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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

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Take Me, I’m Yours

(the highest voted options on the poll were ‘Geralt rescues Jaskier from trouble’ and ‘Jaskier riles the Captain up in public’ so I teamed up with the ever-marvelous, stupendously talented @limrx to bring you this Swashbuckling AU oneshot/art piece featuring a horribly jealous Geralt and a frisky, flirty Jaskier)

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“Do you think he likes me back?” Jaskier asked. He leaned over the ship’s railing to look more closely at the dolphin following behind them. Lambert didn’t think he’d fall overboard but it would be kind of funny if he did. The strange young nobleman did have a way of always landing on his feet, though.

“I know he does.”

“Well how come he hasn’t told me anything about it, then?”

“You’ve met the Captain, right? About this tall, long white hair, weird yellow eyes, emotionally incompetant?”

“You have a good point. Should I just confront him about it?”

“Yeah, sure.” Lambert rolled his eyes before shooting Jaskier a pointed look. “If you want to send your ransom note back to Lettenhove the following morning.”

“Fuck. I just want to kiss him, Lambert. Regularly. I want to know if he snores or not. I want to lay on the deck beneath the stars and talk to him like we’re friends and not just pirate and pseudo-pirate-captive. I really want to see what his ass looks like under those godsforsaken trousers, Lambert, it’s killing me not knowing.”

“You’re more insatiable than a siren during the rainy season,” the second mate teased. “But with fewer teeth.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you going ashore when we lay anchor?”

“Am I allowed?”

“I assume you’ll be allowed. You’re practically part of the crew. You’ve been aboard for nearly two weeks and you’ve pulled your fair share of the weight, if not moreso.”

“Why thank you, Lambert. I appreciate you noticing.”

“Of course, Jaskier. You may be an utter fool and a fop to boot, but at least you’re a hard worker.”

“Asshole.”

“Mhm.”

They both watched the dolphins for a minute in silence before Jaskier’s face split into the most heinous and dastardly grin. It filled Lambert with an unmistakable sense of fear and worry. “I have a brilliant idea. I know how to get Geralt to admit his feelings.”

“No, absolutely not. I am not getting roped into this, you horrible little minx. Don’t give me that look! I won’t help you this time!”

“But Lamby-bert,” Jaskier whined. “If he has someone to take all his frustrations out on in bed then I’m sure it’ll be easier to negotiate for higher shares next time we take a vessel.”

Lambert did not miss the fact that Jaskier said ‘we’ when referring to the crew. The second mate knew the little nobleman was here to stay; it had been clear that Jaskier would be sticking around from the moment Geralt first laid eyes (and hands) on him. The Captain hadn’t stopped looking out for the lad since. Lambert wasn’t even going to think about that singular flirty kiss atop the mainmast nearly a week and a half ago. Geralt had been pining after the acrobatic little idiot ever since and making absolutely no move to flirt back. It was driving the crew absolutely crazy. “Alright, you devilish siren. I’m in.”

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Jaskier cleaned up nice.

And he deserved to clean up nice. He’d worked hard to put this outfit together. Billy had lent him a pair of dark blue breeches in return for Jaskier’s help with mending the mainsail. The shirt he was wearing was half a size too big, which was exactly big enough for the neckline to plunge even lower than he usually wore it. This way it revealed more of his toned (and rather hirsute) chest. He’d borrowed it from Starkey, who was the same height as him but who had much broader shoulders.

The Captain was going to absolutely die when he saw Jaskier.

He whistled a rather naughty shanty as he exited the bunk room and made his way towards the gangplank where Starkey, Lambert, and Eskel were waiting for him. He spun in a quick circle, arms out to show off his clothes. Lambert and Starkey whistled appreciatively and Eskel hid his face in the palm of his hand. “Ready, boys?”

“Absolutely not,” Starkey smiled. The first mate standing next to him tilted his head back to look at the sky, sighing deeply.

“Are you sure about this? What if the Captain tries to kill Lambert?”

“He won’t be killing anyone. Hopefully. If he does run his sword through anyone, it will most likely be me,” Jaskier joked. “Now, this is my first time drinking with real pirates. Anything I should know?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Eskel suggested. Lambert bit back a laugh and Starkey snorted.

“Impossible.”

“Well then, let’s go.”

The four men made their way down onto the docks and through the sparse crowd of sailors and merchants still mingling in the evening light. Starkey led them to a decent tavern and found a vacant corner table, which gave them an excellent view of the door.

Geralt and Starkey had spent the morning selling their stolen cargo to various merchants, shopkeepers, and artisans. The Captain had divided up the gold between his crew according to their various contracts and Jaskier, more as a jest than anything else, was given two crowns as well. “For not dying,” Geralt had intoned seriously. The men were amused but Jaskier’s face had gone bright red with embarrassment. The young noble had talked them out of trouble with the Skelligan patrols twice last week and Geralt was repaying him with public humiliation? Lambert knew that the Captain’s earlier actions were about to make this evening a lot more entertaining (if slightly uncomfortable) and he was ready to get this show on the road. He flung an arm around Jaskier’s waist and ordered them all a round of ales.

“So everyone knows what the general goal here is, right?” Jaskier clarified.

“Yes,” Eskel nodded. “You’re using Geralt’s jealous nature to make him act on his less than subtle feelings for you.”

“Correct. Wonderful.”

Lambert squeezed the noble’s hip through his borrowed pants and Jaskier huffed indignantly in reply. Starkey chuckled softly at their antics and winked at the barmaid when she brought them their drinks. “Can’t wait, really. It’s been so boring lately and the last two ships we took didn’t even fight back. This is drama. This is entertainment!”

“Shut up, Starkey,” Jaskier pouted. He leaned back into Lambert’s embrace and gulped down half his ale.

“Slow down, kid,” the first mate teased. “Or you will be drunk when he gets here and your plan won’t work.”

“I need to get the pink in my cheeks or I’ll look suspicious,” Jaskier argued. “One ale should do it without getting me tipsy. Maybe two if it’s weak.”

“Method actors,” Lambert rolled his eyes.

Jaskier was sipping slowly at his second ale and the other three pirates were on their fourth or fifth when Geralt finally came barreling through the tavern door. “There you are!” Eskel shouted, waving the Captain over. Nobody missed the barely-hidden glare Geralt aimed at Lambert’s arm where it rested against the nobleman’s lower back.

“Captain,” the second mate nodded.

“Lambert. Eskel. Starkey.” Geralt greeted them all in turn.

“Heyyyy,” Jaskier whined, leaning forward against the edge of the table and pouting. “What about me, sir?”

“You.”

“Rude,” the brunette huffed. Lambert ran a lazy hand up and down his spine and Jaskier watched as Geralt’s eyes narrowed into slits. He sighed sadly and melodramatically into his mug and nodded once in the second mate’s direction. “Thank you, darling. At least someone in this crew likes me.”

Starkey saw Geralt’s eyelid twitch and slid Eskel two crowns under the table to settle their bet. He thought the vein on their Captain’s throat would show up before the eyelid went, but it must have been the first mate’s lucky night this time around. “Hey Eskel, let’s see if any of the lovely ladies here want to dance with us, eh?”

“You coming, Captain?” Eskel asked. “Seems like Jaskier and Lambert are a bit busy.”

“Yes, Geralt,” Jaskier egged him on. The Captain had a white-knuckled grip on the handle of his mug. The noble took a long swig of ale and licked a bit of foam from his lip when he was finished, noting the way Geralt’s eyes locked onto his mouth. “Why not go dance with a pretty lady. Certainly nobody else has your attention.”

The pirate Captain finally snapped. He slammed his mug down and reached around the table to grab Jaskier around the waist. He hauled him out of the second mate’s grip and onto his feet. “Captain, what are yo-”

“Yer coming with me, siren,” Geralt snarled. Lambert relinquished the nobleman with very little fuss, winking at Jaskier as the pirate Captain swung him up and over his broad shoulder. The young man flashed all three of his co-conspirators a thumbs up as he was carried out of the tavern like a sack of potatoes.

“A little rude to Lambert, don’t you think, sir?” he asked, resting his elbow against Geralt’s shoulder blade and settling his chin onto his hand. He crossed his ankles to make it easier for the pirate to balance his weight comfortably. “But they’ll be happy to know that our little plan worked out.”

Geralt stopped in his tracks but did not set his captive down. “Your what?”

“Our plan,” Jaskier explained as if bored. “To get you to finally do something about all this sexual tension between us. I kissed you on the mouth for fuck’s sake.”

“I thought it was an accident.”

“Oh, and saving you from hanging at the hands of some Skelligan officers, was that an accident? Not sending a ransom note last time we stopped for water and not turning you in for the reward in Novigrad, were those accidents too? There is a hefty bounty on your head, White Wolf, and I could be living independently in a castle somewhere right now except that I happen to find you endlessly attractive and fascinating.”

“Hmm.” Geralt resumed walking. Jaskier noticed with a smirk that his pace had picked up quite a bit. As if he was suddenly in a hurry to be somewhere.

“Hum dismissively all you like, sir, but you’re still carrying me back to your cabin to ravish me senseless, are you not?”

“Ravish may be the wrong word for what I’d like to do to you, but you do look rather tempting.”

“Thank you. I put a lot of effort into this ensemble.”

“You’re a calculating little nymph, aren’t you?”

“No, of course not. I only managed to secure a bunk aboard the Kaer Morhen and wrap its infamous captain around my finger in less than a month. I am but a silly nobleman with excellent dexterity and a penchant for climbing.”

“Lambert was right to call you a minx.”

“He does love that nickname.”

“It’s not an endearment.”

“Whatever.” The ground shifted and Jaskier knew they were making their way up the gangplank and back onto the ship. This was the part he’d been waiting for! Geralt kicked in his cabin door and stepped inside, turning to close and lock it behind them. Jaskier wriggled impatiently. “Set me down!”

“Hmm, no. I rather like the view from here.”

“Excuse me?”

Geralt gave him a gentle smack on the ass, almost a pat really, and huffed out a laugh at Jaskier’s offended noise. “You’ve been an awful lot of trouble for a nobleman and a captive.”

“I’m barely a captive, Geralt. Give it up already.”

“You haven’t signed the book.” He set Jaskier back on his feet and looped his arms around the younger man’s waist to pull him close. “You’re still a captive until you swear on the book and sign your name next to the others. Then you’ll be part of my crew.”

“I have yet to negotiate for my shares,” the brunette stated. He tilted his chin back, baring his neck slightly and offering Geralt his ale-damp lips. “Ten crowns after every capture and I get to sleep in here with you. That sounds fair.”

“You’re a good worker. Seven crowns, you can sleep in here with me, and you can borrow my bandannas whenever you want.”

“Even the red one?”

“Especially the red one.”

Jaskier’s soft pink mouth brushed against the pirate’s as he murmured his answer: “Deal.”

Geralt’s lips crashed against Jaskier’s with the strength of a wave hitting the side of his ship in a maelstrom. The Captain’s mouth was so warm and his lips moved against the younger man’s with almost frightening determination. As if he was trying to prove himself. His arms were strong around the nobleman’s lower back and his white hair brushed deliciously against the skin of Jaskier’s neck.

