But… there's no pain. No blood. No searing agony. Nothing. Slowly, you open your eyes, your heart pounding as reality settles in. Kamala stands there, her gun still raised, arm steady, with a wisp of smoke curling from the barrel. Her chest rises and falls heavily, her eyes, bloodshot and unyielding, fixed with an intensity that holds the room captive. At her feet lies the fake agent, motionless, his weapon slipping from his hand. Her hands tremble, but she keeps her grip on the gun firm, her entire body coiled between fury and relief. She stands over the fallen agent, shoulders tense. Her gaze shifts to you, her lips parting, as if to speak, but no words come.
Instead, her eyes meet yours, and you understand everything she can't say.
She wasn't going to let him take you.
Not today.
For a brief, fleeting moment, a spark of relief passes between you. But before either of you can fully register what just happened, Trump lunges at you, his hands wrapping around your throat with brutal force. The two of you crash to the ground, the impact knocking the air from your lungs as his grip tightens, crushing your windpipe.
"You little shit, why can't you die?" He exclaims, moving as if he wants to hit you but can't
You claw at his hands, gasping, struggling to break free, but his weight bears down on you, making it almost impossible to breathe. Pain flares in your chest, and black spots begin to dance in your vision. A strangled sound escapes you as you look toward Kamala, hoping she'll act before it's too late.
Kamala stands frozen, gun raised, her face a storm of fear, rage, and agony as she struggles to find a clear shot. Her hand trembles, her finger hovering over the trigger as she watches Trump pin you down. His fingers pressing deeper into your skin, cutting off your air. His face twists, but in the shifting light, it almost seems to flicker—morphing, one second Vanessa's cold sneer, then Marcus's smirk, and back again to Trump's cruel, unrelenting glare. His voice, too, shifts between them, taunting her with every twisted, mocking tone.
"Take your damned shot!" he snarls, laughing, his grip tightening with the taunt. His eyes meet hers, daring her to act, to pull the trigger, even with you so close.
Kamala's breaths come faster, her gaze locked on you, helpless beneath Trump's crushing hold, your skin turning pale as your hands weakly press against his arms. Every second drags on, her mind racing, torn between the risk of harming you and the desperate need to save you.
But she can't wait any longer.
Kamala takes a steadying breath, her grip firming on the gun. She narrows her eyes, focusing, and without hesitating another second, she pulls the trigger.
The gunshot echoes, sharp and final. Trump's body stiffens, his hands loosening from your throat as his weight slumps over you. He collapses to the floor beside you, motionless.
You gasp, air flooding back into your lungs as you clutch your neck, coughing, trembling. Kamala drops her gun and falls to her knees beside you, her eyes wide and filled with concern, hands reaching out but hesitating, afraid to touch you, to add to your pain.
You take a shaky breath, but you aren't worried about yourself. You sit up and your eyes dart to the paper on the table.
"Did you… did you really write what he wanted?" you whisper, the fear edging back into your voice.
Kamala looks away for a moment, her jaw clenched.
"Yes… I had to," she says quietly. "But I embedded a hidden message… anyone who reads it carefully will know the truth." Her eyes meet yours, and the determination in them makes you feel just a little more grounded.
You nod, relief mixing with gratitude as you whisper, "Thank you… for saving me." The words barely escape before you feel her steadying arm as she helps you to your feet. You notice her lips twitch into a faint smile, her eyes glinting with the smallest trace of humor.
"Where are your shoes?" she asks, trying to keep her voice steady, though laughter lingers beneath her words.
You laugh, a sound that borders on hysterical.
"I left them behind to come save you," you manage between breaths, the absurdity of it breaking through the tension for a moment.
But as your laughter fades, you both glance down, your bare feet and Kamala's heels now slick with blood pooling around you. The moment of levity vanishes, and reality crashes back with chilling clarity.
Kamala's hand tightens on yours, her eyes meeting yours once more, an unspoken understanding passing between you—there's no escaping the gravity of what's happened here.
"Let me make a call. Sit… somewhere?" Kamala says softly, glancing around the room with a look of weary resignation. Her hand slips from yours, and the loss hits harder than it should. For a moment, you feel adrift, like the tether keeping you grounded has suddenly been cut, leaving you vulnerable in a room full of shadows and blood. The chill of emptiness creeps in, as if Kamala's touch had been your last shield against the horrors that just unfolded.
You hesitate, not wanting to sit, but too shaken to stand.
It's almost irrational, the fear that something might happen the second she's gone. You hated to admit it, but she was right, she'd saved you, with the gun you'd begged her not to bring…
The walls press in closer, the air thickening.
She paces a few feet away, the phone pressed to her ear. Her voice is tense but composed as she speaks to someone from the Pentagon.
"Yes, there's been a breach… I don't care what the protocol is, just get a team down here, now." She pauses, and you catch the flicker of exhaustion on her face as she listens, waiting for the person on the other end to catch up.
You hug your arms around yourself, straining to stay calm as she continues.
You know she's got it under control, but the ache of separation grows, each second stretching longer than the last… Her gaze darts back to you now and then, like she can sense the way you're holding your breath, bracing yourself for something you can't name.
"…no, that's not enough," she snaps, cutting off whoever is speaking. "I need confirmation—an immediate extraction. I can't go back out there! I have no clue what this man instructed them to do?" Her voice is sharp, and the fierceness in it gives you a fragile sense of safety, but it's not quite enough.
You keep glancing at her hand, half hoping she'll reach out again.
Kamala's voice drops low as she steadies herself against the table, "We're in the White House panic room," she sighs, shed explained this before'
"We're… we're trapped here. Trump is dead. One agent, a real one, and another who was… pretending. They're both gone too."
Her eyes flick to the ceiling, as though she's trying to piece together how this all happened.
