THE BOY UNDER THE MASK: Barron Trump x Reader

Chapter Eight: Quiet Before the Storm

"Okay, so how does this all work again?" You looked up at Barron anxiously, furrowing your brows. He let out a tired sigh, his hands working over the plethora of maps and files on the floor in front of him. He had tried to explain it to you several times by now, but your mind kept drifting off and thinking of other things. Namely, how nice and veiny his hands were.

"The flash drive we're looking for is probably in here," Barron started, jabbing his pointer finger onto a blueprint of the White House. "It has enough evidence of my father privately funding North Korea's nuclear proliferation to legally put him behind bars. ANTIFA is assuming it's kept in his quarters-- we have intel from a mole who works in housekeeping that it's kept somewhere in a secret desk compartment."

"So while we're eating dinner, I get up and go find this flash drive? Assuming the intel you received was correct?"

"Exactly. Just say you have to go to the restroom. No one will escort you considering you're 'dating' me, and therefore you're free to go galavanting through the house unattended. When you're done, you just have to come back to dinner and act like nothing suspicious happened." You nodded at his demands, focusing your eyes back onto the papers in front of him.

"What if I fail?" You dared not to let your brain dwell on the potential consequences of a failed mission.

"You won't. You've never let me down before," He spoke softly, his hand reaching out to hold yours. "We're in this together."

"Together." You echoed back, letting his presence calm you.

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The night of the dinner had finally arrived, and boy, were you nervous. Dinner with the President and his family alone was nerve-wracking enough, but dinner and espionage? That was a whole other ballgame.

You were inside a private limo with Barron and Riot, listening to them brief you one last time on the situation at hand. In just a few short moments, you'd be pulling up to the White House like a lamb for slaughter.

"You're going to use this," Riot said, handing you a small transmitter. "If anything goes wrong, hit the button. It will alert me and the rest of ANTIFA, and we'll resort to any means necessary to extract you and Barron from the situation." You took the transmitter from him, carefully slipping it inside of your dress pocket. When Barron had told you Riot and the rest of ANTIFA were to be lying in wait outside the grounds to ensure your safety, a massive weight had been lifted off of your shoulders. Though you hoped you wouldn't need to press the button of the transmitter, it was nice to know that it was an option. You watched as Riot handed Barron a matching one.

"Couples that commit treason together, stay together!" Barron whispered, winking at you. Though you wished you had a snarky comeback for him, his ridiculously handsome wink had caused you to short-circuit.

"Whatever." You huffed, turning your head away to hide your blush. Feeling the limo slow, you prepared yourself for the night that lay ahead of you.

"You ready?" Barron asked, taking your hand.

"Yeah," You mustered up a smile, looking into his cerulean eyes. "As ready as I'll ever be."

With that, you both stepped out of the limo, cameras flashing as you made your way to the door of the White House.

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A/N: A lot of people have commented concerning Barron's age (which is totally understandable) but PLEASE read the preface and realize that this whole fic is a joke!! I'm literally just trying to make this the cheesiest and trope-iest thing I possibly can!