“You’ve bewitched me, body and soul.”

“Oh, Geralt,” the younger man sighed, opening his mouth to let the other in. I never thought the word ‘plunder’ could apply to kissing but here I stand, corrected by experience yet again. The White Wolf of the Seven Seas pulled away, made breathless by a young and foolish nobleman in search of adventure.

“I’m not a siren, you know. Not even a little. My family’s estate is landlocked.”

Geralt’s fingers rose from his waist and brushed against his cheekbone reverently. Those amber eyes, so cold and focused when he shouted orders or intimidated a merchant captain, were looking down at Jaskier with such devoted tenderness. The ex-noble felt his heart fill anew and double in size. There wasn’t enough room in his body to hold all of this feeling.

“Kiss me again, Captain. Take me to bed.”

“You’re too good at tempting me. You must be evil.”

“I assure you,” Jaskier smirked, ripping Geralt’s shirt over his head in one smooth movement. “I am.”

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delimeful · 4 years

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WIBAR Intermission: New Friends

winner of the first july patreon poll! thanks to @legendsgates for allowing me to sneak in a brief cameo of their alien species, cetarfreka!

previous intermission episode | start of WIBAR

warnings: violence, fear, tension, ptsd episodes, injury mention, being held hostage, misunderstandings, deception

It was about halfway through their trading circuit that the vidcomm from the Mindscape popped up.

Remyy perked up instantly, Patton’s distinctive singsong voice clear even from half across the main bay. They dropped to their feet and tucked all their wings tight against them to signal that anyone in the way should swiftly get out of the way. Those in the bay who knew them cast strange glances in their direction as they hop-skittered across the floor.

Remyy couldn’t blame them; this was probably the fastest they’d moved all week. They usually maintained a much more casual demeanor for the sake of their reputation, but in this case...

“Patton! Babes, you’re really okay!”

“Remyy!” The Ampen fluffed up, a pleasant glow filling the room around him, face pinching up happily.

In this case, exceptions would be made.

The Obrxyx currently managing the comms sighed at them, unimpressed. “You have this one, then?”

“Sure do,” Remyy drawled, still leaning between xem and the monitor so that half their face took up the comm screen. “We go way back, I’ll get them docked.”

They waited impatiently for xem to move to a different comm terminal, adjusted the seatpad so they could be seen properly through the comm, and promptly started complaining. “I can’t believe you guys, holing up in that rinky dink ship for so long with only voice calls to tell everyone that you were okay! Where’s the gossip? Why in the universe would you keep it from me?”

Patton’s hands jerked, and the comm screen wobbled, blurring his expression strangely for a moment. Remyy tilted their goggles slightly for a better angle, but by the time the mobile communicator stabilized, any change in demeanor had vanished.

“Be careful, Rem,” Patton said teasingly, “it almost sounds like you care about us or something.”

“Funny,” Remyy replied dryly, “I’ll have you know that I’ve just been missing Logan’s high quality deathbrew, none of that sentimental garbage.”

Patton laughed at them silently with his gaze alone. Innocent, naive Ampen, their ass.

“Are we cleared to dock y-- Is that Remyy?” Another voice from offscreen dropped abruptly into horror, and Remy’s eyes narrowed in gleeful amusement.

“It sure is, gurl,” they called, “and the Remyy in question seems to recall a certain bet that was never paid up on. 30 cenals, cough ‘em up.”

There was a loud groan, and then a thump that shook the comm slightly. Patton spent a moment staring at something with a confused frown, and then seemed to get it, nodding. He turned back to them very seriously.

“Sorry, Roman can’t come to the comm right now,” he informed them. “He, uh, died. Very recently. And tragically."

Belatedly, he put on a sad expression, antennae drooping. Remyy raised their eyebrows, unimpressed.

“Uh huh. Well, I suppose I’ll just have to join in on the funeral rites once I get down to help carry the goods over, huh--?”

“No!” The voices of both his friends overlapped, making the comm audio fuzz harshly for a moment. Remyy’s secondaries flared slightly, taken aback at the vehemence.

“Uh, I mean, we don’t have that much,” Patton hurried to patch up the awkward pause. “How about we meet you in the docking lobby instead? You can get Roman’s credits there.”

“Hey!”

Remyy’s ears angled back with displeased confusion, but they acquiesced anyhow. “Hurry up, then. And make sure Logan brings my brew!”

Whatever it was they were hiding, Remyy was sure they’d be able to weasel it out of them in no time.

---

After grabbing a short meal and a boring haggling session between the Mindscape’s crew and the cargo manager of the Starwinder, Remyy finally got to learn about what had happened to Patton during his disappearance.

It wasn’t pretty.

Their senspatches felt dry at the mere thought of Patton stripped of his coat and forced to starve because of it. It was beyond lucky that the remaining two of the trio managed to find and free the Ampen from the harvesters before it was too late. If anyone could do it, though, they believed this crew could.

Patton had grown quieter and less fluffy throughout the course of the tale, with Roman and Logan taking turns delivering a well-practiced explanation of the events. Seeing as these were extenuating circumstances, Remyy submitted to cuddles just this once, allowing the small alien to bury his face in the folds of their leathery armwings.

They took a moment once the story was over, casually and completely unintentionally folding more of their wing over Patton. “That bites, babes.”

“Yeah.” The Ampen hummed in response, mouth pinched strangely. “I… I’m really grateful that I got help when I did.”

Logan set a careful hand on Patton’s back, though the motion almost came across as less comforting and more… cautioning? Remyy’s senspatches flared up slightly as they tried to read more into the situation.

Before they could really investigate, though, Roman was leaning forwards and grabbing the edge of their arm to get their attention.

“Remyy. We’ve been having something of an adjustment period. Drop it, please?”

They flickered their ears at him dismissively, but really… looking at the small crew, they could see a sort of wariness reflected in their stiff posture, the way the three of them constantly cast glances back to the dock hall that would lead to their ship. Trying to make sure they had a quick exit. Whatever the details of their experience, it was stressing them out to lay it all out in the open like this. Remyy could understand that.

“Fine, whatever,” they sighed, sipping at the bitter brew Logan had thoughtfully provided. “I suppose I’ll keep my awe-inspiring ability to root out interesting tidbits to myself for now. I can just grill Lo later.”

The three friends slumped in relief, and Remyy turned their face away slightly to allow them some privacy to recover. They probably wouldn’t appreciate it, that was mostly an Elimtran thing, but it was the effort that counted. They cast about for some other topic to distract. What else had they heard about lately… oh!

“Have you all heard the stories about the rogue Human going around lately?”

There was spluttering, and they turned back to see Roman seemed to have inhaled mid-drink, and was now muffling coughs into his shoulder. Patton studiously avoided eye contact as he patted the Cravon sympathetically. Logan shifted one arm out from where they were politely tucked away, looking intensely intrigued. Strange, he wasn’t usually one for gossip.

“We have not,” he stated, hands twitching in preparation for his thought weaving thing. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“Uh, duh,” they replied, trying not to think too much on the rather extreme reaction. If the crew was really so stressed, it made sense that news of a Human would freak them out. Shit, they sucked at this. Gathering information would make them feel more secure, yeah? “It’s been circulating at some of the more shady ports we’ve been to, rumors that a small-tier smuggling ring recently managed to rise through the ranks just because they got their hands on a Human and knew how to use it to their advantage. That much is like, okay, horrifying to know that there’s still Humans out there in the outer ranges, but whatever, it’s under lock and key.”

Patton clung to their wing tighter. They paused, deliberating on whether or not to continue.

“I assume, going by the fact that you called h-- it a ‘rogue’ Human, that's not the case anymore?” Logan supplied, waving for them to proceed.

“Well, yeah. Apparently, it tore through practically half the group members before escaping, and now people are reporting cases of a bloodthirsty Human all over this quadrant. Not that the calls are accurate. It’s just hearsay,” they made sure to add. “It might just be someone trying to work the local governs into a panic, put pressure on the Council for this or that political maneuver.”

Logan didn’t respond for a concerning amount of time. “Right. Of course, that is plausible. Still, thank you for the information, Remyy. We will… keep it in mind.”

Remyy sunk lower in their seat, regretting bringing the topic up at all. “Mm. You do that, babes. Remember the stats, too. There’s a warrant out. Sooner or later, the Council will probably find whoever’s at the source of the rumors and put them to rights, Human or not.”

“That’s… great,” Roman got to his feet abruptly. “I think maybe we should head out soon. We’ve got that next landing to prep for, after all. Holmao isn’t known for its gentle terrain.”

“What?” Remyy’s secondaries flared slightly as they stood up too, abandoning their drink and dislodging Patton. “You just got here! Aren’t you at least going to catch a night’s rest? No offense to your ship, but the arti-grav ain’t exactly stellar.”

“That’s why we need to do more jobs! Save up for better arti-grav installation, right guys?” Roman’s voice seemed slightly frantic. Remyy suddenly remembered what little history the Cravon had shared with them, and swore mentally. They really, really shouldn’t have brought up the Human.

“Ro, look, I’m so--”

Their voice abruptly cut off as a cool line of metal pressed between their wings, right against their life vein. They saw as Roman’s eyes locked on something behind them, scales rising to a prickling stand quicker than they’d ever witnessed before.

“Nobody move,” a voice behind them called in clear, precise Common. “Or you get to bleed out right after this one.” The flat of the blade pressed harder against their back, and they couldn’t stop their ears from flattening completely in terror.

“Let them go,” Roman demanded, halfway to a snarl. Before he could even take a step, though, more armed strangers were swarming into the lobby, barking orders for the few other people currently in the room to get down. Expression dark, Roman held his arms out in a gesture of compliance, though his scales continued to stick out in a defensive bristle.

Raiders, it had to be. Remyy knew they knew the reptilian symbol that was engraved in each of the strangers black masks, but they couldn’t remember the group’s name for the fear flooding their mind, keeping them frozen in place.

One of them kicked Patton clear away from Remyy’s legs, and the Ampen let out a short shriek of pain before clapping his hands over his mouth. The raider behind Remyy laughed, apparently unconcerned about any alarms being raised, but Remyy was more focused on the way the Mindscape crew exchanged panicked glances, Logan kneeling next to Patton and subtly signing something in Crav’n.

“Now, here’s how this is going to work.” The one behind Remyy gestured with their other hand, which Remyy could now see was holding a paralyzer. Raiders were known for using them to get information, since most aliens could take a few shots from one before succumbing to the pain. “You’re all going to line up against the wall while we search your vessels, and in exchange, nobody has to die, got it?”

Remyy could only look straight ahead, so they got a clear view of Patton’s furious glow dimming down to horrified in an instant at the leader’s words. Whatever the three of them were hiding, it was hidden on their ship, and apparently not well enough.

They ran their tongue along their teeth for a moment, debating, and then wiggled their ears slightly, loosening the grip their goggles had until they were slipping down their face slightly. Only their upper eyes were exposed, but with any luck, it would be enough.

It wasn’t long till they managed to make eye contact with a nearby raider; the leader was the one giving orders, after all, and they were being held hostage by said leader, so it made sense that eyes would stray in their direction.

