything will be ok. After doing good, bad things always happen to the good people.”

Missa: “Are you ok?... You are quite a warrior, you are a badass!”

Missa: “Chayanne you should see, well, no, I wouldn't ever want you to go on Twitter. But you should see the nice things they say about you, people say that they can't believe they are jealous of an egg”

(Every time they build small things like this I feel nostalgic when it appeared in other povs, like the dock were they went fishing and they had that talk about fears pipipipipi)

They were looking for a dog but when they found one missa killed it by accident, they found another one but climbing the wall it drowned.

Song time: Mägo de Oz - Hoy toca ser feliz (He sang this one the first day)

"And you'll see that you can fly,

And you can get everything

Because you are going to smile today,

Is your turn to be happy

If the tears blind your sight and your heart,

Put water in a glass, spit the fear out

Never give up, believe in yourself,

Even if it hurts the bruises will heal"

And they sleep.

#qsmp #qsmp missa #missa #qsmp chayanne #chayanne #qsmp death family #death family #i miss them #i miss missa

128 notes · View notes

humansofnewyork · 8 months

Photo

(44/54) "On my final morning in Iran I woke with the sun. I knelt to the ground and prayed. It was a six mile walk to the border. The road climbed through the mountains, the same mountains that ran through Nahavand. But in Nahavand the trees were green. Here there was no life. Ferdowsi once wrote: ‘You cannot escape what is written.’ I’ve always hated that quote. There’s always a choice to be made. Just do the next right thing. That’s what I’ve always believed. Do the next right thing, say the next true thing, and a path will open up. A way will appear. I thought that we could get there. I thought that we, as a people, were going to get there. Every day we would take a step closer: more jobs, more hospitals, more schools. If only we kept choosing the next right thing, we could get there. We could build a new Iran around us. In the end light would win, as Ferdowsi writes: ‘The universe bends toward goodness.’ But you must never underestimate the forces of darkness. They can be victorious for a long time. Years. Decades. Lifetimes. Ferdowsi worked for thirty-three years. Seven verses a day. In the name of the God of Soul and Wisdom. But when he finished no one cared. Iran had been invaded once again, this time by the Turks. No one took the time to read his words. He died a broken man. Nobody heard the story of his life. Nobody heard the story of his death. He wasn’t even given a proper burial. The local cleric wouldn’t allow him to be buried in an Islamic cemetery, so they buried him in his garden. But he died with hope. Because he knew. He knew that no matter how deep they are buried, some words have wings. At the end of Shahnameh, Ferdowsi wrote: “I shall not die. These seeds I’ve sown will save my name and memory from the grave.”

واپسین سپیده‌د‌مم در ایران بود. با خورشید برخاستم و نماز خواندم. تا مرز دو فرسنگ راه بود و راه مرزی از کوهستان زاگرُس می‌گذشت. همان رشته‌کوهی که از نهاوند هم می‌گذرد. ولی در نهاوند درختها سبز بودند. اینجا نشانی از زندگی ندیدم. مرز بسته و گذرگاه تهی بود. حس می‌کردم، مرگ پا به پای من می آید. فردوسی گفته بود: بکوشیم و از کوشش ما چه سود / کز آغاز بود آن چه بایست بود. همواره از این گفته بیزار بوده‌ام. همیشه انتخاب و گزینشی هست. هراندازه تاریک می‌نماید، کار نیکِ پیشِ رو را انجام دهیم بس است. این باور همیشگی من بوده است. اگر تنها نیک‌کردار باشیم و راستی‌ها را بازگوییم، راهی باز و گذرگاهی نمایان خواهد شد. فکر می‌کردم که می‌توانیم به آنجا برسیم. بر این باور بودم که ملت ما به آنجا خواهد رسید. هر روز یک گام و نزدیکتر خواهیم شد: پیشه‌های بیشتر، درمانگاه‌های بیشتر، آموزشگاه‌های بیشتر. اگرهمواره گزینه‌های نیکِ پیشِ رو را بر می‌گزیدیم به آنجا می‌رسیدیم، می‌توانستیم ایرانی نو پیرامون خود بسازیم. هنگامی که چشم‌اندازی بسیار تاریک هم روبه‌رویمان باشد، هنوز گزینه‌ای هست تا سرنوشت را خود ‌بنویسیم. همیشه گزینه‌ای هست. نیکی یا بدی. روشنایی یا تاریکی. فرهنگ ما نویدبخش پیروزی روشنایی بر تاریکی‌ست چنانکه فردوسی می‌سراید: که گیتی نگردد، مگر بر بهی / به ما بازگردد کلاه مهی. ولی هشیار باشیم، نیروی تاریکی را اندک نینگاریم! تاریکی می‌تواند زمانی دراز بپاید. سال‌ها، دهه‌ها و بیشتر. فردوسی، دلشکسته جهان را بدرود گفت. یگانه پسرش مُرده بود. ایران در نبردی دیگر شکست خورده بود. ترک‌ها اکنون کشور را زیر فرمان داشتند. سی‌وسه سال رنج او را در برآوردن آن کاخ بلند درنیافتند. گفتار نغزش ناخوانده ماند. مرد دینکار از خاکسپاری او در گورستان مسلمانان جلوگیری کرد. ناگزیر او را در باغ خانه‌اش به خاک سپردند. کسی داستان زندگی او را نشنید. کسی از مرگ‌اش آگاه نشد. بزرگمرد روزگاران این خُرسندی را داشت که سخنانش در گور نمی‌شوند، بال گشوده و پرواز می‌کنند. هرجا و هر اندازه واژگانش را در ژرفای خاک فرو برند، بال خواهند گشود و پرواز خواهند کرد. جاودان مردا، تو می‌دانستی و آنرا به زیبایی سرودی: نمیرم از این پس که من زنده‌ام / که تُخم سخن را پراکنده‌ام

208 notes · View notes

gingiesworld · 7 months

Text

Reunited

Wanda Maximoff x GN! Reader

Warnings : Zombie Apocalypse. Death. Violence

Taglist: @ginnsbaker @gb12d @lifespectator @imaginationeuphoria @louxbloom @mfd-101

18+ MINORS DNI

Now

Y/N remained on the lookout of the camp, ready to ring the bell if any walkers stumbled across the small amount of survivors that had resided their. Their rifle remained readily within their grasp as they continued to look out through the darkness, listening for any sounds that would mean they could indeed be in danger.

