Trump Tales (Donald Trump x reader)

Chapter 3

It was 9:23 on the 25th and you could barely contain yourself. You snuck into your mothers medicine cabinet and stole a tube of red lipstick. You applied a thick coating to your lips and firmly pressed them to your favorite picture of Trump. You admired the beautiful way your lips complimented Trumps squinted eyes. You went to bed with a smile plastered on your face.

The next day, you ate a hearty breakfast and made sure to dress in your best pants with your favorite shirt, a simple navy blue tee with Trumps face plastered on it. You quickly gathered the essentials. A homemade sign displaying Trumps face and slogan, your cellphone, your wallet, and your car keys. You hopped into your beat-up BMW and drove off at the speed of light. Well, as fast as the speed limit would allow.

You reached the venue earlier than everyone else, and chose a seat in front of Trumps podium, then waited for the magic to happen. At about 2:35, Trump entered with a herd of bodyguards surrounding him. You gasped and shot out of your chair.

"Mr. Trump," you called out, "I'm your biggest fan!" A large man wearing all black stepped down from the stage and approached you. He seemed to tower over you, and his voice was gruff and deep when he spoke.

"This venue is closed at the moment, you must leave," the bodyguard said. You started to tear up.

"But...but, I'm Mr. Trumps biggest fan..." You managed to mumble. The bodyguard couldn't have cared less that you were breaking down in front of him.

"I've seen lots of people claim they're his biggest fans, you think I care? Now move," the man ordered. As you stood up and gathered your things, a voice you recognized all to well spoke up.

"Xander, let him stay, I'm intrigued..." Trump said.

You looked over to wear Trump was standing at the podium and his beautiful blonde hair blew in the breeze. You dropped all your things and knelt down.

"Sir, it is an honor and a privilege to meet you," you managed out. In the presence of your hero, you practically forgot how to breathe.

"How long have you been here," Trump asked. Checking your watch briefly, you told him you had been there for 2 hours. He seemed impressed with your devotion, then noticed your shirt and was even more impressed.

"I have a shrine of you at home. I have pictures of you. Would like to see?" you told him. Xander seemed to flinch when you mentioned your shrine, but you ignored it and handed Trump your phone. He then, as a parent might, scrolled left and right through your photos. You hardly cared, however, since most of the pictures were of Trump anyway.

He seemed quite impressed with your shrine, and the other pictures as well. He handed you your phone and you vowed you would never clean the screen Donald touched.

Xander chimed in, now, and said, "Mr. Trump, we need to do a mic check." Trump looked over at you and you felt as though you had wings on your heels as he called you up to the podium to help with the sound check. You spoke into the microphone his various slogans, and finished with a triumphant, "I love Trump!" He placed his hand on your shoulder and you nearly fainted. You spun around and never before had you seen him like this.

His tie was yellow and complimented his hair, you wished you could rip the tie off, along with the other clothes he was wearing. "Mr. Trump," you started, but he swiftly silenced you.

"Please," he said, "call me Donald." He then shook your hand, and it felt as you had dreamed it would. Cold and clammy, just the way it should be.

"Go sit, the rally will begin shortly," Xander said, stepping between you and Trump. You walked to your seat in front of the podium and unfolded the piece of paper Donald had slipped you when you shook hands. It was his number. Donald winked at you, and you fainted.