The moment they locked gazes, Remyy flickered their pupils and let their senspatches slowly pulse. The raider took a moment to bob their head in confusion before becoming visibly more relaxed, and Remyy didn’t waste any time. 'Circle around and attack the one holding me.'

The raider swayed slightly for a moment before moving to obey, a side effect of not being exposed to the full hypnotic effect of their eyes, and Remyy had a moment to feel hopeful that maybe they could actually pull this off.

“Grahh’m, what are you-- Oh, you little shit,” the leader spat, moments before a strike to the side of Remyy’s head had them seeing stars. They heard Roman growling furiously, still forced to the ground under threat of gunfire, and hoped that he wouldn’t do anything stupid. He wouldn’t be any use if he was convulsing from pain.

“I should have known better than to leave an Elimtra awake and armed, hmm?” The leader flipped them to their back, pressing a knee to their chest and crushing their secondaries uncomfortably against the floor. A moment later, their other hand was shoving their goggles harshly back over their face.

Remyy gagged slightly as all the air was forced from their lungs. “Probably should’ve, ye-- eah,” they replied, struggling to inhale again.

“Funny.” There was a glint of silver uncomfortably close to their eyes. The knife. Remyy regretted the snark. They regretted the snark so much.

The leader paused. “Oren, is it the eyes or the little spots under them that do the hypnotizing, do you recall?”

There was a pause, in which ‘Oren’ seemed to have no answer, and Remyy realized with a chill just what was being threatened. The leader considered them for a moment, and then pulled their dark mask further up to cover more of their face.

“I suppose I’ll just get rid of both, hmm?” The knife wavered closer.

Across the room, there was a loud crash, and a strangled yell that cut off as quick as it started. Remyy watched as the leader’s head jerked up, and saw the moment that the severe frown on their face abruptly transformed into utter terror. Hurriedly, the raider stood back up, and they were pulled up along, shoved in front of them like a shield.

It didn’t take long to see why. Across the lobby, near the entrance to the dock halls, a tall, slender figure was holding the remains of what must have been a seatpad. The rest of it appeared to be lying crumpled along with the limp raider that had been closest to that entryway.

The whisper spread through the room as quick as any small-town rumor: Human.

The being was scanning the eerily-silent space, and when it reached the spot where the leader stood, accompanied by Remyy and friends, it’s lips curled up into a vicious snarl, teeth on full display. It moved forwards in a way Remyy could only describe as predatory, and the leader went tense behind them. “Stop that thing, now!”

One raider, either damn brave or damn stupid, charged right in, and received the rest of the seatpad to the skull for their efforts. Remy winced at the sound. This seemed to be the signal for the rest of the raiders to converge, and the room descended into pandemonium.

In the thick of it all, the Human-- for what else could it really be?-- continued to advance, unrelenting. It wasn’t as fast as some aliens Remyy had met, but it didn’t need to be. The way that it stalked through the room radiated threat like an oath, and when opponents did dare to stand in it’s way, the blows were vicious and crunching, often leaving splatters of residue on its skin.

Most frightening of all was the way it handled the paralyzers, which should have driven any creature with pain receptors to the floor. Each time a shot landed on the human, it would tear the spiked prongs out with a twitch and a grimace and just keep moving.

By the time the leader realized that a strategic retreat was long overdue, it was already far too close for comfort. Remyy heard a swear behind them, and then they were being shoved, hard.

They caught a glimpse of Roman moving, and then they found themself busy tripping directly into a Human’s warpath. So much for surviving this.

They folded their wingarms over their head in some paltry attempt at defense as they fell. There was a grunt, and then a hot grip on their shoulders, all-too-close to the base of their secondaries and stars above were they going to have their glider wings torn clear off--?

“‘Scuse me,” the Human muttered in Common, and then lifted Remyy clear off the ground, easy-as-you-please, and set them down to the side. It brushed past them, heading straight towards Roman and the others, and Remyy stared after it.

Rather than continue after the leader, who had been thoroughly pinned by Roman and was currently swearing viciously, the Human stopped in front of Logan and Patton and dropped to a crouch. Remyy jerked forward, but neither of their friends seemed keen to jump away or defend themselves. In fact, Patton looked to be carefully headbutting the Human’s chest, and Logan was speaking in low, comforting tones. Even stranger, the Human seemed to be listening.

The circuits connected in their mind, illuminating a truly outlandish conclusion.

They whistled lowly, drawing all the attention in the room to them. “Listen up, babes. As a subsect representative of the Council, I’m authorized to do my thing here, so I’m gonna need everyone to follow my directions.”

“Remyy, what?” Roman asked, and was thoroughly ignored. A nearby Cetarfris protested from where they were practically pressed halfway up the wall, red eyes wide and patterned tail thrashing in terror.

“Are you genuine? Do you not see the Human right there?”

Remyy clicked their tongue in reproach. “Gurl, do I not have enough eyes for you or somethin’? I will handle the Human. What else is the Council good for?”

“Uh, governing?” someone else muttered. Remyy ignored them, too.

“I need all the raiders that haven’t already jetted in holding cells immediately. I’m sure there’ll be a hefty reward for members of this particular gang, even if they’re small fries, so anyone who pitches in can get some of that bounty. And remember, keep your mouths shut about this unless you want to be up to your orifices in paperwork at best. If you have to gossip, keep names out of it or I'll know who snitched.” Remyy shifted their goggles up on their forehead, turning to the Human and ignoring the thick tension in the room. “I’ll escort the Human to proper captivity. Roman, Logan, Patton, with me.”

As expected, the mere fact that the Mindscape crew were accompanying seemed to put the Human at ease, even if just slightly. Now, came the bit that would make or break the lie. They moved forwards slowly and reached out for the Human’s shoulder, tugging slightly at it as though this wasn't the creature that had just plowed through a band of raiders like they were dust in the wind. “C’mon, babes.”

After a pause, the Human followed. The relief in the room was palpable, and Remyy was no exception. They liked a good bet as much as the next guy, but generally preferred when there weren’t so many lives at stake.

See, the thing about being a species that was somewhat infamous for their hypnotic abilities was that everyone assumed you were using them, even if you weren’t. This tended to lean more in the direction of being a bad thing, but in this case, it helped Remyy tremendously, as nobody cast a second glance at them as they guided the docile Human through the lobby.

That might also have been because nobody wanted to be in the same room as a rogue Human for very long, but such was the way of things. Small details.

Soon enough, they reached the dock halls, and Remyy swiftly led the four of them onboard the Mindscape. They closed and locked the connecting port after them, and resisted the urge to collapse in relief.

Instead, they turned around to assess the rest of this mess.

It was quite a scene, and at first, they seemed too busy amongst themselves to even notice Remyy.

The Human was curled in on themself in one corner, looking pallid and ill, but also coiled so tightly it looked like they were one wrong word from fleeing the quadrant. Positioned firmly in front of them, Roman was audibly rattling from head to tail, moving on automatic as he bodily prevented the other two from approaching. Remyy would have thought the gesture was for the Human’s sake if not for the way Roman angled his own body, like he expected to be attacked from behind at any moment.

“It’s not safe,” he uttered over and over, gaze haunted. “It’s not safe. You have to hide.”

Patton warbled in wordless distress, and Logan gave up on trying to pull Roman away, instead simply holding his ground and speaking to the Cravon, calm and firm.

“This isn’t then, Roman. We’re here, and that is Virgil, and he is not going to hurt us. We’re safe. We are on the Mindscape. We are safe. Observe the space around you. Can you tell me five things you see?”

Remyy waited unobtrusively as the two of them slowly coaxed Roman back into the present, bit by bit. When he hunched over to be closer to his shorter friends, Patton carefully grabbed his hand, rubbing small circles into it in a soothing gesture Remyy wasn’t familiar with. “You with us, Ro?”

Roman signed something with his other hand, too quick for Remyy to grasp, and Patton smiled, a bit sad. “We’re okay, but there’s a little bit of a situation going on with Remyy, remember?”

Roman glanced at them, and then to the Human, who was still vibrating violently. Remyy had thought it was barely restrained anger, at first, but the longer they watched, the more it seemed compulsive, more fearful than furious. It only increased as Roman’s attention fell heavy on him.

“I didn’t mean to,” the Human said, voice as shaky as the rest of him. “I swear, I-- I just heard Patton yell, and they had weapons, like-- I… I didn't want to hurt anyone. I’m sorry that I-- that I did. But you guys were in danger. I couldn’t just... leave you to that.”

He sounded almost resigned, like he was trying to plead his case but had already accepted deep down that it was pointless to fight his sentence. When Roman turned away from him, his thoughts only seemed to be confirmed, and his face dropped another shade as his gaze darted over to Remyy. He seemed apprehensive, not that Remyy could really blame him. Poor guy probably thought he was about to be surrendered to law enforcement.

“Remyy.” Roman’s voice sounded wrung out, and from Patton’s concerned expression, the Cravon probably didn’t normally force himself to speak after episodes like this. “Virgil isn’t-- He’s better here with us. He doesn’t... deserve to be subjected to the Council just because he decided to... to save us.”

The Cravon opened his mouth as though to say more, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he signed something short and planted himself in a sitting position in front and slightly to the side of the Human, even as his scales still shivered. ‘Virgil’ was staring at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Roman’s right!” Patton took the opportunity to jump in front of them like the universe’s smallest, cutest guardian angel, cloak and ruff fluffed up stalwartly. Most effective of all was the Ampen’s ‘I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-disappointed-at-your-life-choices’ look. “Virgil is part of our family, and I’ll fight you about it!”

The Ampen’s tiny glare wasn't nearly as alarming as the assessing look Virgil cast over them, like he thought Remyy was really going to try and fight Patton and was prepared to intervene. They resisted the urge to cast their lower eyes up in exasperation. Who would fight Patton? There was no reward, you’d just end up feeling bad. And also end up getting totally trashed by a Human, apparently.

As always, Logan was the one to get it first. He stepped forwards, extending a hand. “Before you take any legal action against our crew member, I’d like to see your Council identification.”

Remyy’s cheeks bunched up smugly as they stretched their armwings out in front of them casually. “That’s too bad, Brainiac, ‘cause I totally don’t have any.”

There was a brief pause. “What, you guys really thought I was some kind of narc?”

“You lied right to all those people’s faces?” Patton asked, somewhat aghast. Roman shot them a dirty look at the deception, but he also let all the tension leak out of him, so Remyy counted it as a win. Logan simply looked exasperated.

“Not completely. I’ve got connections to get their bounties called in quick, and I ‘handled’ the Human, didn’t I? It’s not my fault if they misinterpreted things.”

“This is all you’re going to do to… ‘handle’ me?” the Human asked, looking uncertain, a little suspicious, and even kind of bewildered. “Just… let me go? What’s the catch?”

They really did roll their eyes up this time. “Babes, I’m covering for you. Seeing as you literally just saved my beautiful face, and these losers vouch for you, I figure you can get some benefit of the doubt. Besides, I’m not done with you all just yet.”

The four of them studied Remyy with varying levels of wariness, and then confusion as the Elimtra strolled past them all to head further into the ship.

“If you think you’re going anywhere before you tell me all about how this whole situation came about, honey, you’ve got a big storm coming.”