They fingers played with the necklace they wore around their neck, remembering the birthday they had recieved it from their wife and sons.

Then

Y/N woke groggily to the sound of the bedroom door bursting open, the twins bounced on the bed excitedly as Wanda walked in with a tray full of pancakes. Enough for the four of them to sit and eat breakfast together, like they always would.

"Happy birthday baby." Wanda told them sweetly as the twins started to wolf their breakfast down.

"Thank you my love." They whispered as they kissed her lips tenderly before they all started to eat. Listening as the twins came up with a plan for Y/N's birthday, of course it was to be spent at the amusement park which Y/N didn't mind at all. In fact, they preferred to spend as much time as they could with their family.

"I got you something, well the twins also helped with picking it out." Wanda told them as she reached into her pocket, taking out a velvet box and handing it to them. Y/N beamed as they saw the Jedi emblem on the silver pendant.

"I love it. Thank you." They smiled as Wanda helped them put it on before ushering the boys from the bedroom so Y/N could get themselves ready to spend the day with their family.

Now

"It seems quiet tonight." Bruce spoke up as he approached Y/N on the lookout.

"Yeah." Y/N whispered, not taking their eyes away from their surroundings. "But that doesn't mean it is a good thing."

"I know you miss Wanda." Bruce told them as they just hummed. "But it has been years Y/N, maybe they're."

"Don't you dare say it!" Y/N growled as they turned to face their friend. "Do you know over the years I have looked for them, even among the undead. Hoping to see them either way, maybe put them out of their misery and maybe give them the burial they deserve."

"I know." He patted their shoulder.

"No, you don't know Bruce." They told him. "Natasha is here, along with Tony and that kid Peter. You have your family." They looked back out at the horizon. "I just want to be with my family and I will not rest until I know what had happened to them."

Even as the days wore on, not that anyone was really keeping score. They had struggled with the supplies, needing to go into a nearby village to find some food and other supplies.

"It's dangerous." Peter spoke up as everyone hummed.

"But if we don't do this, we will die of starvation kid." Y/N told him. "So, Nat and I will head out and get what we can."

"Just be careful." Bruce spoke up as both Nat and Y/N grabbed their weapons and threw the empty duffel bags over their shoulders.

The two walked through the woods, remembering the way towards the village as they listened to their surroundings. Nat always observed how Y/N was closed off, especially when either couple shown affection to their partners.

"You were married right." She stated as Y/N nodded. "What happened to her?"

"I don't know." They answered her honestly. "We were split up, the kids went with her and I just. I wonder what happened to them."

Then

As they heard a siren blaring through the town, Y/N and Wanda jumped up and grabbed their clothes. Running straigh towards the twins room and grabbing the two. As Wanda helped them get ready, Y/N filled their backpacks with the essentials.

They all froze as they heard screaming, all jumping as they heard their front door open and slam shut. Heavy footsteps headed up the stairs and the twins door opened to reveal a worried Pietro and Monica.

"Come on." He told them all. "We have to go now."

The four of them followed Pietro and Monica to their car, that was when Billy turned back to the house, Y/N chasing behind him as the others screamed after the two of them.

"Mr Sniffles, I can't sleep without him." Billy whined as Pietro was right behind them.

"I'll get him for you." Y/N told him as Pietro grabbed Billy, taking him to the car. Wanda yelled as she watched Y/N run back inside, Monica keeping her from following them inside. Y/N searched Billy's room for a couple of moments before they found his brown teddy bear. Running down stairs as they saw some of the residents running towards them, growling or yelling as they approached. Pietro had started the truck as Y/N soon ran behind the truck. The stuffed teddy in their hands as they tried to jump onto the back of the truck bed. Only just managing to put the teddy in the back as they lost their grip. Falling in the road as Wanda screamed for her brother to turn back. Y/N stood up and ran after the truck as Pietro shook his head.

"We have to carry on Wanda." He told her. "You and the boys are safe." He told her regretfully as Y/N soon disappeared the further away they went. They sprinted towards a neighbouring house, and ran inside. Locking the door behind them as they ransacked the place, sighing in relief as they saw a shotgun above the mantel and shells in a nearby cupboard. Only one goal in their mind, finding their family.

Now

Y/N and Nat looked through the local shops in the village. Already seeing the practically empty shelves. Nat had a defeated look on her face.

"We're going to have to move on." She stated as Y/N hummed in agreement.

"Let's just take what's left and get back." They mumbled as Nat nodded. The grabbed what little was left and made their way to the exit of the store. Glancing around before they made their way back to where they had came from. Their hands on their weapons, ready to attack at any given moment.

"What if they are dead?" Natasha asked them as they just froze.

"They can't be." Y/N told her. "In years I haven't seen her or the boys, not even her brother." They continued to move as they spoke. "I just hope that they did make it out of there because I don't think I can live in a world where they don't exist."

"You really loved her." Natasha stated as they hummed.

"I do really love her." They told her. "There isn't a day that goes by where I don't think of my wife and sons."

Then

As Pietro drove, Wanda kept screaming for him to turn the car around. The twins were both crying as Monica tried to calm them.

"I CAN'T DO THAT WANDA!!" Pietro yelled as he hit the steering wheel. "I know you must hate me right now but I had to. I just." He sighed as he looked at her through the rearview mirror. "I promised mama and papa that no matter what, I would always protect you and I won't ever break that promise."

"Y/N is alone." She whispered as Pietro wiped his eyes before his own tears fell.

"They could be dead by now." He told her sadly.

"No." She shook her head as she looked out of the window. "I will not believe that."