"I don't know how they breached the White House. I don't know how any of this got through security. The attack just… happened. And I don't even know the extent of the damage or if there's more beyond what you've seen. You… you were upstairs—what do you know?" she asks you visibly growing irritated by the second, she'd asked you hoping whoever on the phone would understand
You shake your head, before you can say more, a voice on the other end of her call speaks up, loud and clear. "Madam President, a team is on the way. ETA approximately ten minutes. In the meantime, law enforcement will secure a perimeter around the building. No one gets in or out. Both of you are to stay put. Don't open the door, and watch the cameras."
Kamala pauses, confusion flashing in her eyes. "What cameras?" she asks, glancing around the panic room, her brows knitting together.
"There are cameras both inside and outside the panic room, Madam President," the voice replies.
"Behind the painting, there should be a control panel with live footage of everywhere in the White House."
Kamala doesn't hesitate, crossing the room and pulling back the painting with a firm tug. A panel springs open, illuminating the hidden display. You rush over, standing beside her as the screens flicker to show footage from around the White House.
Together, you stare at the live feed, barely breathing as you take in the destruction unfolding above. Rooms in disarray, bodies scattered, halls abandoned, only a singular fake agent sweeping up and down each hall.
Waiting for their next orders.
It's surreal, the horror is unimaginable…
The horror on the screen seeps into you, and you feel yourself unraveling, your chest tightening as faces you recognize lie lifeless across the White House floor. You can't hold it in any longer. The tears come hard and fast, sobs tearing from your throat as your knees weaken. You sink into Kamala's arms, clutching at her suit, desperate to find something to ground you, something to keep you from being swept away in this nightmare.
Kamala holds you close, her arms wrapped securely around you.
She whispers soothing words, her tone soft but steady as she strokes your hair, pressing your head gently to her chest. The familiar rhythm of her heartbeat feels like the only real thing left as you shudder against her, your cries breaking the silence.
"Shh… I'm here," she murmurs, her voice barely a whisper.
"I'm here. We'll get through this…"
But as she comforts you, her gaze drifts to the surrounding scene—the pool of blood spreading on the floor, the bodies of the fake agent and Trump, her own hands stained with traces of blood.
She can't shake the weight pressing on her chest, the guilt gnawing at her. She's taken lives. Two people lie dead at her hands.
She swallows hard, focusing back on you, desperate to push aside her own turmoil for now. Gently, she shifts, lowering you both down to the floor, her arms still wrapped around you. You bury your face deeper into her shoulder, sobbing against her as she continues to rock you slowly.
"We… Um… when we leave there's going to be a lot of questions, you won't have answers and that's okay. You don't have to you did nothing wrong, this is my mess, I'll fix it"
"No." You say blunt as you pull away slightly trying to sit up, but she doesn't let go, instead he holds you tighter
"You don't need to see this," she said, giving your hair a soft stroke as her head falls against the wall.
"No more fixing, not more trying to save me, just stop please every time you try to fix something it gets worse please… just, stop, listen to me please" you beg as you can feel her head nod
You didn't want anything else but for her to hold you at that moment. She smelt like vanilla, her body soft and hands cradling you like a baby.
She strokes your back, as she feels a familiar ache gnawing at her conscience.
She's killed, saved, and sacrificed so much to protect you, but at what cost?
She glances back at the lifeless forms scattered around, the blood marking you both, your shirt speckled, and her suit barely hiding the crimson that had soaked into the fabric.
She doesn't say any of it aloud.
She can't. The words would only add to your pain.
She couldn't let you know she was hurting, not right now…
"Just breathe," she whispers, her own voice wavering for the first time.
"We're going to make it out of here. Together." Her grip on you tightens, as if anchoring both of you to that promise, however fragile it may be.
"Um… The police will bag your clothing for evidence, they'll separate us, the public they'll find out hell I'd be surprised if a fox isn't on the White House lawn right now… but at least you'll get to keep your shoes?" She said with a forced smile as she stared up at the ceiling, forcing tears back
You can feel it in her chest as you lay against her, but you say nothing, instead letting the silence calm you.
Hours Later — — —
Hours pass in a haze of silence, broken only by the muffled hum of machinery and Kamala's gentle, rhythmic breathing. You cling to her, exhaustion finally overtaking the fear and shock, and you drift into a restless sleep, your face pressed against her shoulder. Kamala doesn't move, barely daring to breathe as she watches the bloodstains dry on the floor, her gaze lingering on the bodies lying still in the shadows.
The weight of every choice presses down on her, each moment stretching into eternity.
She will not lose you, she was in control, she stopped it.
A few tears fell from her eyes for a moment, a sob threatening to overtake her, grief tearing at her throat ready to consume her…
Then, with a sharp hiss, the panic room door begins to unlock.
The loud, metallic clank, stirring Kamala from her trance. She watches as it slowly swings open, its edge pressing against the agent's body sprawled in the doorway, pushing it slightly aside.
Police and Secret Service agents pour in, their footsteps echoing against the cold walls. You jolt awake, your heart hammering as the sudden flood of light and movement pulls you from sleep. Disoriented, you cower back, your grip on Kamala tightening as fear rears up inside you again.
"It's okay," Kamala whispers, holding you steady, her hand warm and reassuring on your shoulder.
"They're here to help"
You take a shaky breath, letting her words sink in, but your hands still tremble as you clutch her for one more precious second.
Slowly, she helps you to your feet, steadying you as your legs wobble beneath you. You wipe the tears from your face, brushing at the smudges that cling to your cheeks. The sight of the paramedics waiting nearby, beckoning you to follow them, a muted voice barely coherent, only brings another wave of dread, the looming reminder of everything that just happened.
It was real.
As they step closer, you cling to Kamala's gaze, their hands guide you along, your eyes searching hers for a final reassurance.
She nods.
Firm and calm.
You're led out of the panic room.
As you cross the threshold, you can't help but glance back. The three bodies lie motionless against the cold floor. You look at Kamala one last time, a tremor of fear and concern in your eyes.
She's already looked away, her expression stern as she is approached by the secretary of defense, her arms crossed as you lose sight of her.