#sanders sides #space au #wibar #ts remy #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #ts virgil #watch it burn and rust #wibar intermission #wibar int: nf #writing #my writing #im so tired... zzz #this is the first time ive ever written remy so please be nice #i had fun though ;w;#i cant think of any more tags i hope you guys enjoy!#zzz

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penwieldingdreamer · 3 years

Text

Dante's Prayer - Chapter 1

Thank you all for your likes and reblogs. I'm really happy you liked it. Now on with the next part. Let me know what you think about it and if you want to be tagged. As always thank you @fortheloveoffanfic for being my beta.

Warnings: Mentions of war, mentions of sex, period-typical sexism, canon-typical violence

Words: 1304

Chapter 1

Arrow House, Warwickshire, 1924

"Tommy, you need to consider remarrying." Aunt Polly told him, bouncing Charlie on her knee as she watched her nephew pace behind his desk. "There have been rumors goin' round."

Taking a deep breath, the leader of the Peaky Blinders turned to the older woman. "What would you have me do, Poll, ey? Take the next best woman that's out on the streets?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Tommy. You need someone with good connections and money." she told him, hoisting the boy into her arms and coming to stand next to Tommy. “She has to accept that you’ve been married before, that there’s a child. Even though we’re rich now, doesn’t mean that all women of the world will fall over for Thomas Shelby.”

Snorting, the second eldest Shelby grinned at his aunt, although the smile wouldn’t reach his eyes. Not since Grace had been shot because of him. “As you just so nicely reminded us, we don’ need the fuckin’ money, the Shelby’s are already fuckin’ rich. What are you gonna do? Arrange a marriage, just like John and Esme?”

“Stop the cursin’, will you. There’s a small child here.” Shrugging her shoulders, Polly regarded him with a stern look he just knew all too well. “I talked to Johnny Dogs, he knows a family in Ireland. Lots of connections, loads of old money.”

“No, Poll.” he shook his head, opening the silver case to grab another cigarette, hoping to calm his nerves from the nagging of his aunt. “I’m not goin’ ta bring anyone new into this family. There’s enough people to take care of as it is. Who’s to say that family doesn’t have ties to our enemies?”

Smoothing out Charlie’s dark blond hair, Polly Grace shook her head. “Stubborn as a mule, that one.” she muttered to the boy, the corners of her lips moving up into a smile as she heard the two-year old laugh at her. “Even John wasn’t bitchin’ so much. I know why you won’t do it, Thomas, but you need to see reason. Your boy needs a mother and you, you need someone to warm that heart of yours, even if ye don’ believe me. Be ready in a week, Johnny will take you to see your future wife.”

Grunting, Thomas Shelby watched his aunt leave the study, his son perched on her hip. Grace had only been gone a few weeks - or had it really been months? - and yet his family was forcing him to marry some spoiled high society girl, whose only problem would be the perfect temperature of her tea. Letting out a defeated sigh, the leader of the Peaky Blinders sank into the plush sofa Polly had occupied minutes before and looked at the portrait of his late wife. “What am I goin’ to do without you, eh? You shouldna have been involved in my fuckin’ mess, Grace."

Of course there was no answer from her, the smile on her lips stayed forever frozen. Dropping his head into his hands, he breathed in the air filled with tobacco and whiskey, trying to keep every detail of his love in his heart, never to forget her.

Dublin, Ireland 1924

"Edward, when will you tell our daughter that it's not ladylike to run around with a horse like that?" Helene McCann, Duchess of Leinster and Baroness of Kildare, admonished her husband entering the large sunroom of their country home Castletown House.

Sitting at the table with his other two daughters Amalie and Louise, he read the newspaper and only hummed. "What would you have me do, hm? Send her to her rooms and lock the doors?" Andrew, Duke of Leinster folded the papers and leaned back to watch his wife with an amused smile on his lips. "She is just as free spirited as you, my darling."

"Oh no, I'm definitely blaming you on that one. Saoirse has done everything to avoid being a proper lady, no thanks to you, love." she countered, sipping her tea and giving her husband an angry look. “You know that Mr. Shelby will arrive today and I want her to be presentable.”

Shaking his head, Andrew grabbed his pipe and lit the tobacco. "Saoirse is just like your mother's cousin has been. She was a free spirit, too, a friend of nature and I know you often went to visit her. I do believe Mister Shelby will be very lucky to marry her and you know that as well."

Sighing, the mother of three leaned back in her seat and turned her gaze on the gardens, hoping that her youngest daughter would at least be fine while out there riding through the forest behind their home.

Hooves beat against the cold ground, harsh pants of the horse sounded in the silence of the woods as it raced through the trees, nostrils flared and kept its attention on the sounds around him.

“Socair.” Saoirse spoke softly, guiding her stallion through the thick undergrowth. “Calm, my love.”

Since her mother had told her about the arranged marriage, the youngest of three daughters left to find solace with her animals. Her dappled grey White Knight brought her to the flower field she had found a few months earlier. “Good boy, we’re going to stay here and enjoy the sun before those men come.”

With a snort, the stallion stopped and Saoirse jumped from the saddle, taking the bridle off of him. She took a deep breath and brushed her hand over the speckled coat of the horse. “I can’t believe father agreed to that marriage mother arranged.”

There had never been time in her life that she wished more than ever to not be a descendant from royalty than now. Arrangements had been made with Thomas Shelby, leader of a gang in Birmingham. Her mother had told Saoirse that in a few months she'd be his wife and make sure that their connections would help him further his business and standing in politics.

Leaning against his neck, the young woman closed her eyes. "What should I do, huh? I don't want to be a wife being kept in a house as a broodmare. I just, I want freedom."

Both, rider and horse snapped to attention when a twig broke behind them in the woods. "Who's there?" she called, her eyes flitting through the green leaves of the trees.

"It's just I, princess." the man reasoned, his accent thick as he spoke. Moving through the underbrush, Saoirse could see the kind eyes of Johnny Dogs he only reserved for her. "I knew I might find ye out 'ere."

Smiling, she moved in for a tight hug. "Oh, how I missed you, Johnny. It has been boring ever since you left."

"Oh I know," the Irish mused with a smile. "I bet yer mum has had you reciting poetry and embroidery."

Rolling her eyes, Saoirse lightly hit his shoulder. "Don't remind me. I'm not as much the lady she wants me to be. But now, why are you here? Don't tell me he's here already."

"I'm afraid he's 'ere." Johnny sighed, seeing the defeated look darken her eyes. He had known her since she was a little girl, having worked for the Duke in his stables and taught her everything about horses and riding that he knew. "Please Saoirse, it's not as bad as ye make it out to be."

Exasperated, she turned away from her friend, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm losing my freedom to be a gangster's wife so he can further his business while I'll have to sit in his manor and play the lady of the house, greeting guests and giving him children to make him seem good."

"Just give Thomas a chance, once in a while people will surprise you." Johnny tried to reason with her.

tagging:

@fortheloveoffanfic @fics-not-tragedies

#tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby #arthur shelby x oc #arthur shelby imagine #arthur shelby fanfiction #arthur shelby #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders #shelby family

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astralaffairs · 3 years

Note

I JUST THOUGHT OF SOMETHING I NEED YOU TO KNOW ABOUT. LONGTIME POLITICAL RIVALS THOM AND MC RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT AGAINST EACH OTHER

omg

--------

"You've gotta be kidding me."

Y/N's grip on her glass was slowly tightening; her narrowed eyes were locked on him from across the room. "What is he doing here?"

Priya, her campaign manager, sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Want me to have him thrown out?"

"No," she huffed. "He'd make a scene of it, and that's the last thing I want."

A moment passed in (relative) silence, save for the sounds of chatter scattered throughout the room at Y/N's campaign fundraiser. She tapped the toe of one of her black pumps impatiently against the polished floor, and it took all of her will to stop herself from snapping the stem of her wine glass; instead, she threw the rest of her drink back in one heavy sip. "How do you figure I should handle this?"

She turned to Priya with a weary eyebrow raised. Priya frowned. "I think you're best off proceeding as usual. Keep talking to prospective donors, and don't let him derail your night."

"You're probably right." Y/N's sour expression didn't fit her acquiescence. "But this is so obnoxious. Who the hell does he think he is?"

"Watch yourself; there are reporters all around." Priya nudged her, nodding toward the lively crowd, but she wore an amused smile at Y/N's words.

"I'll behave if he does," she said, scowling.

"Good luck, then," —Priya's gaze flickered between Jefferson and Y/N— "because he'd headed this way."

Y/N had to resist the urge to groan loudly as Priya slipped away, offering her an apologetic shrug as she did so, but Y/N couldn't really blame her. Realistically, as Jefferson approached her, giving an annoyingly nonchalant smile when he caught her eye, nodding to her in greeting, Y/N knew Priya would have to let her handle it — still, she would've rathered Priya stick around to restrain her from throttling him.

Her eyes flickered down to her glass; for a brief moment, she regretted having already drank all of it.

"Attorney General L/N."

When Y/N looked back up, Jefferson stood only feet in front of her, a hand tucked into his pocket and the other holding a shallow glass of whiskey. She was too tired to even glare.

"Secretary Jefferson." Her voice was thick with resentment. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He shrugged, glancing about the room as he came up beside her. She sighed internally. "Well, it's an open event, isn't it? 'M here for the same reason as everyone else."

"To donate to my campaign, you mean?" Y/N folded her arms, and he grinned.

"I was referrin' to the open bar." He nodded toward the edge of the room, taking a sip of his whiskey as if to prove his point.

Y/N scoffed. "All that family money you're freeloading on, and you're still looking for free booze? You're such a fucking cheapskate."

"Language, Ms. Attorney General," he said, scandalized tone entirely contrived. She rolled her eyes. "Besides, it's much more satisfyin' to be drinkin' on your dime. I appreciate the generosity."

"Believe me, it wasn't meant for you." He frowned. "Is there really nowhere better for you to be on a Friday night than getting drunk at one of my campaign events?"

"Not really."

"That's almost sad." She looked at him with disdain, and despite how patronizing her tone was, he didn't look offended in the least.

"Aw, can't I just wanna hang out with you?" he asked, brow furrowed. "James was busy, so I figured this was the next best thing."

"Because we're best friends now?"

He shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. "I mean, don't flatter yourself. James 'n Dolley are still both far ahead of you on that list. And then there's Lafayette, too. And even Burr, really, but—"

"I get it," she cut him off, her cheeks flaring with heat as he wore a self-satisfied grin.

"But, hey, you're up there, too. Don't worry," he assured her, and she couldn't even bring herself to come up with some kind of biting retort.

"Right."

A moment passed in annoyed silence (well, Y/N was annoyed; realistically, Jefferson was enjoying himself), and Y/N glared down at the distinct lack of wine still sitting at the bottom of her glass. She didn't want to let him have the reaction he was looking for from her.

"You should leave," she said bluntly, and his eyebrows shot up.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not going to give you what you want and make myself look bad by having security throw you out. So you're going to get nothing out of being here," she hissed. "Please, just leave. You stick to your campaign, and I'll stick to mine."