"Those things Wanda, they used to be people." Monica told her. "There was a breach at one of the Shield labs and a bio weapon got released." Monica's voice faded as Wanda cried silently, wishing for the day she would see them again. For them to hold her in their arms once more.

Now

Within the walls of Haven, it was a town surrounded by electric fences, 10ft tall and surrounded by boobie traps. Wanda walked through the streets, like she did every morning as the twins remained with their uncle and aunt.

She always looked up at the sky, thinking about Y/N, wondering if even after all of these years, they had somehow survived.

"The boys are awake." Pietro found her as she just nodded. The twins were now teenagers, both 14 years of age. They had still kept asking about Y/N, wanting to know if they had ever survived.

"I'll be there in a moment." Wanda told him. Although she hated her twin in that moment she was separated from her love, she now understands that he had made the hard choice that she wouldn't have made, saving all of their lives which is something Y/N would want.

"Bucky and I are heading out to scavenge the nearby towns." He informed her. "We will be back before sundown."

"Be careful." She told him as he just nodded. Wanda made her way back towards the house that they have resided in since they had found refuge and safety. Thanks to Steve Rogers who also happened to be someone who had predicted there would be some sort of apocalypse. Once Wanda approached the house, the twins were already helping Monica with the fruits and vegetables.

"Good morning." Monica greeted her as she just gave her a small smile. As the world around them was dying, they lived as comfortably as they possibly could.

"Morning." Wanda mumbled as she headed inside. Looking at the picture of the four of them. The one Tommy grabbed from the wall on the way out of their home all of those years ago.

"I know this must be hard Wanda." Monica started as Wanda shook her head no.

"You don't." Wanda whispered as she looked at her sister in law. "Everyday I wonder what happened to them. I wonder if they died that day we escaped. Did they become one of them things and will we see them as one of the walkers who totter around the fence before Clint shoots them with an arrow." Wanda wiped her eyes. "I just, I want to know what happened and it kills me inside because there is that possibility that they could still be alive out there."

Monica had no words so all she could do was wrap her arms around her as Wanda gathered herself.

"Don't get me wrong, I am thankful that the twins are alive and well but." She took a shakey breath. "I just wish I could go back, back to how it was."

Y/N was looking over the old map they had with Tony and Nat as they decided to map out a direction which would be best for them to head out.

"What about near the city?" Tony suggested as both Nat and Y/N shook their heads.

"I understand you were a city boy and miss that life, but that is the most dangerous idea you have ever had." Y/N told him. "The city was highly populated which means."

"There's a high possibility that there is thousands of walkers in the city." Nat finished as Tony huffed. "We're safest if we stick to the backroads, less population and the small towns around help with some of the supplies."

"Ok." Tony hummed as both Nat and Y/N looked over the map.

"So we will head towards Harmony, there's a clearing and a ranch just around here where we can camp out." They pointed to a spot on the map.

"Maybe if the ranch is empty, we can stay there." Nat suggested as Y/N hummed as they packed away the map.

"It should take us a few hours to get there." Y/N mumbled as everyone picked up the bags and weapons. Following Nat as Y/N took up the back.

"So, what is the deal with Wanda?" Bucky questioned as both Pietro and Bucky were stood inside a pharmacy, gathering as much supplies as they could.

"She is still hung up on Y/N." He stated as he picked up a bottle of aspirin. "They are Wanda's partner and we left them behind. I guess she is still holding out hope that they are still alive and will find her and the boys."

"It's been years." Bucky whispered as he looked shocked. "What if she is holding out hope just to lose it."

"She doesn't care about that." Pietro told him. "You should have seen them together, whenever Y/N had looked at her, even from when they both started to see each other, they looked at her like they would move mountains for her." Pietro smiled at the memories of seeing his sister so happy and in love. "I remember the first time she came to me to talk about them. They had been dating for 5 months I think, and her words made me smile and I wanted to find that love that she always spoke about. She told me, 'I have finally found my forever in Y/N and I understand what Mama always used to say when she spoke about love.'"

"That's really nice." Bucky beamed as the two never realised how long they had remained in one spot. "Yelena has been having a hard time lately." Bucky told him as they exited the pharmacy. "Her sister, Nat's birthday is coming up."

"I remember Kate mentioning something about that." Pietro noted as they started to walk through the streets towards the exit, not paying any mind to the walkers closing in from the west. "I guess we should just." A blood curdling shriek sounded through their ears as the two men froze. The two looked around frantically, seeing a small horde approaching them.

"I don't think we can take them." Bucky mumbled as Pietro shook his head.

"Nope. We don't have enough ammo." He stated as he looked to his left, seeing more.

"Maybe we can hide out in the store?" Bucky suggested.

"Yup, let's just give ourselves over to them." Pietro spat sarcastically.

"We can't lead them back!" Bucky told him as he nodded. He knew Bucky was right. "Let's just kill any that get to close for comfort." Bucky soon led the way towards the building in question as the walkers closed in on them. Soon enough they barricaded the doors, Pietro was froze as the sounds of their shrieks and the banging on the walls and door filled his ears. The fear was evident as he started to feel like he was suffocating as Bucky searched for another exit.

"Do you hear that?" Nat asked as she stopped everyone from moving further.

"It sounds like walkers." Tony stated.

"A lot of walkers." Peter mumbled as he moved closer to the group.

"Maybe we can go around." Nat stated as the others nodded as Y/N made their way towards the sound.

"They're surrounding the store." They told them as they pointed towards the small horde.

"I know you have hope that you might see Wanda, but we need to survive Y/N and heading over there is a death wish." Bruce told them as they shook their head.

"We have more than enough to take on the horde that small." Y/N told him. "What if there are kids in there? A family."

"Just like the one you lost?" Tony questioned as everyone glared at him. Y/N just shook their head as they headed to wards the horde, seeing as one of them at the back heard them kick an empty rusty can.

"Come on." Nat grumbled as she cocked her gun, following behind Y/N who started to fire. Aiming for the head as the walker dropped to the floor, the others started to walk towards them as they fired.