You turn away, following the paramedics as they guide you down the winding path you took to get here. Each step feels heavy, your mind fragile as you cling to Kamala's composure, hoping to…
Mimic it?
Barrow it?
Steal it?
RIP IT FROM HER GOT DAMN BODY IF YOU HAVE TO!?
You bite down hard on your lip as you step back into the conference room, making a point to rush past the medics, tossing your hands up in frustrated defeat.
"I'm fine, please, I—I just need to go home," you declare, voice wavering. Standing still feels unbearable, like the room itself could reach out and drag you back down into that nightmare.
The cool marble floor sends chills through your feet as you make it to the hallway, hoping the fresh air will ease the dread. But just as you take a deep breath, an older man approaches, blocking your path.
"Miss Rose," he says in a low, authoritative voice.
"Given the circumstances of the attack, we can't allow you to leave the White House property until questioning is complete."
Wide-eyed, you stare at him, the weight of his words settling heavily. There's no real reason to rush home—your world is back there in that panic room, surrounded by police.
You open your mouth to object, but reality strikes: bodies lie scattered throughout the White House—Secret Service, intruders, and even the former president himself are dead.
"F—fine," you stammer, straightening up, smoothing your clothes, fighting to stay composed.
"Can be just… get this over with? We can use my office, it's upstairs?"
The man nods as you lead the way, but as you're nearer the stairs, something changes. The air grows thick, pressing in around you, and time seems to stretch, slowing everything down. The medic beside you moves at a crawl as the shock finally crashes down, adrenaline dissipating. It all hits at once, the chaos, the fact that you're finally safe. You stumble, bracing yourself against the railing as a raw cry escapes your throat. Medics rush to your side, voices overlapping as they assess you, but you push through the suffocating need to hold it all in.
"I'm fine," you insist, voice breaking.
Ignoring their concerned protests, you push past them and up the stairs into the hallway, feeling the cold marble beneath your bare feet. You don't care about the police and Secret Service agents who stop to stare as you walk by, your eyes bloodshot, face stained with dry tears.
The medics catch up, asking a string of questions—basic health checks, you suppose.
"Were you hit in the head?" one asks.
"No," you reply, trying to steady your breathing.
Then, after a pause, they ask, "Have you ever had a TBI?"
The other medic elbows his partner sharply, nodding as if to remind him.
"Sorry about that, Miss Rose," he says quickly. "My partner doesn't really follow politics."
"It's fine," you mumble, forcing yourself to stand a little straighter. "I don't expect anyone to… to keep track of the past."
But the words catch in your throat, memories flashing painfully in your mind. You try to convince yourself you've moved past it, that none of it matters anymore. But Kamala's face, her silent suffering, floods back. This—everything that happened tonight—is because you missed it, because you didn't see the pain she was hiding. Your mind drifts, beginning to disassociate as blame floods through you, overwhelming every thought until the medic places a gentle hand on your shoulder, guiding you to sit at your desk.
You hadn't even realized you'd gotten there yet.
You lower yourself, barely registering your surroundings, your gaze distant and unfocused.
As you sit, a man approaches, his steps cautious, voice calm as he speaks your name softly. You look up, grounding yourself back in the present, trying to find the words to explain the mess in your mind—but nothing comes out. The weight of everything, the spiraling guilt and fear, locks you in silence.
He sits down and takes out a recorder.
"Miss Rose, let's keep this simple," Stanton began, holding up a memo in his hand as he leaned forward.
"We found a note in the pocket of a now… deceased staffer. It reads, 'Miss Rose on leave, not permitted access to West Wing during work hours, March 25th through March 28th.' Care to explain that?" He lifted his eyebrow, glancing at something he'd already written, his skepticism obvious before you'd even said a word.
"President Harris noticed I was… overwhelmed by my duties," you replied, your voice wavering.
"I just returned to work after some… medical scares. We were also dealing with some private issues that had gone unresolved." The admission felt raw, each word carefully measured.
Stanton's eyes flicked up, his pen ready.
"Were any of those issues—personal or professional—linked to former President Trump?"
"Well—" you began, but he cut you off, raising a finger.
"We have access to all memos, schedules, and employee authorizations, Miss Rose," he said coolly.
"So, be honest."
Your fingers tightened in your lap, the urge to lash out barely contained. You forced your body to stay still, but your voice cracked like a whip.
"Listen, don't ever disrespect me like that again," you bit out. "I'll answer your questions, entertain whatever narrative you want to believe, but you won't interrupt me or talk to me like that. Especially, when I watched three people get shot and killed today—I almost died today. For the second time in my life."
You stopped, fighting the tears that burned at the edges of your vision.
"Yes, it was all linked to Trump. Everything. Every horrible thing that's happened is tied to him. Why do you think random strangers could storm the White House and kill the staff? Why do you think President Harris and I are covered in blood? My feet are stained red, for God's sake," you choked out, covering your face with your hands as the sobs hit.
You burned with anger, your breathing heavy, unable to see if he was even still writing.
Right now, you didn't care.
All you wanted was Kamala—her arms around you, a moment of safety, an end to this.
The room spun, your chest clenched in pain, and your mind spiraled. Standing, you stumbled, gripping the edge of the table as Stanton looked at you, his expression unfazed.
"Miss Rose, please sit down. Now is not the time for theatrics," he said, setting his paper aside as he stood. His cold, unyielding gaze bore into you, but you stared back, your body trembling.
The room grew sharper and sharper until the only sound you could hear was his voice, prying and relentless.
"Miss Rose, you need to answer me," he pressed.
"You're a witness to the murder of a former president."
"Miss Rose—"
He stepped closer, and you felt your control splinter. Your palms were clammy, your vision blurred, and it became hard to breathe.
"May I be an excuse—" you barely managed, covering your mouth before turning and running past him, ignoring the way his voice echoed behind you.
In the blood-stained panic room, Kamala stood, her gaze steady, but her voice edged with exhaustion as she spoke to Melinda Jackson, the lead investigator.