"C'mon, now, where's the fun in that?"

"I'm just trying to fundraise; can't you leave that alone?" Her teeth were gritted as she spoke, and his smile was broadening; he was seemingly taking pleasure in how quickly she was getting worked up, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She just wanted him out. "Some of us can't just ride it out on daddy's money. We aren't all heirs to millions."

He quirked a brow. "Sounds like a personal problem."

"It is. That's my point," she scoffed. "I know we disagree on literally everything, but outright classism is stooping low, even for you."

"If you really need money, 'm sure there are a couple Super PACs on Capitol Hill that'd be glad to fork over a couple million." A mischievous glint shone in his eyes with his words, and he glanced back at her, taking another sip of his drink. Her glare didn't waver.

"If you're trying to create ammunition against me, it isn't going to work," she warned him. "You're wasting your time."

"Well, I'm hurt, now, Y/N." He frowned, free hand held to his heart. "Thought we were friends. Maybe I just came to see you."

Her huff was heavy, and he couldn't maintain his mild expression, his stupid, smug grin cracking through the facade. "We aren't on a first name basis, Jefferson."

He managed a pout. "After all these years? Aw, sweetheart, 'm devastated," he said, and when she looked away from him, her furious gaze instead turning to the hotel ballroom before her, the corners of his lips quirked. "We were even coworkers, once. Now, what happened to that?"

"As if we got along while we were working together." She didn't meet his eyes. "You've always been fixated on sabotaging my career, so I guess I'm not surprised that this is no different."

"Hang on, I never sabotaged your career," he said defensively, but when she cast him a disbelieving glance, his eyes flashed mischievously. "You did that perfectly well all on your own."

"I'm eight points ahead of you in the polls." She eyed him disdainfully. He shrugged.

"Don't get too cocky, now; the debates haven't even started," he replied, undeterred, "I've just gotta wait till the whole country gets to see you on live TV makin' a mockery of your party."

"Everyone knows people only watch the debates for confirmation bias," Y/N said dryly, again turning away from him. "You may as well drop out now. You've got no shot at the presidency."

He hummed skeptically. "I dunno about that, sweetheart—"

"Don't call me that," she seethed, but her annoyance only seemed to spur him on.

"So hostile," he sighed. "Now I guess I don't have to feel guilty that I'm stealin' all your donors, hm?"

"All my donors resent your policies almost as much as I do." Y/N couldn't maintain her anger, although she remained annoyed. Was this really his best shot at derailing her fundraiser? "Go back to pandering to Citizens United; you won't have too much luck with my pool of attendees."

"You sure? I've been told I can be real charmin'," he said matter-of-factly, and she huffed out a bitter laugh.

"By who, exactly?"

"Undisclosed sources," he said, shooting her a wink, and she pursed her lips; with the playful grin he wore, her smile was no longer all anger and resentment. "You'll have to take me at my word."

"I don't believe it, but I guess I can't really contest it," Y/N replied, and Thomas's grin broadened at the amusement he could hear seeping into her voice.

He raised a teasing eyebrow. "So you're tellin' me you agree, then?"

"That is not what I'm telling you." Her smile fell flat. Her tone was biting, but she turned away from him, folded her arms, and she could feel the heat rising in back of her neck. Her willing it away had little effect. He looked smug. "I'm saying that if you can't tell me who the sources are, then I can't fact check you, so there's no way to contest your claim. That's what I mean."

She was rambling, and he took another nonchalant sip of his drink, satisfaction obvious in his expression. "Mhm."

"I'm serious. It was a stupid fucking claim, anyway, and you know that wasn't what I said," she said, and the words were biting. Thomas looked down at her mildly, his smirk lazy.

"'Course."

"Stop being so damn condescending," she huffed. "I didn't agree with what you were saying. Now will you shut up about it?"

"What am I doin' wrong, sweetheart?" He folded his arms, turned fully toward her with an inquisitive look and a self-satisfied smile. "I didn't contradict you. You're allowed to think whatever you wanna."

"It's not me 'thinking whatever I want,' I didn't say that you were—" She cut herself off with a scowl as his smile widened, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly. Warmth was flooding her cheeks, by then, and she couldn't even bring herself to finish her sentence, didn't even want to admit aloud what she was defending herself for. She felt ridiculous. He looked unswayed. "God, I refuse to have this conversation. Why do you feel the need to antagonize me every fucking time you see me?"

"'Antagonize' seems extreme," he pointed out, and arrogance laced his voice. "I hardly said a word. All that spiralin' just now was all you."

"Because you were being a dick."

"Hey, all I did was ask an innocent question," he defended. "Why're you gettin' so worked up?"

"Don't act like I'm being irrational," she bit back, eyes narrowed, but he shrugged. "You only came here to get me worked up, and you know it. Stop treating me like a child."

"I'd never. I entirely respect you." She eyed him skeptically. He nudged her arm. "'S okay to get a little flustered now 'n then. I know I've got that kinda effect on people."

"I'm not flustered," she replied through gritted teeth, and he winked.

"Sure you aren't. No judgment here," he said, and the disbelief in his voice made her scowl.

"Whatever. I need to get back to fundraising. You're derailing my evening." The words were hard; her tone made it clear she had no interest in any further back-and-forth with him, and when he sighed, it was dramatically weary.

"You don't wanna spend any more time with me?" he asked, brow creased in faux disappointment. "Now, Y/N, I came all this way just for you, and I've gotta say, I'm hurt. Thought you were enjoyin' my company more than that."

"I wasn't."

He clucked his tongue. "Too bad. I was enjoyin' yours."

"You were enjoying making fun of me, you mean?" she countered, and he grinned.

"Believe what you want, but I said all of four words, before, sweetheart—"

"That isn't my name," she interjected, but he didn't stop.

"and you were still busy defendin' yourself for a whole lot longer," he continued. "And I'm not sure why you were defending yourself for so long, really. Didn't I tell you I wasn't passin' any judgment? I get that I make you nervous. It's okay."

"What? You don't make me nervous. I've literally worked with you for years," she huffed, eyes narrowed. When he raised a disbelieving brow, she shifted uneasily where she stood, breaking his gaze. "Whatever. I'm done with this conversation; you can show yourself out."

"Just walkin' away so unceremoniously?" he asked incredulously when Y/N turned on her heel. "Aw, c'mon, now, no hard feelings, alright?"

"Maybe not from you." She glanced back at him over her shoulder, eyeing him disdainfully before starting off in the other direction. He grinned.

"See you at the debates, Y/N," he called after her, and satisfaction lay heavy in his voice. "Always a pleasure."

She rolled her eyes, and her pace didn't stutter, but as she retreated back to the room full of overgenerous millionaires, the tips of her ears still burned. If she lost this election, she'd never hear the end of it.

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deja-you · 4 years

Text

foreign affairs | part one | paris

m. de lafayette x reader

summary: In 2020, Representative Y/n L/n is up for reelection. Lafayette, Y/n’s former best friend and current French socialite and playboy, decides this is the time to walk back into her life.

word count: 6.8k

trailer | next

2012 was the year he broke his arm and broke her heart.

During her sophomore year of college, Y/n decided she wanted to study abroad in France. She had taken a few years of French in high school and college, not enough to be fluent, but enough to hold a short conversation. Lots of college students studied abroad, and seeing as Y/n was majoring in Political Science and International Affairs, it made sense.

Paying for a year abroad was another story. Since her senior year in high school, Y/n had been saving up the money she earned from waitressing, and with the help from her parents, she was just able to afford the trip to France.

During the first week in Paris, faculty members took students around the city to see different attractions. Most students went to see the Eiffel Tower or the Arc de Triomphe. Y/n preferred to see France’s president’s residence, the Élysée Palace. It was built back in 1718, and the beige colored stone -- we don’t really care what this building looked like, do we? It’s a building in Paris, of course it had beautiful architecture. We’re all wondering why this is significant, right?

Okay, so Y/n loved politics and history and foundations of democracy and republicanism. She was standing outside the French White House (it’s not really white, we’ve covered this, it’s more of a beige color, but I think “White House” is a term we all understand). Y/n was probably admiring the architecture that your author is refusing to describe. Now this is where it gets more interesting.

“Pretty building, isn’t it?”

A man leaning against one wall was watching Y/n while he lit his cigarette. He had spoken plainly in English; was it that obvious that Y/n was American.

“It’s beautiful,” Y/n replied politely.

“Very. Soon it’s going to be my home.”

This piqued Y/n’s interest. “Are you running for president? I can’t remember anyone that looked like you in the polls.”

If she was being honest, she had never met anyone that looked like him in general. Charming brown eyes, curly hair, neat stubble, and a smile she would’ve remembered. He gave her an amused look and raised his cigarette to his lips.

“You wouldn’t,” he replied, then offered his hand for her to shake. “You can call me Lafayette.”

Y/n shook his hand, but she was still confused. “And you’re running for president, Lafayette? I have to say, you might need to work on your name recognition.”

“I am not running for president, chérie. Perhaps you’re more familiar with my mother, Jolie de la Rivière?”

He watched as the realization hit her.

“Jolie de la Rivière? As in the frontrunner in the presidential election?”

“The very one. I am surprised an American keeps up with French politics.”

It made sense now. Y/n could see the resemblance between this stranger she had just met and the future French president. De la Rivière had been leading in the polls since she announced her campaign, and it was almost certain that she would win the election in April. Y/n just happened to run into de la Rivière’s son?

“You want to get something to eat?” Lafayette asked, seemingly out of the blue.

Y/n was still in shock, but she nodded, wanting to know more about the man she had just met. “Okay.”

They crossed the street to a café (there was a café at nearly every corner in Paris) and took seats outside. Y/n let Lafayette order for both of them even though she knew enough French to order herself, she didn’t want to give him any reason to make fun of her poor French accent.

“So,” Lafayette said, watching Y/n curiously, “you’re an American in Paris, huh?”

“I suppose so. But less “starving artist” vibes and less musical numbers,” Y/n quipped. Was she really talking to the son of the future French president, and he was asking about her?

“So if you’re not a starving artist, what are you doing in Paris?”

“I’m a student at Georgetown and I’m spending the semester studying abroad,” Y/n informed him.

“What are you majoring in?”

“Political Science and International Affairs.”

“Political Science at Georgetown? You must be smart. Will I see you running for president some day?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

She laughed. “I don’t know about that. Maybe I’ll find a job working on a campaign or for a Senator. I don’t have it all worked out yet.”

“Neither do I,” Lafayette said. This made Y/n pause. She could tell he was a few years older than her. He was also Jolie de la Rivière’s son. How could he not have his whole life worked out?

“What’d you mean?” Y/n asked.

He shrugged. “Everyone expects me to follow in my mother’s footsteps. It’s not that I’m not interested in politics and government, I just... I just don’t want to live in her shadow forever.”

“I see,” Y/n said. “At least you’ll have connections no matter what you decide to do.”

“That is very true.”

They continued talking for an hour or so. Lafayette would ask her what it was like living in the United States. Y/n would ask him what it was like having a powerhouse mom. The conversation came easily to both of them, something Y/n had never expected from a stranger.