"I'm running low." Bruce stated as he reloaded the last cartridge in his 9mm.

"Do you hear that?" Bucky asked Pietro as the banging on the door ceased, the only sound that joined the walkers shrieks was the sound of gunshots.

"Who?" Pietro questioned as he raised his gun.

"I don't know, could be a gang?" Bucky reasoned as he walked towards the window. Watching as the number of walkers decreased instantly.

Y/N had run out of ammo so they had to change to the machete they had strapped to their belt. Swinging it as they got close enough, the blade slicing through the neck as the head fell to the floor. One by one, until the last one was done. Y/N got to the door and knocked on it.

"Come on, we know you're in there." They called out. "It's safe now. You can join us if you wish to."

"Come on." Bucky told Pietro as he started to move the barricade from the door, opening it to reveal Y/N and the small group of survivors. "Thank you." He thanked them as Y/N just nodded. Looking around at the group as Y/N walked passed them, recognising Pietro as he was still clean shaven like he always was before the outbreak. Although he never recognised them as their hair had grew out and their face had some scarring.

"We just need to get some more supplies." Y/N grumbled as they approached the counter at the back of the store, getting the left over ammo for the group as the others grabbed the food and water, and other supplies they may need.

Pietro observed Y/N as there was something he had recognised about them, but he couldn't quite put a name to it.

"We are heading just a couple hours north to a nearby ranch if you would like to join us." Nat stated as Bucky waved her off.

"We actually reside in a nearby town." He told her. "It's actually some sort of safe haven if you would want to join."

"Safe havens don't exist anymore." Y/N stated as they stood behind Nat.

"Well it's not perfect but it has a huge electric fence surrounding it and boobie traps. We also have lookouts." Bucky explained as Pietro observed Y/N. Trying to figure out why they are so familar.

"Y/N." He blurted out as everyone looked at him. "It's you." He beamed as Y/N looked away.

"You two know each other?" Nat questioned as Y/N groaned.

"He is my wife's twin, the man who left me to die all those years ago." Y/N stated as they left the building. Looking either way before they started to walk away from the store.

"Wanda and the twins are safe." Pietro yelled as he followed them out, causing Y/N to stop in their tracks. "They will be so fucking happy to see you. Wanda will be happy to see you."

"You left me." Y/N yelled as they turned to face him. "You were a brother to me and you left me to die!"

"I had too do what I needed to protect my family." He told them.

"I WAS YOUR FAMILY!!!" They yelled as they stepped towards him. "I was family." They whispered as Pietro gave them a sad smile. Neither really paying attention to one of the walkers that they had missed coming from around the building until Y/N saw it approach Pietro. It all happened so fast as Y/N moved as fast as they could, using the knife as they held the walker, not realising it's head had tilted towards their arm holding it in place. Y/N cried out as they plunged the knife into it's skull.

"Fuck!!!" Y/N yelled as they held their hand.

"What do we do?" Peter questioned as Bruce approached them.

"Get me a blow torch now!" Bruce yelled as he grabbed Peter's clean machete before he approached Y/N who cradled their arm. "We need to be fast." Bruce stated as he gestured for Pietro to hold their arm. "Look away." The two looked away as Bruce swung the machete hard, the others flinched as they heard their scream. "Ok, I'm going to cauterize the wound."

"What if it doesn't work and they change?" Pietro questioned.

"You should just shoot me now." Y/N groaned as everyone shook their head.

"I remember it took Thor 24 hours before they turned." Bruce told them. "Maybe if we wait it out." He suggested as Pietro nodded.

"No." Y/N shook their head as they groaned as Bruce used the blow torch on the severed arm. "I don't want to take that chance."

"No." Nat stated as she stood nearby. "I am not going to lose my best friend so we are going to do it Bruce's way."

With very little room to argue, Pietro held wrapped their good arm around their shoulder as they helped them walk as Bucky led the way to the town. Steve was there with Monica and Wanda to greet Bucky and Pietro, before they noticed that their was an increase of people approaching.

"Who is with them?" Monica questioned as Wanda shook her head. Unsure about the new comers with her brother.

"NAT!" Yelena boomed as they approached, Nat smiled tenderly as she heard her younger sister's voice. Speeding up as Bucky opened the gates, everyone watched as the two embraced as they cried in each others arms.

Wanda felt a pang of jealousy, hoping she would have that same reunion with Y/N. But she was starting to give up hope until her brother approached her. Soon enough, she recognised those eyes she had missed every single day since the day they were separated.

"Y/N?" She whispered as she approached the two of them. Her hands reaching up to caress their cheek, her fingers tracing the scars on their face as her tears started to fall.

"Wanda." They smiled tiredly as they went to reach out to her, only to stop as they remembered they lost their arm.

"What happened to you?" She whispered, pain in her eyes at the thought of them going through so much agony over the years apart.

"We have a lot to discuss." They told her softly as they stumbled slightly.

"Is there anywhere we can put Y/N to rest for 24 hours?" Bruce asked Steve as he had discussed what had happened. He nodded as he led them towards his own place he shared with Bucky. Wanda followed as Pietro filled her in.

"Don't tell the boys just yet." Wanda told her twin as she opted to remain with Y/N. "Just in case they aren't out of the woods." The two watched as Steve strapped them down in the medical bed they had taken from the doctors office.

"The straps are just a precaution." Steve told them as they just nodded weakly. Bruce cleaned and changed the dressing on their wound before he left Wanda alone with them. They smiled at her with a tired smile as she sat on the dresser.

"I am happy you made it." They told her. "Did the boys?"

"Billy and Tommy are fine." She told them. "All of us are fine." She approached the bed cautiously. "Leaving you wasn't easy." She whispered as they nodded in understanding. "I pleaded and begged for him to turn back for you but he just wouldn't."

"It's ok." They told her as she shook her head no.

"It's not ok." She told them. "I should have fought him harder on the matter. I should have fought for you."