Kamala recounted the events in a controlled, even tone, though her fingers trembled slightly as she motioned to the blood on the floor.
"My agent brought us here," she began.
"Once we were inside, he shot my agent in the back, and held the two of us at gunpoint. Trump—he…" She swallowed, anger and disgust clouding her voice for a moment.
"He was… touching Jessica. Threatened both of us, forced me to write that." She pointed to a crumpled, hastily folded note lying on the table, each word on it soaked in forced resignation, a lie.
"He wanted me to confess that I'd lied about everything, that I was resigning and leaving him the presidency. When I resisted, he threatened Jessica's life, over and over."
Melinda scribbled her notes, nodding but remaining unreadable, prompting Kamala to go on.
"He ordered them to shoot her after I wrote it, they were going to kill her, me? But when his agent aimed the gun at her, I didn't hesitate." She didn't care she had said it, she wasn't lying
"I did what I had to do," Kamala said firmly.
"I shot them both before they could hurt her further. Trump had pinned and choked her…"
The investigator's eyes flickered with a hint of skepticism as she shifted uncomfortably, glancing back at the blood on the floor. Kamala, noticing the shadow of doubt, took a breath, her mind racing. She remembered the panic room's security system—an ironclad series of video feeds capturing everything that transpired in that enclosed space.
"Well, I have to check for bruises." She noted
Kamala ignored her and crossed over to the small console tucked in the corner and navigated the menu until she found the footage.
"Here," she said, clicking through the timeline.
"You'll see everything." Kamala hit the playback, fast-forwarding through the past few hours.
The screen displayed her and Jessica, Trump's threats, his agent's gun trained on them both, her own agent's final moments, and ultimately, her decision to pull the trigger.
As the sped-up footage ended, Melinda's hardened demeanor softened just slightly.
She cleared her throat, jotting down more notes before offering Kamala a nod.
"Thank you, Madam President. This will help tremendously in our investigation."
Relief tinged with an underlying bitterness washed over Kamala as she slowly let go of the console. She turned to face Melinda as the investigator continued, "We'll need to take your shoes for evidence, along with your firearm."
Kamala froze, her hand instinctively tightening around the grip of her gun. For a brief moment, flashes of the assault flickered through her mind—the way Trump had looked at Jessica, the terror in your eyes, her own heart pounding with the knowledge that she might lose you.
Her fingers lingered on the weapon, her lifeline, the one thing that had protected them both.
"Madam President?" Melinda asked gently, sensing her hesitation.
Kamala took a steadying breath, reminding herself that Trump was gone.
That you were safe.
With one last look at the gun, she handed it over, her gaze darkened with a resolution that would remain long after that weapon left her hands.
As the investigator walked away, leaving Kamala alone in the chaos of the panic room, she took a deep breath. The medical team and forensics worked diligently around her, marking evidence, taking photos, and carefully bagging items as they prepared to remove the bodies. She stood silently, watching as maintenance workers arrived to retrieve the recordings she had reluctantly handed over. A woman approached with a small plastic bag, gesturing for Kamala's shoes. With a steady hand, Kamala slipped them off, dropping them into the bag without another word.
Two days later, the news had long since broken.
You and Kamala have stayed far away, gone no contact. Strictly business.
Investigators dropped in randomly, hoping to catch you too…maybe plotting.
But today, Kamala went about her duties with unwavering composure, outwardly unshaken by the storm that had surrounded them. Her gaze remained focused, her posture unwavering, but her ears were always tuned, listening for the familiar click of your heels following her as she walked.
She entered a small conference room prepared for a closed-door meeting—just her, you, and Karine, the press secretary. Before either of you could even sit, Karine was already pacing around the table, her tone all business.
"We need a new approach this time," Karine began sharply, her gaze alternating between you and Kamala.
"People are worried. This isn't just politics anymore; they see it as a spectacle. Most understand that Trump's antics caused it, but others are convinced it's all on you, Madam President. And Jessica, the public sees you as a constant variable whenever Harris is in the crosshairs. They think you're some sort of… destabilizing force."
You exchanged a glance with Kamala as Karine continued, her voice firm.
"We put you out there, Jessica. You're smart, capable. You both said it yourselves the night of the election. Now it's time to show us."
You looked at her, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Girl, what the hell are you talking about?" you and Kamala blurted out simultaneously.
Karine let out a frustrated sigh, glancing at you both as if it were obvious.
"Jessica, you take on the questions. This time, you're the one who faces the public. Show them who you are. Set the record straight."
Kamala crossed her arms, a skeptical look in her eyes.
"You think shifting the spotlight is going to change things? If anything, it could make this mess even more complicated."
But Karine shook her head, determined.
"Or, it could remind people what they saw on election night—a team they trusted, people they believed in. This isn't just about Trump or some scandal; it's about restoring their faith in both of you."
"And if this backfires?"
"It won't, I'm sure of it because everyone's been wanting answers, and they're going to get them today, no time to prepare, just raw unfiltered answers" She declared as you looked at her even more confused
"Press conference, addressing presidential concerns and complaints. Be there or Fox News will be down your throat, they're doing live reactions midday. 12 on the dot is when I'll have you come up, your allotted time is 10 minutes and believe me in a press conference when a topic is given a time they want all of that time." Karine says with a tinge of finality that Kamala find familiar
"Yeah, something's not in tune up there anymore"
"You're one to talk." You say shooting from your chair and storming from the room, you can hear her follow behind you
"Jessica I think she's right, a change of pace is good, it'll give me time to start seeing that therapist like I promised?" Kamala said as she stopped walking for a moment as you both turned down an empty hallway
You turn to her as you hear those words escape her lips.
"You mean that?"
"Well, I did say it on Fox News."
"Hmph… like that means anything." You roll your eyes, knowing she's trying to be charming.
You hadn't spoken in two days, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Every brief moment you'd seen her was something you'd held onto desperately, replaying her gestures over and over to keep yourself together. But now, you found yourself avoiding her, even though you longed to be in her arms. By the way she kept trying to charm you, it was clear she wanted you there, too.