When the bill came, Y/n ultimately let Lafayette pay for their lunch after much protesting (Y/n only allowed for him to pay because she was a broke college student). Then Lafayette asked for Y/n’s phone number, which she gladly gave to him. He promised he’d call or text sometime and they went their separate ways.

He said he’d call, but Y/n was expecting within the next few days or weeks. She was not expecting him to call her only a few hours later.

“Y/n, hey!” Came his voice from the other line.

“Lafayette? Hi?”

“I know this is sudden, but there’s this concert at a small venue tonight. I have a few tickets, and I was wondering if you and some of your friends wanted to join me tonight?”

“Um, okay, yeah?”

“Great! I’ll send you the information.”

And then he hung up. True to his word, he sent her a text with the time and address a few minutes later. Y/n invited two of her suite mates, Rebecca and Joe, to come with her. Then a few hours later, they showed up at a small but lively concert venue. Lafayette met them there, wearing a more casual outfit, and they all went in together.

Y/n honestly couldn’t remember who was performing that night. She didn’t remember much, but she knew she had more drinks than she should’ve, that the music was loud, and that the room was incredibly hot. What she couldn’t forget was the headache she woke up with the next morning. At the very least, she had made it into her own bed even though she hadn’t made it out of the clothes she had worn out the night before.

She grabbed her water bottle from beside the bed and took a long drink. When that didn’t help, she went to find Rebecca or Joe to ask what had happened the night before. Rebecca’s room was closer, so she knocked on the door before opening it.

“Hey, Rebec-- Oh my god!”

She quickly shut her eyes but she wouldn’t be able to unsee partially naked Lafayette struggling to quickly put his clothes back on. Y/n cringed and closed the door quickly behind her. What had she just seen? Why was Lafayette in Rebecca’s room? And why was he naked?

“Y/n, mon dieu, you weren’t supposed to see that!” Lafayette had finished dressing and followed Y/n out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“What exactly was that?” Y/n asked.

He held a finger to his lips and motioned at the door. “Rebecca’s still asleep.”

“So you and... that happened?”

Lafayette rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, I guess so. It was all a blur... but, yeah.”

“We all got pretty drunk last night,” Y/n justified.

“Er, not exactly. You and Joe had a lot of drinks, but Rebecca and I decided to stay sober enough to get everyone back. So once we got you and Joe home, well, we kind of...” He trailed off and his eyes dropped to the floor.

“Oh. I see.” Y/n didn’t know what to say. “Are you and Rebecca like... a thing now?”

He shrugged. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

Lafayette really didn’t know. Neither did Rebecca.

In the next two weeks, they hooked up a few more times before deciding they were best off as friends. After that, it was a Parisian girl named Celeste. Y/n quickly got used to Lafayette’s flirtatious nature and him constantly bringing around a new girl. Sometimes it was annoying, sometimes it was a point of humor. It didn’t matter too much to Y/n, she was content being friends with him.

They grew close quickly, and soon enough Y/n couldn’t remember what her life had been like before him. There was no one Y/n preferred to discuss foreign policy with than Lafayette, and there was no one Lafayette would rather annoy than Y/n. At one point, Lafayette took Y/n to one of his mother’s rallies, and Y/n spent more time than necessary explaining to Lafayette’s mom how big a fan she was. Lafayette nearly had to drag her away so that actual constituents could talk to his mom.

But most days it was more casual stuff. Sometimes Lafayette would sit on Y/n’s phone and take a ridiculous amount of selfies on her phone while she worked on homework. Other times they would take spontaneous trips to the grocery store at night to pick up ingredients for fried rice. Every Tuesday, Lafayette and Y/n’s roommate, Molly, would listen to Y/n rant about wage gaps between different demographics in America after her Economics class. And sometimes they would make fun of cheesy romcoms together.

“I don’t understand your obsession with Nora Ephron, Y/n,” Lafayette complained, although he was dutifully pouring extra butter onto their popcorn for the movie.

“She only directed the best romantic comedies ever!” Y/n defended.

“But why is Meg Ryan in all of her movies?”

“Because Meg Ryan is the best!”

“I still don’t understand the appeal of this movie. So a kid calls a radio show and Meg Ryan falls in love with him?” Lafayette asked.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “No, Meg Ryan falls in love with the dad! Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But she’s never actually met the dad?”

“...well, no.”

“I don’t understand Americans.”

“You just need to watch it!”

Seeing that he wasn’t making any headway with Y/n, Lafayette sighed and resigned to his position on the couch. Grabbing a blanket, Y/n happily settled down on the couch beside Lafayette and started the movie. Every now and then Lafayette would scoff at some cheesy line or make some comment and Y/n would be quick to shush him. Eventually all the popcorn had been eaten and the end credits began to roll.

“So what did you think?” Y/n asked eagerly.

Lafayette shrugged. “I don’t know. I just can’t get over the fact that she just left her fiancé like that.”

She rolled her eyes.

Months ago, Y/n never would have imagined she’d be invited to an election watch party for Jolie de la Rivière, but now she wasn’t so surprised. De la Rivière’s campaign had rented out an upscale restaurant that was packed to its max occupancy. Lafayette’s mother spent most of the evening schmoozing her voters and speaking with interviewers, allowing for Y/n and Lafayette to sit by the bar and mess around.

“Okay, okay, be serious this time. Don’t smile.”

“I won’t! I promise I won’t,” Y/n said.

“We’ll see. On the count of three... one... two...”

“Wait! I’m not ready!” Y/n couldn’t help but burst out into laughter, a smile spreading across her face.

Lafayette rolled his eyes. “I do not know what to do with you.”

“I can be serious.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I can! Just watch.” She looked away and focused on making her expression resolute and steely. Y/n slowly looked up to meet Lafayette’s eyes and they stared at each other for a few seconds with straight faces. Then Lafayette had the gall to arch one of his eyebrows and Y/n broke once again.

“That’s not fair. I was doing perfectly fine before you cheated!” Y/n complained.

“It’s not my fault that you can’t keep a straight face, Y/n.” He sighed and took a sip of his drink. “I can’t blame you. I’m so devilishly good looking, most women can’t keep it together around me.”

Now it was Y/n’s turn to roll her eyes. “I can assure you that’s not the problem here. Maybe I keep laughing because you’re so funny looking.”

“Haha. You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

When she didn’t respond, Lafayette tried again. “Y/n?”

“Lafayette, look.” She pointed to a TV hung over the bar.

A reporter on the screen was announcing that De la Rivière had won a landslide election. Then the screen cut to another reporter who was at the restaurant interviewing De la Rivière in person. Y/n and Lafayette’s eyes traveled across the room to see his mother talking to the reporter. The same scene playing on the TV overhead.

“Did that really just happen?”

Lafayette’s mom had been ahead in the polls for months now, and everyone expected her to win the election. But now she really had won. Lafayette was the President-elect’s son. Both Y/n and Lafayette knew this was probably going to happen, but now that it had, neither of them really knew what to do.

Everything after that was a blur. They celebrated that night, having a few more drinks. Enough alcohol to have a good time, but not enough to get totally drunk in an effort not to embarrass Lafayette’s mom on her big night. After that, Y/n didn’t see Lafayette for a while. He was busy getting prepped by his mom’s staff to be the perfect son and getting assigned a new security detail.

Y/n didn’t mind all that much. Sure, she missed him, but now that he was gone, she could spend more time actually working on her school work and getting more sleep. How had she gotten anything done when he was around? It was during the month when Lafayette and Y/n didn’t see each other at all that Molly slapped a magazine down on the table where Y/n was eating breakfast.

“What’s this?” Y/n asked, picking up the glossy magazine.

“Apparently Lafayette is France’s most eligible bachelor,” Molly informed her.

Y/n scoffed and looked over the cover of the magazine. Lafayette was casually leaning against a wall in the photo wearing a fitted suit and a colorful bowtie. He had a casual grin on his face, and his facial hair was trimmed neatly.

“Has Lafayette always been this hot?” Y/n muttered.

Molly gave her a look. “Yes. Yes, he has.”

“He might be a bachelor, but I don’t know if I would call him eligible.”

“What’s wrong with Lafayette?” Molly took the magazine from Y/n and flipped to the fluff piece written about him. “He’s handsome, and charismatic, and intelligent. I would date him.”

Y/n watched her roommate admire the photos of Lafayette and realized this wasn’t the first time Molly had considered the thought. How many times had Y/n watched Molly laugh at something Lafayette said that wasn’t even funny?

A buzz came from Y/n’s phone and she welcomed the distraction from her thoughts. Of course the text just had to be from Lafayette. She hadn’t seen him in forever, and he just happened to next her now? Yes, because it’s going to move the plot along.

Paint the town red w/ me tonight? The text read. Bring some friends and we’ll make it a party.

She shot back a text asking him if he was even allowed to hangout with commoners now that his mom was the president. He sent back a sarcastic haha and assured her he had it all worked out.

Molly was a little too excited when Y/n asked her to come hangout with Lafayette, but what did Y/n care? If Molly liked Lafayette, Y/n didn’t care. Why should she care if her roommate wanted to date her best friend? She did her best to stop thinking about it. Molly let her borrow a dress that was shorter than Y/n was comfortable with and they headed out with a few of their friends to meet at a bar Lafayette had texted them about.

He was thirty minutes late, and Y/n would’ve been annoyed she hadn’t expected it from him. He fed everyone some charming story about having to ditch his security detail. Y/n wanted to point out to him how irresponsible he was being, but honestly, she was just glad to see him again. When he was done enchanting their friends with his stories of his grandiose lifestyle, everyone returned to their drinks and Lafayette finally had the chance to sidle up to Y/n and sling an Armani-clad arm around her shoulders.

“Been a while, stranger?” He gave her an impish grin.

“And who’s fault is that?”

Lafayette’s eyebrows shot up and he pouted. “Aw, chérie, you know I couldn’t help it. I’ve been busy, it hasn’t been easy, this last month.”

“Right. ‘Cause living in a literal palace must be so difficult.”

“I forgot how sarcastic you can be.”

She shrugged and gave him a self-satisfied smile.

“Maybe you’ll be nicer after a few drinks,” he suggested.

“...it wouldn’t hurt.”

His smile was wide and she had forgotten how much she had missed it. Lafayette leaned forward and ordered a round of drinks, and just like that, it was like they hadn’t been apart at all. Their friendship was easy like that.

After two drinks, Y/n was laughing louder than anyone in the bar. Lafayette urged her to quiet down, but by the way wrinkles formed by his eyes and he laughed along quietly, they both knew he wasn’t serious about it at all. It was after they had started taking shots that they decided they were too hot to stay indoors. The night was young, and Lafayette had already hatched a plan in his mind.

“Let’s go to a park,” he announced to their small group.

There was a chorus of enthusiastic agreement. Y/n, more than a few drinks in, was still hesitant.

“Everything is probably closed at this time. Don’t you think you should be getting home?” She asked.

“C’mon, Y/n,” Molly chimed in, “it’ll be fun. There’s no harm to it.”

Y/n wanted to argue that there very well could be harm to it, but Lafayette was too fast.

“Molly’s right. Besides, I don’t know when I’ll get a night of freedom again. Better make the most of it, oui?”