"Wanda, you had the twins to consider." They told her. "I would prefer if you always put yourself and the twins before me anytime because you three are the most important people in my life."

"You saved Pietro." Wanda stated as Y/N nodded. "I just, thank you for fighting to come back here." She told them as she ran her hands through their long shaggy hair. Leaning down to kiss their lips, the two sighing at the contact they had missed over the years.

"Not a day went by were I didn't think of you or the boys." They told her honestly. "I love Wanda, I always have and always will."

"I love you so much more Y/N." She kissed them once more, her heart full again as the missing piece had returned.

As the months went on, Y/N had adjusted to life with one arm as everyone had their part to play in survival. The twins were emotional and extremely happy to have their parent back with them, even if they had missed years and years together.

Y/N stood at the door, watching as Nat taught the twins some of her moves, even though they hope the twins never need to use them but it is always best to be prepared. Especially in a world that is fading away around the little piece of heaven they have found with their loved ones.

#wanda maximoff x reader #gingie's halloween special #wanda maximoff #marvel #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x you #natasha romanoff

215 notes · View notes

wangxianficfinder · 6 months

Text

In the mood for...

~*~

1. Itmf any fics that feature wwx being nhs's best friend/supporter. Esp if it show cases that in relation to the cultivation world Turning against wwx. Fics like Twelve Moons and a Fortnight, or Truth Will Out (when caught on video)

if you can’t beat them, recruit them by moeblobmegane (T, 228k, Time Travel Fix-It, Conspiracy, Spies & Secret Agents, Team as Family, Found Family)

Come From My Inkstone by magicgenetek (M, 150k, NHS & NMJ, NHS & WWX, WWX & WN, NHS & WN, LWJ & NHS, NHS & NZH, eventual LWJ/WWX/WN/NHS, Crack Treated Seriously, Canon Divergence, NHS Character Study, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Unrequited Crush, pour one out for nhs and wn's crushes on the most clueless man in the world, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Burial Mounds Ensemble as Family, Mental Health Issues, Happy Ending, Politics, started as a comedy and then starts ping ponging tonally with bro feels and politics. as you do., discussion of canon typical war crimes, Slow Burn, Polyamory, 3zun's slow burn divorce, WIP)

You'll See Me Again by Anonymous (M, 13k, wangxian, WWX Isn't Adopted by the Jiāngs, Adopted WWX, WWXn is a Niè, Protective NHS, time travel, NHS Is A Little Shit, NMJ Lives, Protective NMJ, WWX has an Ugly Duckling Moment, LWJ disagrees because WWX could never be ugly, NHS travels in time and for some reason no one notices, Time Travel Fix-It, WWX is a Little Shit, Oblivious WWX, WIP)

The Yiling Patriarch's Harem Drama by nirejseki (Not Rated, 3k, wangxian, NHS/WWX, WQ/JC/WN, Crack, Accidental Harem)

the years have taught me this: by Tavina (T, 5k, NHS & WWX, Post-Canon, Five Times Something Happened, Grief/Mourning, Friendship, POV NHS, NHS Character Study)

~*~

2. hello!! i have a request for another intf ;3 any fics in which lwj and wwx are already/or become in relationship in the lectures and later stuff happens like in canon (wwx thrown into burial mounds, wwx sacrificing his core etc.) but the relationship between wangxian helps with some things ^^ thanks & @vicleey

Family by Quiet_crash (G, 57k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, JC & WWX & JYL, LXC & WWX, JYL & LWJ, Time Travel Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parent(s), Established Relationship)

~*~

3. Hi!! is there fics where,canon divergence fics where wwx's parents never die and he gets trained by baoshan sanren? thank youuu! @gideonmorningstar

Going on charmingly by scribbet (T, 21k, wangxian, Teenage LWJ, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, WWX is BSSR's Disciple, Genius WWX, Petty LWJ, Meddling LXC, What if LWJ didn't have an excuse to instantly write WWX off?, Canon Divergence, JFM Doesn't Adopt WWX, WWX minus canon sense of obligation, but still with an inability to shut up around LWJ, I swear LWJ's inner voice was no quite so snarky when I started this, JZN is unfortunately present but only to lose face, LQR's inconsistent adherence to the Lan clan precepts, writing the effective Lan education you would like to see in the world, Technically pre-relationship, but in the typical Wangxian way of them being in deep but just not acknowledging it yet, POV LWJ) I don't remember if his parents are alive or not, but WWX is a disciple of Baoshan Sanren. The requester might also want to check out the "Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn is Bàoshān Sǎnrén's Disciple" tag for similar fic?

~*~

4. Hey, can you suggest any tooth-rotting wangxian fluff fanfic. It would be even better if it was modern or with a-yuan or if they were rich.

Thank you @mayavsworld

The Art of Communication by mrcformoso (G, 4k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Meet-Cute, Engineering Student WWX, Music Student LWJ, Swimmer WWX, Martial Artist LWJ, POV Outsider, POV WWX, POV LWJ, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Communication Issues, But Wanxian Makes it Work, LWJ has limited words, WWX has too many words, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Love Languages, Requited Love)

💖Take Root, Come Home by piecrust (G, 3k, Wangxian, short and sweet)

As You Like It by cosmicmilktea (T, 8k, wangxian, post-canon, food as a metaphor for love, tea, light angst, fluff)

~*~

5. For the next ITMF, does anyone have any obedience curse/Ella Enchanted au recs? It doesn't matter to me who's cursed.

Obedient and Bellicose by thunderwear (T, 20k, Wangxian, Ella Enchanted AU, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, cursed LWJ, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good brother LXC, LQR loves his nephews you cant change my mind, LWJ crying, Protective LXC, Pining, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Brief Depictions of Violence, meaning at least one of the people you really want to get stabbed does in fact get stabbed)