"Kamala, could you please stop following me? It's already 11:26. I'd like a minute to at least make myself look presentable," you say with a sigh, jabbing at the elevator button. As soon as the doors open, you try to step in alone, but she slips in beside you before they close.
The doors shut, and now it's just the two of you, alone.
"Kamala, whatever you're thinking, just forget it," you say bluntly, catching her gaze for only a second before looking away.
"Jess, listen to me. I love you," she says, her voice softening. "And I know I haven't been the best girlfriend to you. I keep making promises I don't follow through on, and I want to change that… now." She sighs and leans against the elevator wall, while you stand facing the doors, watching the dial countdown each floor.
You never realized how slow these elevators really are.
"Jessica, are you listening to me?" she says, suddenly pulling away from the wall. Before you can answer, she reaches over and hits the emergency stop button, halting the elevator.
"What the hell?" you say, trying to sidestep her, but she holds her ground.
"Jessica, I'm trying to make things better. You have to work with me," she says softly, her hands sliding around your waist and pulling you closer. "What are you feeling right now?"
"Nothing. Just… please, I have somewhere to be," you say, trying to pull away, but her grip only tightens.
"No," she insists gently. "Answer me, darling. I don't want you to be mad at me. I know everything's chaotic, but I can't make things better if you don't tell me."
"Fine," you sigh, the words tumbling out.
"I'm extremely nervous, and I'm about to explain to the entire country why you can't get anything done because some overgrown pumpkin keeps throwing threats at us. And you're losing it, Kamala—I'm losing it. Half the White House staff is gone, your Secret Service is in the hospital, and the only thing we seem to get right these days is… well, us." You glance down, a little embarrassed, but finally relieved to let it out. She stares at you, clearly caught off guard.
Taking advantage of her moment of shock, you reach over and reset the elevator. The silence fills the space, and you try to ignore her, staring straight ahead as the numbers blink by, one by one.
"We're going to talk about this," Kamala says bluntly as the elevator stops, the doors opening with a soft chime. She steps back, her expression firm, finger pointed as if to say you're not off the hook. Her wide, focused eyes have a fire in them, something stern—and maybe something else too, something tingling inside you as you quickly glance at your phone to check the time.
She's terrifying, but oddly hot, you're hot, you know this conversation is far from over.
11:38
Pace the length of the hallway while you wait, eyes darting rhythmically to the clock on the wall, your mouth goes dry every time the hand ticks once over.
Karine was right, you were going into this unprepared. You couldn't make yourself focus, as much as you wanted to stay away from horny Kamala it would have been better than no Kamala at all.
God, you needed her.
You clinch and unflinching your hand hoping to conjure the feeling, you can't.
You look at the clock again, panic shoots through you, how long have you been pacing like this?
11:54
"Shit" you say as you begin to straighten your clothes you can hear murmurs rise from the room, then marine voice
You take a deep breath, straightening your shoulders and smoothing your clothes one last time. The murmurs from the room grow louder as you approach, and you hear Karine's voice over the speaker.
"Chief of Staff Jessica Rose will be joining us shortly to address any concerns you may have surrounding the rollout of policies and President Harris's upcoming plans," she says.
The door opens, and Karine steps off the stage, giving you a quick nod as she passes. You take her place, adjusting the microphone as you look out at the crowd.
Hands shoot up instantly, eager and insistent.
You scan the room and point to one reporter.
He stands, voice steady but pointed.
"Miss Rose, the American people are increasingly skeptical of your ability to act in the best interest of President Harris. You've been cited at the center of many issues that have kept her from her duties. Some are suggesting that your personal relationship may be affecting matters of government—especially after recent events that led to the deaths of two people in defense of you. One being former president Donald Trump and a hired gun, Is that correct?"
You steady yourself, feeling the weight of the room's gaze pressing down on you. Every eye is on you, waiting for an answer.
"Y-Yes… but I can a sure the American people my personal matter have not impeded president Harris's ability to lead" you lie
Another round of hands shoot up.
You pick another.
"Have you and president Harris spoken about the events since-"
"No. We have not, we have been advised not to speak on the matter as numerous official procedures are still being carried out, as well as the investigation into the attack. " You say moving to the next person
You're doing fine.
You take a deep breath, preparing for the next question. Another reporter stands, their tone sharp and probing.
"Miss Rose, given the situation, can you clarify why you specifically were targeted in the attack? Do you believe your presence may have jeopardized the President's safety?"
The words hit, and for a split second, you falter.
You trip over your words, trying to find an answer that sounds reasonable, even as a flicker of panic starts building in your chest. You glance around the room, your mind racing, half expecting Kamala to be there, her calm presence there for you.
But she isn't.
"Yes… I, uh," you stammer, trying to steady your voice, "I believe… that my role alongside the President has sometimes… complicated things, but it's something that we manage with professionalism and care—"
Your heart pounds louder, drowning out your thoughts, and you can feel your hands beginning to tremble. You force yourself to answer one last question, words coming out quickly, almost in a rush to get away.
Before you realize it, an agent appears at your side, his hand lightly guiding your elbow as he leans in, voice low and firm.
"Miss Rose, I need you to come with me."
You don't resist. The agent leads you off the stage, away from the relentless barrage of eyes and questions. You're ushered into a private room, the door closing behind you.
Your breaths come fast, shallow, as you try to make sense of what just happened.
"Miss Rose, I need you to brace yourself," the agent says.
"Your apartment… was set on fire earlier this morning. We believe it was intentional."
The words sink in, your hands cover your mouth in shock.
Everything you own, every piece of your life outside these walls—gone.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me… h-how?"
"At this role we don't know, the police called your place of work after you didn't pick up your cell-" you glance at your phone, three missed calls from your landlord
"Okay… um, it's okay. Was anyone hurt? Is there any idea who did this?" You ask, refusing to let yourself cry
"Now we're sorry Miss Rose, Miss Harris would like a word with you whenever you're ready"
"Thank you" you say as the agent quickly runs out of the room
As soon as the agent leaves, the shock morphs into something unstoppable.