Lafayette must’ve earned his magnetism from his constant exposure to politicians. He would make a great politician if he ever decided to apply himself, Y/n thought. It wasn’t the first time she had thought this.

Everyone listened to him almost like they were hypnotized, and before she knew it, they were standing outside a small park. A small closed park. Y/n knew she shouldn’t be committing a crime with the French president’s son, but the group had a mob mentality now. Anyway, Lafayette had his mind set on breaking into the park now. There was nothing anyone could’ve one to change his mind at this point.

Y/n still felt she had to try. “It’s closed. Everyone should just go home.”

“Nonsense,” Lafayette said.

“What’s your plan? Hop the fence?”

“Why not?” Molly asked. “It’s not that high.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Y/n responded.

But seeing the look on Lafayette’s face, she could tell he didn’t share her opinion on fence hopping. She watched him give a curious look to Molly. A look she recognized. There was always a twinkle in his eye when he was about to do something stupid to impress a girl. Y/n sighed, threw her hands up in defeat, and let him make his idiotic decisions.

And idiotic they were. Enough alcohol will give you the mindless bravery needed to attempt to jump a fence to impress a girl. That’s how Lafayette broke his arm.

Dealing with drunk, twenty-something-year-old French boys seemed like a walk in the park compared to dealing with the morons that, by some miracle, had been elected to the United States Congress. Y/n didn’t consider herself to be one of those moronic representatives, but she was sure some members of the Republican party had some choice words they used to describe her.

“We have a system that is fundamentally broken,” Y/n spoke into the microphone in front of her. Today she was asking questions at a hearing concerning campaign finance laws. Tomorrow it would be working on passing a bipartisan bill or going to some fundraiser for her reelection campaign.

“So would you say that Congress is held to the same rate of accountability as the president, the executive branch? Are there more regulations for Senators and Congressman, in regards to campaign financing than the president? Or less, Mr. Conway?” She asked.

The man in question, Mr. Conway, shifted uncomfortably in his seat before responding to the question, “there are almost no laws at all that apply to the president.”

Y/n was satisfied with his answer, but still she pressed on. “Are you saying that I, and every member of congress, are being held to a higher standard than the president of the United States?”

“...yes.”

“Thank you.”

The hearing wrapped up with all the formalities, and Y/n gathered up all her notes. She made her way from the committee hearing room to her office, knowing that her campaign manager and second-in-command, Nathan Hale, would be ready to tell her what else she had on the schedule for today. She found him sitting on the visitor’s side of her desk, his feet propped up on a chair.

“You did great in there,” he said casually.

She raised an eyebrow as she dropped all her notes from the hearing on her desk and sunk down into the seat. “You stayed and listened?”

“For most of it. I had to leave early,” he admitted. “There were some... issues I had to look at.”

“Issues?”

“Secretary Jefferson tweeted about you. You’re going to want to see it.”

Y/n groaned outwardly. “No, Nathan, I don’t think I will.”

“You’re probably right, but you should be informed nonetheless.” He handed her her phone, already opened to Jefferson’s tweet. It was nothing she hadn’t seen or heard before. Just another politician attacking her character and claiming she was a talentless kid who didn’t belong in politics.

She furrowed her brows as she quickly typed out a response to his tweet. That’s interesting, coming from a man whose entire career was built off his daddy’s money.

“What do you think?” She handed the phone to Nathan to read over her tweet. “Too harsh? Not harsh enough?”

He laughed. “It’s perfect. Anddddd... send tweet. Did we just enter into a twitter war with the former Secretary of State and the Republican presidential nominee? This feels like middle school drama, not running a country.”

Y/n only shrugged. “All I have to say,” Y/n muttered as she attempted to organize the clutter on her desk, “is that politics is nothing like The West Wing.”

“No?”

“No. Nathan, what do we have scheduled today?” She asked.

“An interview with The Times later, but I’ve lined up some meetings with a few of your largest donors.”

“That’s my least favorite part of the job. Who am I meeting with?” Y/n set aside her organizing and leaned forward on her elbows.

Nathan pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and read off a few names from his clipboard. “We’ve got Mercy Otis Warren at two. Mr. and Mrs. Randolph for lunch—”

“Oh, I can’t stand them.”

“—and a Mr. de Lafayette in an hour.”

Y/n’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline and she was convinced she had heard him wrong. “Who was that last one?”

“Mr. de Lafayette, the French president’s son,” Nathan explained.

“Since when has he been a donor to my campaign?” Y/n frowned.

“He reached out a few months ago. I thought it was strange that a foreign leader’s kid wanted to donate to a U.S. representative’s campaign, but I wasn’t about to stop him.”

“I don’t want his donations,” Y/n said.

This caught Nathan’s attention. “Y/n, he made a very sizable donation to your reelection campaign.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want his money.”

“It’s too late. We’ve already spent the money on buttons and whatnot.”

“Nathan, no!” Y/n groaned. “And you said I’m supposed to meet with him today?”

“Yes, in an hour. I don’t understand what the problem is.”

Y/n pursed her lips and finally admitted, “We used to be best friends.”

“And you don’t want to see him because...?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well regardless of the length of the story,” Nathan said, “we can’t cancel on him. We need every donation we can get since you refuse to accept money from any PACs.”

“That’s because it’s the right thing to do,” Y/n pointed out.

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t make my job any easier. You’re not getting out of this meeting, Y/n. You should start mentally preparing yourself now.”

It had been eight years since she had last seen Lafayette. Eight years. And yet, she wasn’t exactly in a rush to see him again. They hadn’t exactly left things on great terms. Now he was making sizable donations to her campaign? None of this made any sense to Y/n.

An hour passed too quickly for Y/n’s liking. Nathan had arranged for a photo op between Y/n and Lafayette in the lobby of the hotel Lafayette was staying at. After all, the endorsement of a foreign dignitary would be good for her campaign, it would probably make the front page of local newspapers. On the ride over to the hotel, Y/n rehearsed how the meeting would go in her head.

She’d walk into the lobby and greet Lafayette politely. The photographers would capture a few pictures of them smiling amicably and shaking hands. Y/n would thank him for his support and his donations, inquire on the wellbeing of his mother, and then Nathan would pull her out and tell everyone she had another meeting she had to be at. Y/n would apologize, thank Lafayette again, and then they would part ways. And if she never saw him again after this, that would be fine.

Maybe she should have let Nathan in on her plans, because he had different ideas of how this meeting would go down.

“The Randolphs had to cancel on us, but I’ve pencilled them in for next weekend. That means we can take more time talking with Mr. de Lafayette,” he told her.

“What? But I don’t want to spend more time talking with him. I just--”

“We can discuss it later,” Nathan cut her off and pushed her into the hotel lobby where half a dozen photographers and journalists were already waiting. The cameras began to flash.

“We have a lot to discuss later,” Y/n smiled for the cameras, but Nathan was the only one able to hear the poison underneath her words. She meant them. But chewing Nathan out was for later, right now she had an ex-best friend and current campaign donator to deal with.

Standing to the side of the lobby was Lafayette. He was wearing gray slacks and formal shoes, but he had opted to ditch the suit jacket and wore his white button down with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his rather muscular fore arms. He grinned when he saw Y/n headed his way, and all of a sudden it was like she was a college student again. Memories of her year in Paris came back to her. Drinks at a local bar, watching romcoms together, attending rallies for his mom.

But bad memories returned to her as well, and they seemed to out weigh all the good ones she could remember. She had to focus not to let her smile falter in case a photographer took a photo of her looking anything less than happy to be seeing Lafayette. Journalists always had a way of spinning things.

“Congresswoman L/n, I am so glad you could make it,” Lafayette said. There may have been some things Y/n had forgotten from her year abroad, but the sound of his voice wasn’t one of those things.

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” Y/n lied through her smile. “How was your flight?” She stepped forward and offered her hand for him to shake. Cameras flashed.

“Pleasant enough, I suppose.” He gripped her hand and gave it a firm shake. More cameras clicked. “It’s good to see you again. What has it been, eight years?”

They turned to face the cameras, letting the photographers take pictures of the smiling side-by-side.

“Must be. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” She was doing her best to be professional.

He placed a hand on her back that could easily pass as just a friendly gesture between two professionals, but Y/n knew him better than that. Lafayette kept smiling, but he lowered his voice so only she could hear him.

“I’ve tried getting in contact with you so many times, Y/n. We used to be best friends, remember? Although now you seem to be doing fine for yourself.”

Y/n continued smiling, but she spared Lafayette an uneasy glance. “I am doing fine, aren’t I?”

“I just don’t understand why the only way I can get you to talk to me is to make large donations to your campaign and schedule meetings with your campaign manager,” he said quietly. “What happened to us?”

“Lafayette, this isn’t the time or place to address that issue,” she said with perfectly masked annoyance. Y/n smiled for a couple more photos, then the journalists seemed to have gotten enough content of the two of them. “Besides, I think we both know perfectly well what happened.”

The end of Y/n’s year abroad came quicker than she had anticipated. Paris had been fun, but if she was being honest, she was ready to return home. Molly and Lafayette had begun dating shortly after that night when he jumped the fence and broke his arm to impress her. After that, Y/n couldn’t help but feel like a third-wheel around the two of them.

It wasn’t easy. Lafayette was still her best friend and she couldn’t avoid him as much as she wanted to without him asking questions. Since Lafayette decided to date Molly, and since Molly was Y/n’s roommate, seeing them around together was nearly unavoidable.

Y/n had reached the end of her year abroad now, so... that was good? Molly had already left for the states a week and a half ago due to a family emergency or something. Y/n wasn’t completely sure, she had gotten good at tuning Molly out when she was talking about how great a boyfriend Lafayette was, that she must’ve started tuning out everything Molly said.

With Molly gone, Y/n was left alone in an apartment and with her thoughts. She didn’t see Lafayette as much, as he really only came over to the apartment to visit Molly these days. Now that she was left with nothing to do except pack and think, she was finally hit with the unsettling reality that the real reason she didn’t like being around Molly and Lafayette when they were together wasn’t because they made her feel like a third wheel.

She shoved those thoughts deep down her throat, worried what might become of her if she let herself dwell on them too much. When ignoring the thoughts didn’t work as well as she had hoped it would, she turned to an alternative medicine. The bar was an antidote for anything and everything.

That’s where Lafayette found Y/n. Drinking by herself on a weeknight.

“What are you doing here? I’m supposed to be the drunk one that you find and drag home.”

She looked at him lazily over her third glass of wine. “One should always be drunk. That’s all that matters. But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.”

“We’re quoting poetry, now?” He sighed. “You are more drunk than I thought.”

“I thought you would like it. Charles Baudelaire. He’s French. He said to get drunk, and wine tastes better than virtue.”

Lafayette took her glass of wine and drained it. Partially to prevent Y/n from drinking anymore, partially because he needed it. He looked at his best friend who was watching him with wide eyes and parted lips.

“What?” He asked.

“What,” she repeated, in a daze.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay. You’re the one getting drunk alone.”

She grinned sloppily. “I’m not alone. You’re here. And you’re getting drunk with me.”