The Meaning of Silence by The Silverfish (ZephyrAndTheSilverfish) (T, 14k, wangxian, Mind Manipulation, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Pining) Not Ella Enchanted specifically, but I think it was an obedience curse or something similar

obey with true endeavour, lest the wound loses its savior by bogliasco (M, 60k, WIP, WangXian, Curse of Obedience, Self-Harm, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, WWX-centric, Fix-It of Sorts, Consent Issues, Torture)

saturated by antebunny (G, 7k, JC & WWX, wangxian, WWX & JYL, Canon Divergence, Curse of Obedience, Mind Control, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Consent Issues, Lan bashing, Angst with a Happy Ending, Protective Siblings, it's not really mind though?, there's no mind alteration, bad Lan elders, bewildered brother lxc)

~*~

6. Hello!!! Thank you so much for your work, most of what I read are recs from here!

For the next itmf: what are your best canon setting rule 63/gender swap wangxian recs? @eldritch-bisexual

can always check the F/F comp! There's bound to be what they're looking for there

everything by mimilamp

Even Later, Spring by zeldasayre (E, 7k, wangxian, F/F, Female wangxian, middle-aged wangxian, momji, Domestic, Ghosts, Small Towns, Modern, butch4butch wangxian)

~*~

7. Thank you for all your hard work!! Itmf wangxian fics where Wei Wuxian gets seriously injured/needs medical care/first aid/etc and is rescued, preferably by Lan Wangji.

Insert Coin Now for Extra Life by TriviasFolly (E, 201k, wangxian, modern, ABO, Intersex Omegas, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, Marriage contract au, Twitch Streamer WWX, what is a plot?, Excuse to write fluff and smut, Fluff, caring for other while sick, Possessive LWJ, Rare Male Omegas, Pack Dynamics, Sugar Baby vibes, Eventual Smut, Brief mention of lwj/others) link in #10

Sick Bed Reserved In Gusu Lan by scifigeek14 (T, 14k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Sick fic, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Golden Core Reveal, Fix-It) WWX & the Wens get sick & go to CR for treatment

the soft animal of your body by sysrae (T, 15k, wangxian, modern cultivation, Golden Core Reveal, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Animal Transformation, Shapeshifting, Getting Together, Confessions)

the universe would turn to a mighty stranger by RavenclawLoki (T, 11k, WangXian, Angst, Eventual Fluff, But first angst, Some mentions of blood, First Kiss, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, Hurt WWX, Hurt LWJ, Set during ep 12)

The Fire Lapping Up the Creek by notevenyou (E, 66k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Blood, Respiratory Illness, Major Illness, Fever, Grief/Mourning, Burial Mounds, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hunger and food scarcity, Surgery, Fix-It of Sorts)

the roots by thelastdboy (E, 30k, wangxian, major character death, graphic depictions of violence, post-canon, post-untamed, MDZS/CQL combination, transmigrator LWJ, dimension travel, time travel, parallel universes, desperation, WWX pov, LWJ pov, heavy angst, mental health issues, giref/mourning, abandonment, depression, suicidal thoughts, hurt/comfort, getting together, rogue cultivator WWX, WQ lives, found family, cottagegore, it gets worse before it gets better) sorta

Rotten Work by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 63k, WangXian, WWX & JL, Post-Canon, Protective WWX, Protective JL, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Reluctant Matchmaker JL) has Jin Ling as the one who steps in! It’s full of family moments!

~*~

8. hi! do you know of post-canon fics where wwx almost dies or badly injured and lwj is scared shitless? happy ending is a must. i've read some and there isn't enough. thanks!!! @aquiver-heart

the soft animal of your body by sysrae (T, 15k, wangxian, modern cultivation, Golden Core Reveal, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Animal Transformation, Shapeshifting, Getting Together, Confessions) (link in #7)

~*~

9. Hey, for the next ITMF, please help me find fics where,

A. LWJ wears WWX's colors red and black, it could be because of yiling wei sect colors or just a one off thing.

B. LWJ wears jiang purple colors @imstillthinkingaboutithmm

9A)

A Narrow Bridge by FrameofMind, Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle) (E, 700k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Getting Together, First Time, Pining while fucking, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Angst with a Happy Ending, CQL Verse, almost everybody lives/almost nobody dies, epistolary-ish, canon-ish side pairings, radishes) link in #11

9B)

This gif set by @yuziyuanapologist followed by fic by @mondengel

The Scarlet Lotus by rainbowninja167 (M, 137k, wangxian, Marriage of Convenience, Secret Identity, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Canon-Typical Violence, canon-typical war crimes, Yunmeng Bros, the mortifying ordeal of getting seduced by your own husband, nonlinear chronology we die like cql, just kidding nobody dies in this fic, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication)

For Both Of Us (And Time Is But A Paper Moon) by sami (E, 65k, wangxian, JC & WWX; JC & LWJ, LWJ & LXC, Canonical Character Death, Mentions of Rape, not explicit but definitely referenced, Time Travel, Not Everyone Dies au, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, WWX/babie tendencies, WQ is a queen in any reality, Healing, Yunmeng Shuangjie, Canon Divergence, Asexual JC, First Time, Getting Together, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, WWX finds new ways to be oblivious, seriously it surprised even us)

~*~

10. Hello, can I ask for some nsfw fic recommendations, I'm in the mood for wangxian fics that contains domestic fluff & s3x (basically wangxian being cute af and then dirty af, or the other way around). Thank you, I love and appreciate you guys so much.