You start pacing, every emotion you've been holding back bubbling over. You throw a chair across the room, hearing it crash against the wall. Your hands shake as you grab whatever's within reach, tossing things, flipping tables, anything to release the frustration, the helplessness, the rage that's tearing through you.
When you finally stop, breathing hard, the room is in shambles. Papers are scattered, a lamp is shattered on the floor, and the silence that settles feels thick, suffocating. You take one last, deep breath, attempting to steady yourself. But the weight is still there, pressing down, even as the rage cools.
With a final look at the mess, you head to the Oval Office, where you know Kamala is waiting. Entering the room, you find her sitting on the edge of her desk, arms crossed, her gaze lowered. She looks up as you approach, and the sorrow in her eyes tells you she already knows what happened.
Your shoulders slump, defeated. The news was fresh, but it could've waited. She must have ordered that agent to pull you away just to tell you know.
"Thank you, I guess," you mutter, trying to keep your voice steady.
"Hell, I'm glad I didn't have to keep answering their questions, but… telling me my apartment burnt down? That was cruel. You could've let me fry more—it's not like I have anything else to lose." Your voice cracks as you move closer, the weight of everything crashing down.
Without a word, Kamala opens her arms, and you collapse into them, gripping her suit jacket as the tears finally spill over. Sobs rack your body, and you cling to her like she's the last thing grounding you to this world.
"I can't imagine life without you… I need you, Kamala," you choke out, voice barely above a whisper.
"I'll give everything if it means you'll stay."
She tightens her arms around you, her hand stroking your back as you cry harder, letting out everything, anger, loss, embarrassment, failure.
"You'll be alright…" she murmurs, her voice a soothing anchor. "You'll stay with me."
You pull back slightly, just enough to look at her, doubt clouding your expression.
"Kamala, maybe I'm not cut out for this… They're right. I'm keeping you from your duties, causing scandals. I should step down, save you the trouble. I need to find a new place, replace everything… I don't even know what I'd do if I left. Go back to being a prosecutor? Corporate law? I don't know anything other than this…" you ramble on
Kamala's expression hardens, but there's warmth in her eyes as she cups your face, forcing you to meet her gaze. "We'll get you new things, and you're staying with me. You're not quitting—not on my watch. We just need to reset, re-evaluate things. That's all."
Her words settle over you, a small sense of calm breaking through the chaos. In her arms, even with everything gone, you feel the faintest glimmer of hope that maybe, somehow, you recover.
Kamala gently lowers you into one of the chairs, her hands lingering on your shoulders as she takes a seat across from you, her gaze soft and concerned. She leans forward, studying your face with an intensity that makes you feel exposed, yet oddly safe.
"I want you to attend sessions, Jess—just like I will. It'll help to have support, someone to guide us through this," she says softly.
"I know you're strong, but nobody can carry all of this alone."
You nod, but you're barely hearing her. Your mind feels frayed, exhausted, clinging to her presence as if it's the only thing holding you together.
Your hands tighten around the armrests of the chair, your gaze darting to the floor, to the walls—anywhere but her eyes.
There's restlessness… discomfort inside that you can't shake.
"Jessica…," Kamala says gently, sensing your distress.
"What's going on? You're more anxious than usual, more… I don't know. Distracted. I can feel it."
You swallow, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.
"I think about… almost dying. A lot. I think about what happened, about the things I can't undo, things I can't control." You look up at her, the vulnerability raw and unfiltered.
"And it scares me because I don't know how to keep living with it. I don't know how to put it away."
Kamala reaches across the space between you, taking your hands in hers, her touch steady and reassuring. "Jess, you're not supposed to put it away—not alone. No one should have to. What you went through, what we both went through… it's not something you can just push down and ignore. Those memories, that fear… they'll keep coming up if we don't face them."
Her words sink in, resonating in a place deep inside you. The part that feels like it's been carrying the weight alone, suffocating under the burden. For the first time, you feel the possibility of release, of sharing that burden with someone else.
"But what if… what is, I can't fix it?" you whisper, your voice shaky. "What if I'm always this person who can't get past it?"
Kamala's gaze softens, and she squeezes your hands, her voice gentle. "Then we'll take it one day at a time. If you need to lean on me, lean. If you need me close, I'll be there. I don't need you to be perfect, Jess—I just need you to stay with me. To keep trying."
You nod, finally feeling some relief.
Maybe you're the crazy one, you don't understand how she can keep it so contained.
— — —
The day has drained you, yet as you step into the Oval Office, there's an unexpected sense of comfort in finding Kamala here, standing tall yet clearly carrying the weight of her own battles. She's mid-sentence on a call, her tone firm, bordering on fierce.
"Hit them with a cease and desist—I don't care. They won't drag her name like that." She stops abruptly when she sees you, hanging up without another word. Her hardened expression softens instantly.
"Jessica, I'm sorry," she says, her voice lowering. "Come on, it's getting late. How about I cook us something?"
You hesitate, running a hand through your hair. "No… my nerves can't handle anything to eat right now. Please."
A look of concern crosses her face, but she quickly recovers, her voice turning playful. "O-okay, then… How should we spend our evening?" She arches an eyebrow, that mischievous glint in her eyes making her intentions clear.
You smirk, already knowing where this is headed. But before you can fully respond, her expression shifts. Kamala's gaze grows serious, and she steps closer to you, resting a hand on your shoulder, her tone firm but gentle.
"I said we were going to talk about things later," she says, pausing, her hand moving to your back, her touch warm. "And now it is later. I need us to be honest, Jess. It hurt me when you wouldn't answer earlier, and we've got to talk things out if we're going to make this work."
You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, she playfully swats your hip, coaxing a surprised laugh from you as she leads you through the private entrance to the presidential quarters.
