fifteen minutes of shame

I Can Manage On My Own (Lafayette x Reader)

(75 where the reader gets into a fist fight over civil rights and shocks Lafayette by winning, please? :)


Happy Sunday everyone! Enjoy!

You sat at your table and gripped your glass in anger. Lafayette quickly took notice, placing his hand on top of yours and rubbing gently in an attempt to soothe you. His hand rubbed gently on yours, reminding you that there were more important things than giving some idiot your attention. He was always incredible at calming you down; as fiery and hot-tempered as you sometimes were, gentle reminders from him subdued you instantly. However, this lasted about three seconds. Then the man, slightly tipsy with booze, spoke out again.

“All I’m saying, is if these people are actually looking for equal rights, then why can’t they bother to learn to read or write?”

You felt your blood begin to boil again. Like any slave had ever been given the opportunity or resources to become legible. This man had been at the bar for as long as you and Lafayette had been there, and was trouble since he first walked in the door. He sat and spewed racist, ignorant garbage every chance he found, loudly and obnoxiously enough to reach the ears of every patron in the restaurant, and probably the entire block.

“Their colored, uneducated selves deserve to be kept beneath us!” he continued, as he raised his mug of beer into the air, expecting cheers or applause. Everyone kept silent, and those seated close to him did not even bother to look at him.

You sighed and tried to direct your attention back to Lafayette. You two had a night off, and were trying to enjoy it. This man had other plans.

“And look, the revolutionaries in this bar sit in silence, knowing they can’t argue!” the drunken man called out, directing his attention to your table.

It was difficult to tell a regular man from a revolutionist. Their outfits were very similar, and did not stand out in a crowd. However, you were immediately recognized as one. The fact that you were a woman, not wearing a dress spoke volumes about you immediately, given the time period. Your white shirt, blue coat, and dark brown boots instantly set you apart from the crowd, and you could easily be labeled a revolutionary in the blink of an eye.

You couldn’t hold your tongue much longer, despite Lafayette’s best efforts.

“Sir, we are not agreeing with you. We are simply trying to ignore your idiotic statements, just as everyone else here is.” you stated, bold and unforgiving.

He seemed shocked by your response.

“And why do you, woman, think you have any business talking to me like that?”

“Excuse me?”

“Ah, I’ll speak a little slower so that you can understand, whore. Your. Lips. Weren’t. Made. For. Talking.” he spat, then proudly took another swig of his drink.

You stood up, hands curling into fists.

Lafayette immediately got up as well, placing his hand on your shoulder.

“(Y/N), arrêtez. He is not worth your time.” he said, desperately trying to coax you into sitting back down.

“You expect me to just sit here and take his insults?” you angrily asked, turning back to face him.

Non, we should just leave. Calmez-vous. Let idiots be idiots.”

“My good man,” the man suddenly spoke up again. “The next time you bring your bitch in here, be sure to keep her on a leash and a muzzle.” 

Now, it was Lafayette’s turn to step towards the man, beginning to steam with anger.

“(Y/N), sit down. I will take care of him.” he said, placing his hand on your shoulder and gesturing to the chair for you to sit before he pounded the man.

“I can manage on my own, thank you.” you said, refusing to move. “You don’t have to fight all my battles for me.”

“I don’t want you getting hurt, (Y/N), sit d-”

“He’s right, sweetheart! Wouldn’t want to hurt those pretty hands of yours!” the man called out, scooting out of his seat and walking towards you, grinning and preparing for a fight.

You looked up at Lafayette. You’re pretty sure he saw the absolute death in your eyes because he sighed, released your shoulder, and pressed his palm to his face. He knew there was no stopping you now.

Mon Dieu,” he mumbled into his hand. “Just please don’t get yourself killed.”

You looked at the man. He was still smirking, lifted his hand up and waved towards himself in a “come and get me” kind of manner, completely underestimating your abilities. 

The crowd of patrons eagerly watched, waiting for something to happen. There wasn’t a single other sound hanging in the air.

You cracked your knuckles.

“You’re gonna look real funny with your teeth pushed in.” you said through gritted teeth.

He raised his fists, and lazily swung at you. You quickly dodged it, then responded with an uppercut to his chin as he wobbled back into fighting position. He, still impaired by the sudden pain and alcohol, held onto the side of the table as he landed a sharp kick to your gut, followed immediately by his fist colliding with your cheek. You stumbled back, quickly stood up, and felt every fiber in your body catch fire. 

There was no way you were going to let this idiot hurt you. 

You stepped towards him, and almost with inhuman speed, landed a solid punch straight into his gut. He doubled over, and you used the opportunity to grab the back of his head by his hair. You them raised it, and then smacked it down onto the table he was using to support himself. You felt yourself lose a bit of control and you continued whacking his head into the wooden surface, a small pool of blood beginning to gather there.


He deserved this.


He’s a racist.


He’s a sexist.


He is the scum of the earth. 

You suddenly felt arms grab yours, and began to pry your hands out of his hair. You didn’t fight back, knowing that you had done the damage that needed to be done. You were then escorted by two very flustered bar tenders out of the establishment, as the observers of the fight cheered and the man crumpled to the floor, limp with unconsciousness. 

You were shoved out of the door, and onto the street, the darkness of night enveloping your body. You stood there, and began to catch your breath, your heart and adrenaline levels still skyrocketing. Your midsection and cheek throbbed slightly from the punches and kicks he placed on you.

The doors sprang open again as Lafayette exploded through them, quickly making his way over to you. 

“(Y/N)? You are okay?” he asked, cupping your face into his hands and scanning you over and over for visible signs of injury.

“I’m fine, Laffy.” 