See all this and more for just ten dollars a month! Series by ScarlettStorm (E, 382k, WIP, WangXian, Modern AU, Getting Together, Pining, Porn, like in the writing and also as a plot point, onlyfans au, repressed lwj, sex worker wwx, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, hornt(tm), mental health, therapy is good actually, Nonbinary NHS, Gender Exploration, Hurt/Comfort, past trauma, genderfluid wwx) especially #2 KILF (Knits I'd Like To Fuck in) by ScarlettStorm (E, 168k, wangxian, modern, sex work, fiber arts, 2nd in series)

Just Ask Me To Stay by mrcformoso (M, 20k, WangXian, Modern AU, Former JZ/WWX, Minor NieLan, Minor XuanLi, No Powers, Dancer WWX, Musician LWJ, Roommates, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Break Up, Post-Break Up, Recovery, WWX Has Self-Esteem Issues, Fluff, Light Angst, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Domestic Fluff, LWJ Has a Big Dick, WWX Has a Breeding Kink, Size Queen WWX, Belly Bulge, Porn With Plot, WWX Has Friends, LWJ Has Friends, Hurt/Comfort, A lot of comfort, Romantic Comedy, Cuter story than the summary makes it out to be, Feel-good) Just get past the first chapter angst

~*~

11. for the next itmf, any time travel fics where either wangxian or only lwj goes back in time?? just some wangxian shenanigans or wwx getting sweep(?) off his feet by an older lwj. thank you <33

Regrets by antebunny (G, 38k, wangxian, miscommunication, misundersandings, time travel fix-it, temporary character death, angst w/ happy ending, fluff, hurt/comfort) Both LWJ & WWX travel back in time

A Matter of Time by mrcformoso (E, 44k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, POV LWJ, POV JC, Dark LWJ, Manipulation, Grooming, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Consensual Underage Sex, Except problematic please read warning in first chapter, Blood and Violence, Insane LWJ, Manic LWJ, Conditioning, WWX is a Lán, Minor Character Death, Confused JC, Golden Core Reveal, Good Friend NHS, WWX Isn’t Adopted by the Jiāngs, Abusive Jiāng Family, Jiāng Family Bashing, Jiāng Family Critical, POV NHS, Dark NHS, Anal Sex, Marathon Sex, Dual Cultivation, Qīnghéng-jūn Lives, LWJ Has a Big Dick, WWX Self-Lubricates, Plot Twists, Porn With Plot, Scheming NHS, Manipulative NHS, BAMF LWJ, BAMF WWX) Technically what the request asked for (LWJ going back in time & romancing WWX) but mind the tags because LWJ goes back to when they are kids & features dark!LWJ

Take my heart by LadyKG (Not rated, 22k, wangxian, Fix-It, WWX POV, Time Travel, WWX is oblivious but not THAT oblivious thank fuck, JC is done with Wifi's shit, LXC is an angel, but when isn't he lbh, author is biased because of love for characters) lwj time travels back to cloud recesses lectures

💖 From the Future for the Past by friedchickenlord (G, 27k, wangxian, time travel, fix-it, fluff & humor, happy ending, denial, pining, bullying ur younger self is in fact ok) both WWX and LWJ end up time traveling - to different periods of time!

refrain; a musical phrase repeating in a song or instrumental piece Series by Cerusee, Mikkeneko (T/G, 51k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Sort Of, Memory Loss, Canon-typical dismemberment, Post-Series, but also mid-series ya feel, Changing Tenses, Protective LWJ, Everybody Lives, Confused WWX, Crack Treated Seriously)

Wangxian's Time-Travelling Shenanigans series by pupeez4eva (M, 18k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, Humor, Love Confessions, PDA, Wangxian being their shameless selves, Nothing will ruin WWX's confession, Not even dozens of very confused disciples, or confused family members because LQR and JC are not amused, time travel at the most inconvenient moment, Everyone is just very confused, Wangxian elope with no explanation and leave everyone else to deal with the aftermath, LXC is a very good big brother, JC is probably going to end up killing WWX, Canon Divergence, Featuring: many horrified bystanders, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, AU of Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now, The many moments that Wangxian could have travelled to, POV Outsider)

A Life Without Regrets by naqaashi (M, 74k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Crack Treated Seriously, musical cultivation, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Murder Husbands, Happy Ending, PTSD, BAMF WWX, Cultivation Sect Politics, Worldbuilding, Módào Zǔshī & The Untamed Combination, No Yīn Iron, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Artist WWX, Musician WWX, Bad Parent JFM, Bad Parent YZY, Cultivation Theory, Sentient Burial Mounds, Dysfunctional Family, Grief/Mourning, Parent-Child Relationship, Angry WWX, Angst, No Golden Core Transfer, BAMF LWJ, Idiots in Love)

How the Yiling Patriarch Became Everyone's Gay Awakening by tinitin (M, 17k, wangxian, JC & WWX, WWX/Other(s), One-Sided Attraction, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Attempt at Humor, YLLZ kink, Crack Treated Seriously, The YLLZ gets sent back in time, Everyone thinks he's too pretty too ignore, WWX suffers because of his future self's obliviousness, LWJ suffers because of WWX's obliviousness, JC suffers, Everyone doesn't think they're gay just because the Yiling Patriarch is pretty, Time Travel Fix-It, Protective JC, OOC YLLZ, Attractive WWX, WIP)

it calls to those Series by Shializaro (T, 7k, WangXian, Time Travel, POV Outsider, POV Alternating, LWJ Has Feelings, Make LWJ Cry Agenda, Good Sibling JC, JC is So Done, Angst and Humor)

I Started From the Bottom/And Now I’m Rich by x_los (E, 57k, WWX/WRH, WWX/JGS, wangxian, JYL/JZX, time travel fix-it, Pining, Marriage of Convenience, Arranged Marriage, No Sunshot Campaign, WQ Lives, Transmigration, Weddings, Sugar Daddy au, Sugar Daddy, Black Widow, Protective Siblings, Family, Dysfunctional Family, Family Bonding, Sugar Baby, consort, Politics, Demonic Cultivation, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Canon-typical domestic dysfunction, Canon-Typical Gore, Ballad 39: Tam Lin, YLLZ, Crack Treated Seriously)

The Wild Geese’s Tomb by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (T, 66k, wangxian, time travel fix-it)

don’t have to dance by sharksugar (orphan_account) (E, 4k, wangxian, Older Man/Younger Man, Dubious Consent Fantasy, Public Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Incense Burner, Exhibitionism, Public Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Loss of Virginity, Self-Lubrication, No Lube, Dry Sex, Dream Sex, Age Difference)