In the quiet of the quarters, the atmosphere shifts. Kamala guides you to the couch, her hands lingering on your arms as you both sit down. She looks at you, her expression open, patient, but there's a touch of worry in her eyes.
"So, Jess," she begins softly, "Talk to me. What's really going on?"
The words spill out of you in waves, crashing as you struggle to hold back tears.
"Kamala, I feel like I'm failing. I know I'm smart, I know I'm capable… but none of that seems to matter. Every time I try to do my job, I get hit with another scandal, and somehow, it always sucks me right in. I just can't separate our relationship from my work anymore."
You wipe at your face, but the tears don't stop.
"It's exhausting. I can't even speak my mind without feeling like I'm censoring myself, like I'm losing parts of who I am just to keep things decent, to avoid giving anyone more ammunition."
Kamala's hand rubs small circles on your back, her touch warm and steady as she pulls you closer, letting you cry into her chest.
The silence between you both hangs heavy in the air, charged with words that can't quite be captured. Kamala's eyes linger on yours, and then she leans in, her lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss is gentle at first, she's giving you space to respond.
But the moment you pull her closer, something shifts between you.
The kiss deepens, becoming more intense, more urgent, as you press yourself against her. Your hands slip around her waist, and hold her tightly as your lips and tongues move together in a desperate rhythm, both of you needing an escape. Kamala's quiet moan reverberates against you, sending a thrill through your body, just for now.
When you finally pull away, breathless and slightly dazed, Kamala looks into your eyes, her expression open but serious.
"I know things are complicated right now," she says, her voice barely a whisper.
"But I need you to know that I'm here for you. Through all of it. No matter what."
You blink, trying to clear your mind, still feeling the warmth of her kiss on your lips.
"God was no good for each other…" you sigh, your voice trembling but certain. "But damn do I love this"
Kamala smiles, her hand finding yours, squeezing gently.
Kamala's face lights up with a dazzling smile, and she cups your cheek in her hand. "I've got that thing you like in a box upstairs" she murmurs, leaning in for another kiss.
This time, the kiss is fierce, hungry, every bit of withheld passion. Kamala's hands roam over your body, exploring every curve, every inch of skin as if memorizing it. Your own hands fumble with the buttons of Kamala's blouse, eager to feel more of her.
It falls open, revealing the smooth expanse of her chest. Your fingers tremble as they brush against the fabric of her bra, hesitating for just a moment before pushing it aside to expose her breasts. Kamala gasps, her nipples hardening instantly at the contact.
You lean in, your lips closing around one of those stiff peaks, sucking gently as you explore the sensitive skin with your tongue. Kamala groans, her hands tangling in your hair as she holds you close, urging you deeper.
The sound of your ragged breathing fills the small office, mingling with the wet noises of your mouth working eagerly on Kamala's nipple. Kamala's hips buck involuntarily, grinding against your thigh as arousal pools between her legs.
"God, you…" Kamala breathes, her voice hoarse. "This is amazing."
You pull back slightly, your eyes glazed with lust. "Touch me," you whisper, your voice trembling with urgency.
"Please… touch me."
Kamala doesn't hesitate. She slides her hand down your body, slipping beneath the hem of your skirt to find the damp heat between your legs. Your breath hitches as her fingers part your folds, finding your clit and circling it lazily.
"So wet for me already," Kamala murmurs, her voice laced with satisfaction.
You can only nod, your entire body quivering with anticipation. Kamala's fingers dip lower, sliding into your slick channel as she continues to tease your clit with expert precision. You gasp, your hips jerking reflexively as you feel the fullness of Kamala's fingers inside you.
"That's it," Kamala encourages, her thumb applying steady pressure to your clit as her fingers pump in and out of you.
"Cum on my hand, you're doing so well"
You bite your lip, fighting to stay composed, but it's a losing battle. Kamala's skilled ministrations are driving you wild, every stroke of her fingers sparking waves of pleasure that ripple through your body. Your muscles tighten around Kamala's fingers, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps.
Your eyes roll and you bite your lip.
Hard.
"Kamala… I'm… I'm so close," you whimper, your voice breaking.
"Then cum for me," Kamala orders, her voice firm but gentle.
Those words are enough to tip you over the edge. With a strangled cry, you come undone, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body spasms around Kamala's fingers, your nails digging into her back as you ride out the intense sensations.
Kamala holds you tightly, her own arousal throbbing painfully as she feels you shudder in her arms. When you finally relax, spent and breathless, Kamala withdraws her fingers, bringing them to her lips to taste you.
" Amazing," she murmurs, her eyes dark with desire.
You smile weakly, your body still humming.
"Do you… do you want to keep going?" you ask, your voice barely audible. You look up at her eyes half lidded, you can see the smirk on her face as you ask, she doesn't have to say a word for you to know.
Kamala's smile widens, and she leans in to capture your lips in another searing kiss. "Oh, we're just getting started," she purrs against your mouth.
Before you can catch yourself she holds you higher on her waist and holds you by the ass as she walks you somewhere you don't care, you cling to her sensitive to the touch.
As Kamala carries you, her grip on your ass firm yet tender, you feel a sense of weightlessness, as if you're floating on air. You look around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, and notice that you're in a large, dimly lit bedroom. The air is thick with the scent of her perfume, and you imagine the sound of soft music fills the room.
Kamala gently lays you down on a plus bed. She stands over you, her eyes gleaming with desire, as she slowly undoes her shirt, letting it fall to the floor. She steps out of it, revealing her body beneath all those layers. Your eyes widen as you take in her naked form, her breasts firm and perky, her nipples dark and inviting.
Kamala walks over to a nearby closet, where she retrieves a box that appears to be filled with toys. She rummages through the contents, her eyes scanning the various options before finally selecting a large, black strap-on. She turns to face you, her eyes locked on yours as she puts it on.
Your breath catches in your throat as she adjusts it, her hands sliding over her hips as she positions it for a perfect fit. She steps closer to the bed, her eyes never leaving yours, as she crawls over you, she guides your legs upwards, her body pressing against yours.