“Are you insane? Did you see how much bigger he was than you? Oh, mon Dieu, you are an absolute moron. What if he had hurt you? Really hurt you? Are you such an impulsive person that you risk your well being due to your emotions towards people who don’t matter?” he rambled.

What you had done finally began to sink in, and you realized how stupid the entire situation was. You really had worried Lafayette. You hung your head in shame, regretting the past fifteen minutes.

“But still,” he began. “That was incredibly bad ass.”

You lifted your head up and looked at him, a grin slowly forming on your face as you saw him beam down at you.

“I just wanted to show him his place.” you humbly responded.

“Show him his place? (Y/N) you kicked him out of his place, out of the door and off the face of the Earth! I’ve never seen a more expertly-executed ass whooping!” He exclaimed, excitement and pride in his voice as you giggled, laughing at his choice of words.

He continued to explain his favorite parts of the fights to you: the crowds’ reactions, and the reluctance of the bartenders to step in and stop you, both because they knew the asshole deserved it, and because you were a bit scary. He recounted these facts like a little kid, brimming with animation and enthusiasm. You couldn’t help but laugh at it; he was being absolutely adorable.

“But honestly, mi amour, I didn’t know you had it in you,” he ended, looking like a proud parent.

You shrugged. 

“What can I say? You learn a lot of fighting techniques when you’re building a new nation.”

“You’re absolutely incredible,” he said, still not quite over the excitement of the events that just took place. “But you’re not hurt? You’re okay?”

He brushed his hand along your cheek, and took notice when you winced in pain.

“Just fine, Laffy.” you lied.

He tutted and examined the forming bruise closely. 

“How about you come and stay the night at my place?” he offered. “I know a special remedy for cheek bruises.”

“Oh really?” you asked, having a hard time believing there was any cheek bruise ailment. “And what may that be?”

“This.” he replied, swooping down and quickly pressing his lips sweetly to your cheek.

You blushed deeply as he stood back up, looking down at you, eyes brimming with endearment.

“And there are more of those awaiting at your house?” you asked, flirting.

“Plenty.” he said, cocking his head down at you and waiting for a response. 

“Well we’d better get going then,” you said, taking his hand and beginning to lead him down the road.

He quickly joined your side, arm wrapping around your shoulders as you walked further into the night. The restaurant still shone with light, alive with sound and laughter, as if the brawl had never even happened.

Gibbs & Tardy

This was requested by an anon! I hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 223

Warnings: none

(gif belongs to of-badges-and-guns)

It was the college student walk of shame.  You were fifteen minutes late to your class, and you knew you were going to get the looks from everyone; especially professor Gibbs.  He was one of your more strict professors.  One that didn’t appreciate late students and never accepted any excuses.  This was your first time being late all semester, you hoped he wouldn’t be too hard on you.

Of course Gibbs would have you stay after class.  Of course he would watch you all throughout class.  You watched as all of the students leave as you stayed behind.  You were a little nervous.  You had heard stories about his lectures.

“[Y/N],” Gibbs mumbled, motioning for you to come forward with his finger.  “You’ve never been late before.  Why today?”

“My alarm didn’t go off,” you informed him.

Gibbs gave you a curt nod, taking a sip of his coffee.  “I hope this won’t be a regular thing,” Gibbs stated flatly, raising an eyebrow.  “Otherwise I might have to head slap you like I do the football players.”

“You actually do that,” you huffed out a small laugh.

“Yup,” Gibbs replied shortly, a small smirk unfolding on his face.  “I trust that you won’t be late again miss [Y/L/N].”

“I’ll do my best,” you sighed, throwing your backpack over your shoulder.

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fun fact, when i was like 11 years old, we had to do a project in school about unique lifestyles etc. and i had no idea what to write about, so i asked my teacher, and she was like “write about gay people, they have very different lives”
and i was like wtf, but alright, i had no ideas of my own so whatevs. so i basically made a beautiful powerpoint (remember those?) about gay people doing ordinary everyday things, i found awesome stock images of a gay couple doing their laundry together and things like that, cause i didn’t care too much about the project lol

so after my presentation my teacher pulled me aside bc she thought i didn’t take the assignment serious enough. and i was like “no, i wrote what you told me” and it was big deal. basically she ended up calling my mom, and explained what had happened (i had gotten a little angry tbh), and told her that she had to come pick me up. so my mom came, AND SHE BROUGHT HER GAY COLLEAGUE AND HIS PARTNER AND THESE GUYS ARE THE BEST OKAY, like i love them so much, AND THEY JUST SHAMED MY TEACHER FOR A GOOD FIFTEEN MINUTES AND IT WAS SO GOOD and i ended up getting the highest grade, so yay

Ten x Rose: Awkward Meeting AU #2

Prompt: “Hey you called this number at like 3AM and we talked about some pretty heavy shit do you remember any of that?”[Source]

John can feel a headache throbbing behind his eyes when he is brutally jerked awake by the sound of his phone ringing. If this is one of his students calling to talk about his lecture, he is so going to grade the paper extra strictly. Right after he remembers to lower the volume of his ring tone, because it’s bloody loud. And also, buy thicker curtains and seal all ventilations with concrete so it isn’t so bloody bright.

“Hello,” he mumbles, vaguely registering that the screen showed a number with no name and the caller isn’t in his contacts.

There’s a soft female chuckle on the other end. “Hello, Doctor! I reckon you’re still hung over?”

“How did you know I’m-” He stops mid-sentence, trying to recollect the events of last night. There’s a pub, there’s shots of hypervodka with Jack, there’s a cab ride back home, and after that, it’s a total blur. His mind is a blank slate, which is an extremely rare occurrence for him. What in the world did he do last night?

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