Catharsis by brannrice (M, 69k, wangxian, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, WLLZ WWX, Hurt WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Sad WWX, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Cultivation Sect Politics, Protective LWJ, wwx learning self care? more likely than you think, Slow Burn, wwx has no time for your shit, he's tired alright let him rest, Oblivious WWX, Pining LWJ, Soft wangxian, Rogue Cultivator WWX, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, WIP)

MingYu by Fino_Al_Cielo (T, 87k, WWX & LWJ, YL WWX, yunmeng siblings, Fix-It of Sorts, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, PTSD, References to Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Trauma)

Without end by barisan (M, 70k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort, Depressed WWX, Good Uncle LQR, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Yunmeng Jiang bashing, Sentient Resentful energy, Medical inaccuracies)

~*~

12. I’m in the mood for some dubcon “just the tip” Lan Wangji.

~*~

13. Please give me one sentence from a fic you love :) (Mod note, please check all the tags from the fics before reading ^^ ~Mod L)

“I don’t want to be an artist,” Wangji would have said, back then. “I want to make what you do last forever.” 💖 Pentimento. by orange_crushed (E, 73k, wangxian, modern, college/university au, art conservation, museums, pining, not actually unrequited love, angst w/ happy ending, misunderstandings, smut, major character injury, hospitalization, hurt/comfort, past incarceration, forgery)

“It's a semi-breve of rest, before the softest of crescendos as Lan Zhan finally closes those spare few inches between them, and presses his lips to Wei Ying's.” Themes and Variations in F# Major by defractum (nyargles) (E, 18k, WangXian, Modern AU, Classical Music, Getting Together, POV Alternating, Long-Distance Friendship) I know nothing about music and that sentence still gets me!

“I will give your pleas the same consideration you gave mine.” Bitter Recompense by mondengel (M, 1k, LXC & LWJ, Angst)

"In the absence of Hanguang-Jun, he is my light," Wei Wuxian responds, then wishes he could take the words back. They feel like too much for this early in the morning." the kite string and the anchor rope by fleurdeliser (M, 38k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, set after the yiling date, Sick Child, the illness never gets worse than it is in the first 1000 words)

"I will die a thousand times, I will die the most painful death you have in store for me, I will die on my knees screaming with no dignity left in me, but please, if there is anything left that is holy in this world, please spare him, let him live. I will do anything, suffer anything, but please, please, save my son, a-Yuan, my a-Yuan." the tragic and entirely true story of the romance between the yiling patriarch and his wife, most renowned doctor of her generation by ravenditefairylights (T, 18k, WangXian, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Canon, but also during canon, Character Study, Canon Temporary Character Death, excessive use of personal headcanons, Baby LSZ, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Oblivious WWX, Rumors, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Heteronormativity, Fake Marriage, Chronic Pain, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining)

~*~

14. For the next ITMF, is there any fic where wwx learns how to cook good food or like, he knows how to cook. Thank you!

Heat It Up! with Wei Ying by justpeace (T, 10k, WangXian, Modern AU, coworkers to dating, Getting Together, Food, Chinese Character, Chinese American character, Chinese Food, racism that largely happens offscreen, workplace racism, toxic workplace environment, Workplace Relationship, food as a metaphor for racism, Humor, Happy Ending, Angst and Humor, running bits involving pop culture references, food as a metaphor for flirting, References to Drugs, Alcohol, Asian-American Character) has good cook modern AU WY working for a food magazine

Welcome to the Great Gusu Bake Off! by BlackWiresOnHerHead (G, 39k, modern, Modern, College/University au, The Great British Bake Off au, Humor)

🧡don’t threaten me with a good time by livinginaworldofnoise (G, 60k, WangXian, Modern AU, Great British bake off AU, Script format, Fluff and Crack, Reality TV, Social media)

A Feast for the Eyes by lareine (T, 7k, wangxian, modern, Cooking, Social Media, Humor, Celebrity au, WIP)

~*~

15. Hello! Thank you so much for your hard work!! For the next ITMF I was wondering if there’s any fic from LSZ’s POV not as a teenager but as a kid? Any setting or ship is good! Thank you!!

to the act of making noise by words-writ-in-starlight (WordsWritInStarlight) (G, 19k, WangXian, Grief/Mourning, Father-Son Relationship, inquiry, Music, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, CQL Verse) this one is from LSZs perspective, starting when he is a little boy just arrived in cloud recesses, and continuing on with time skips every chapter through post-canon, so it's not all while he's a kid come up but a lot of it is! Bring your tissues!

~*~

16. I’m looking for a fic about wei wuxian who ascends to godhood. I have read Of Destruction and Rebirth and I’m looking for similar fics. If in case you cannot recommend a god story then please recommend an overpowered (OP) or BAMF wwx for me. Thank you! @sri22

🧡 Vow by draechaeli (E, 216k, Canon Divergence, BeliefGod!WWX, Adoption but WWX birthed them all, Pregnancy Kink, Mpreg, minor male lactation, Consensual Non-Consent, Light Bondage, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con because JGS, Mentions Canon Typical Incest, Canon Typical Violence) not quite ascension exactly

A Secret Never Shared by Vrishchika (T, 28k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, frankencanon, Pining, Soft LWJ, Deity WWX, BAMF WWX, Alternate Universe, LSZ is the best boy)

Wuqian, the Local God of Yiling by Grace_ShadowWolf (TaubeLePigeon) (M, 80k, wangxian, WWX & LSZ & LWJ, major character death, canon divergence, angst w/ happy ending, god WWX, Chinese mythology & folklore, pining, temporary character death, WIP)

despite it all by novalotypo (T, 292k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Memory Loss, god of luck! au, Non-Linear Narrative)

~*~

17. A) ITMF WRH lives aus! I'm looking for something like what happened to WN. JGY involved in some positive manner (maybe whumpee WRH and JGY becomes caretaker idk I'll take whatever you can find)

B) In the mood for fics where Wen Ruohan has emotions! Give that man human emotions please. Preferably involving JGY in a non-antagonist light @crypticidentity

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

158 notes · View notes