"Are you ready for me?" she whispers, her voice husky as she lines the toy up with your entrance, it's head poking gently at you
You nod, your heart racing, as she guides herself into you. The sensation is great, the pressure building as she thrusts deeper and deeper. You gasp, your body arching as she continues to move, her eyes locked on yours. As she rides you, her hips bucking, you feel a sense of exhilaration. Kamala's eyes are dark with desire, her face flushed as she leans down to kiss you.
The kiss is deep and passionate, your tongues entwining as she continues to thrust into you. You feel yourself climbing higher and higher, the pleasure building to a crescendo.
Suddenly, Kamala's phone rings, shattering the moment. She groans in frustration, but you grab her arm, pulling her back down to you.
"Answer it later," you whisper, your voice urgent.
Kamala nods, her eyes never leaving yours, as she resumes her rhythm. The phone continues to ring, but you block it out, lost in the sensation of Kamala's body against yours.
As the pleasure reaches its peak, Kamala's eyes flash open, her gaze locking onto yours. She thrusts one final time, and you feel yourself shatter, your body convulsing as wave after wave of orgasm washes over you.
Kamala collapses onto you, you wrap your arms around her, holding her close as you both catch your breath.
After a minute or so, you're still catching your breath, your body trembling from the intensity of the orgasm you just experienced. Kamala, still straddling you, leans down to kiss you again, her lips soft and tender. But as she pulls away, you see a glint in her eye, a hint of something darker, something rougher.
Without warning, Kamala shifts her weight, grabbing your wrists and pinning them to the bed above your head. You gasp, your eyes widening as she thrusts into you again, this time with a new intensity.
"Mmm, you like that, don't you?" she purrs, her voice low and sultry.
"You like being fucked hard, don't you, baby?"
You whimper, your body arching as she continues to thrust, the pleasure-pain mixing in a way that sends shivers down your spine. Kamala's eyes never leave yours, her gaze dominating.
As she rides you again, her pace quickens, her hips bucking wildly. You feel yourself climbing. Suddenly, Kamala pulls out, leaving you gasping and panting. You try to sit up, but she presses you back down, her fingers tightening around your wrists.
"Not yet, baby," she whispers, her breath hot against your ear. "You haven't earned your reward yet."
You struggle to understand, your mind clouded by lust and confusion. Kamala's eyes flash with a wicked grin.
"I will make you go to sessions with me," she says, her voice low and threatening.
"You say you will, you get to cum. You don't, you don't get your reward… This can be a treat or a punishment. Your choice."
You whimper, your body trembling with need. Kamala releases your wrists, allowing you to reach for her, but you find yourself unable to do so. Instead, you bury your hands in the sheets, your fingers clutching at the fabric as she kisses you again, her lips bruising yours.
As she continues to kiss you, Kamala slides her hand down your body, her fingers finding your clit. She begins to stroke you, her touch gentle at first, but gradually increasing.
Before you know it, you're on the verge of another orgasm, the pleasure building within you like a tidal wave. Just as you're about to crest, Kamala pulls away, leaving you gasping and panting. You reach for her, but she steps back, her eyes gleaming with a dark, dangerous light.
"Not yet, baby," she says, her voice low and sultry.
"You have to earn it."
You cry out in protest, your body trembling with need. Kamala's smirk widens, and she turns away, leaving you to your thoughts.
As Kamala leaves the room, you make a decision, your mind made up. When she returns, you declare,
"I'll go. I'll go with you to the sessions."
Kamala's eyes light up with satisfaction, a smile spreading across her face. She positions you on the bed, ass up and face down, your hands pulled between your legs as she pushes you into the mattress. You gasp, your body arching as she fingers you, her touch all too knowing.
Kamala leans over you, her breath hot against your ear. "Have you been a good girl?" she asks, her voice low and sultry. You shake your head, your body trembling as you try to ride the feeling more.
Kamala chuckles, her fingers still inside you.
"I think you have," she whispers, her voice soft and seductive.
"I think you've been very good indeed."
Her rhythm picks up, her fingers thrusting deeper and deeper. You moan, your body arching as she continues to touch you. As the pleasure reaches its peak, Kamala slows down, her fingers stopping just shy of the climax. You cry out, your body trembling with need, but Kamala simply holds you there, her fingers still inside you.
Finally, she withdraws, leaving you gasping and panting. She lays down beside you, pulling you into her arms, holding you close.
"I'm proud of you," she whispers, her voice low and tender.
"You've earned your reward."
Kamala hold you close, she starts to kiss your neck and ear, her lips soft and gentle. You feel yourself trembling in her arms, the pleasure building up once again. This time, however, it's different. It's not just about the physical sensation; it's about the connection, the intimacy, and the love.
As Kamala's lips trace a path down your neck, you feel your body start to convulse, the orgasm taking over. You arch your back, pressing yourself against her, needing to feel her closeness.
When the pleasure finally subsides, you catch your breath, still trembling in her arms. Kamala holds you tightly, her lips pressed against your ear.
"I'm glad I can make you feel this way," she whispers, her voice low and husky.
You chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. "I wish I wasn't a fem," you joke, laughing softly.
Kamala follows your lead, her laughter mingling with yours as she pulls back slightly to look at you. "Why's that?" she asks, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
You shrug, grinning. "Shit, I want to make you feel like this" you say, motioning between the two of you.
Kamala's smile fades, replaced by a look of tenderness. "Oh no, I like seeing you like this, I wouldn't want it any other way" he says, her voice low and sincere.
As you lay there, entwined in each other's arms, you hear her whisper something into your ear.
" Who's pretty pussy is that?"
"Kamala's" you giggle as she slaps your ass and crudely barks
"THAT'S RIGHT"
You feel a stinging sensation but ignore it as you drift off to sleep, you can't help but smile, knowing that you've found someone who makes you feel this way.
But shit you knew you had to wake up and wipe the shit off the fan in the morning…