Lafayette appraised Y/n for a moment. She was watching him so earnestly, her eyes bright and lively from the alcohol. He had to look away. Eventually he gave in and ordered another glass of wine for himself. Then, halfway through that glass, his lips loosened.

“Molly broke up with me.”

For a second, Lafayette could have sworn he saw a smile on Y/n’s face. But he must have imagined it, because when he looked again, she was giving him a pitiful look.

“She did? I’m so, so sorry. Did she say why?”

“No, but I think I know.”

“Care to share?”

He shook his head and took a long sip from his glass. “Not particularly. You care to share why you’re getting drunk alone in the middle of the week?”

“Not particularly.” She repeated his words and attempted a wink.

Then the two of them fell into a contemplative silence. There was no doubt that they were extremely close friends. But that didn’t mean they told each other everything, it just meant that they always knew how the other was feeling, even if they didn’t know why.

“We’ve got so much wasted potential, don’t we?” Lafayette finally said.

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Wasted? I may be wasted tonight, but I’ll pull it together tomorrow.”

He groaned and hid his smile, not wanting her to know that he actually found her amusing. “Shut up, Y/n. You know what I mean.”

“Maybe you’re wasted potential. You could be a president or a CEO, but instead you’re drinking with your best friend at 10:48 p.m.,” she pointed out. “But I’ve got it all figured out. Tomorrow, I’ll pull myself together from this feeling-sorry-for-myself night. And when I go back to America, I’ll pull my life together again.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Tonight is a microcosm of my time here in Paris. Paris was just a drunk mistake. A really fun, really delicious mistake. When I return to the U.S., it’ll be my Paris hang over. I’ll deal with the consequences, be miserable for a little while, but then I’ll be great. Maybe be president or meet a penguin, whichever is easier.”

“I hope Paris wasn’t all mistakes.”

“It was.”

It should have hurt more to hear her say that. They were both a few glasses in at this point and felt invincible. Everything would hurt a lot more in the morning, but they felt so good then. Lafayette spared another glance at Y/n. This was his best friend, the only girl he really cared about. The girl he had promised himself he wouldn’t ruin things with. But one look at her lips made him lose any inhibition he had left.

He stared a second too long. Y/n noticed his eyes on her lips, and as if she knew what he was thinking, her lips were pulled up into a troublesome smile. A voice in the back of Y/n’s head warned her that she could ruin their friendship if she didn’t stop, but then again, she had never wanted to be his friend. Never.

“Come home with me?” She knew what his answer would be before she had even asked the question.

His response should’ve been “I don’t think that’s a good idea” or “we’re both drunk, we should both go to our own homes.” Or anything else. Anything else would’ve been better than his easy grin, his warm hand in hers as they exited the bar, and his sharp whistle as he hailed a taxi.

She could count this, right?

Lafayette had never told her he loved her. As a friend, at the very least, Y/n was convinced that he loved her. She had watched Lafayette express his affections and love for so many women before her. Y/n would be lying if she said that she didn’t die a little bit every time she saw him with someone else. She had watched him say “I love you” to almost everyone but herself.

In the back of the cab, flooded with orange light from the street, Lafayette’s hands felt warm on her body. He tasted like cheap wine even though Y/n knew he could afford something more expensive. He tasted like smoke as well, even though Y/n told him often how bad cigarettes were. The way he looked at her, the way he kissed her, it said “I love you.” Didn’t it?

I can count this, she decided with his lips pressed against her neck.

He only took his lips off her to quickly pay the cab driver, and even then he kept one hand on her thigh. Walking up a narrow flight of stairs is harder when you’re drunk and don’t want to let go of another person, but Lafayette and Y/n managed to do it. They stumbled into her apartment, not bothering to turn on any lights.

The next morning Y/n’s apartment would look like a crime scene; furniture out of place, clothes littering the floor, but she didn’t care at the moment. Any consequences for tonight’s actions would be her problem tomorrow. Tonight, all she could think about was the way he pushed her up against the wall and left bruises on her shoulders with his mouth.

By the time they made it to her bedroom, she had managed to remove all his clothes and he was taking off her panties with two fingers. Lafayette whispered something sweet in her ear, but Y/n really wasn’t listening at this point. He wrapped an arm around her waist and laid her back on the bed, placing a desperate kiss on her lips. Something in her knew that he wasn’t kissing her because he felt something, but because he wanted to feel something. Did it work?

Y/n would not know all the details of what happened the next day. All she would remember was the feel of his skin against hers, the taste of him on her tongue, and feeling more alive than she had ever felt before.

Drunken mistakes were something Lafayette was used to. Y/n had her fair share of drunken mistakes as well. Nothing compared to the moment Lafayette woke up next to Y/n in her bed with a terrible headache from the night before. He could feel nothing but dread and it was beginning to eat him alive.

“Mon dieu, what have I done?” The fact that he had really fucked up this time hit him like a train.

“I know,” Y/n replied. She didn’t share his same level of concern. “How much did we drink last night?”

“I need to go.”

Before she knew it, Lafayette was out of bed and pulling on articles of his clothing that were strewn across the room. Y/n was perplexed by his urgency and propped herself up on her elbows.

“Lafayette, relax. We were drunk, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand.”

“This shouldn’t have happened. I never wanted this to happen.”

Y/n didn’t even mask her pain, but Lafayette wouldn’t even look at her. Still, she tried to reassure him. “You hook-up with girls all the time. This isn’t that much different.”

“No, it is,” he said firmly. “You’re not just another girl, Y/n. We’re friends. I never wanted this to happen between us.”

Just like that, Y/n felt her heart plummet in her chest. Did he really regret sleeping with her that much? He couldn’t even fathom the idea of them together without panicking? Y/n’s mouth hung open but no words came out. What would you even say in a situation like this?

“I need to leave now.” He still couldn’t look her in the eye. Lafayette left her apartment without so much as another word to her.

That’s how Lafayette broke her heart.

Tag list: @fanfic-addict-98 @wordvomit-foryourmind @farihafangirls @actuallyanita @cubedtriangle @katierpblogg @ballerinafairyprincess @dannighost @ateliefloresdaprimavera

#marquis de Lafayette #alexander hamilton #hamilton #lafayette #lafayette x reader #lafayette imagine #lafayette x reader angst #thomas jefferson imagine #thomas jefferson x reader #hamilton imagine #Daveed Diggs #daveed diggs x reader #modern!au #foreign affairs

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: Kismet {1}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Plot, Slow Burn, Mild Cursing

Words: 3.9

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

Note: Okay, y’all, this has been in my Word file for about a year and a half now, and I have no idea why I never posted it, but I’ve been inspired. It is mostly finished, but I will be tweaking it a little with each post. I hope you enjoy this. As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘 As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

**Very Interactive**

“Everyone, welcome, Aliya Taylor!”

The clapping and cheers were deafening as you walked down the long corridor to walk through the set doors. Once in full view of the studio audience, they stood and cheered even louder. You took a few moments to wave at them before walking down the path that led to the talk show host. Once there, you hugged Wendy and prepared for the antics.

“They love you.”

“It appears that way. Thank you so much for having me.”

“Girl, everyone wants a piece of you. why is that?”

You shrugged and scoffed. “Hell if I know.” The audience erupted with laughter. They thought you were kidding. You weren’t.

“Are you being serious?”

“Absolutely. I have no idea why. I am just this normal girl. At home, I’m Liya, the baby, the one who wears sweats and high buns. I don’t get it.”

“Oh, so this that we see now is not how you are when the cameras turn off?”

Again you scoffed. “Absolutely not. Most days, unless I’m working, I don’t wear makeup and heels I try to stay away from,” you explained.

“Wow. I mean, I’ve seen plenty of paparazzi pictures of you, and you always look so put together,” Wendy complimented.

“They must photoshop,” you joked to the audience's amusement.

For the next several minutes, she asked you questions about your latest projects and what you had planned for the next few months. After pointing out you were seen as a fashion icon, she began inquiring about your fashion inspirations. That conversation almost went on for the rest of the segment, but like the pro she was Wendy roped it back in to the hard-hitting stuff.

“So, I have to bring this up,” she began giving the audience a look that had you giggling. “For the last few months, we’ve been hearing from a particular Hemsworth who has been preaching from every ledge how you are the love of his life. Anything to say about that?”

You were prepared for this, it was expected. It was Wendy Williams, after all. Shrugging, you have a clueless look. “Nothing to say. This is actually the first I’m hearing about that,” you lied.

Wendy didn’t buy it, and the look on her face said it. Holding your ground and tapping into that acting skill, you kept a straight face and let the stare down run its course.

“Wow, you have an unwavering poker face.” The audience laughed around you, but you still kept a straight face.

“I don’t know what to tell ya’, Wendy,” you responded with a shrug for emphasis.

“All right. So, are you single?”

“I’m single, not looking and very happy,” you announced. The cheers around you were unexpected, but you liked that they were on board with it.

“Any particular reason why?”

Sighing, you sat back in your seat. “Relationships are hard. They take a lot of work, and I require too much to be in a relationship.”

Wendy cackled, which sent you into a tiff of giggles. When the two of you settled down, she continued.

“What does that mean?”

“Not much really just relationships are distractions, huge, huge distractions, and I would just rather enjoy my time, my life and work which includes helping people, changing lives, making lives better and focus on me. Relationships are just not for me, so I don’t want em,” you declared.

Wendy looked shocked and speechless, but she began nodding. “I understand. After my highly publicized divorce, I am also in the mind frame of nothing serious. I’ll have my fun, but a serious relationship is a turn off for me.”

You raised your hands in the air to praise her statement. “So you’ve been traveling a lot, right? We see pictures of you with your two best friends Amaya and Alicia.”

Your smile was wide then. “Yes, yes. We’ve been traveling and enjoying life. I’ve worked so hard for so long, and rarely do I take a vacation, so I took a little time,” you explained.

“That’s good. What do you think about the polls fans have created about who they want to see you with?”

That was news to you. “What?”

“Yeah. There are so many polls that are fan-made asking who people want to see you date,” Wendy explained.

“Who are the contenders?”

“Zac Efron, Robert Pattison, Theo James, Michael B Jordan, the names are endless,” Wendy listed off. You could have laughed, but you kept it in and just decided to nod.

“Any preference?”

“Who am I to have a say?” The laugher erupted around you again.

Thankfully the conversation steered back to your work, and that was where it remained for the next five or so minutes until the end of the interview. After signing a few autographs and taking a few fan pictures, you made your exit and toward your next engagement. It was going to be another long day. This was the eighth straight day that began at four in the morning only to have your head hitting your pillow well after two in the morning.

After three more interviews and two meetings, you made it home at the time you expected. Sleep was not in the cards for you, especially since it had been years since you’d had a good night’s sleep without sleeping pills. Insomnia is what the doctors diagnosed you with. While everyone in LA slept or got six to eight hours of sleep, you rarely got four. It was a condition you’d managed to find a way to live with after all these years and resigned yourself to never being normal in that department. You didn’t dwell on it because that meant opening back up the box you’d neatly put away out of sight that was wrapped in pretty bows as tight as possible. You’d worked hard to keep your Pandora’s box bound tight, and it was an endless daily struggle to keep it that way.

-Two Weeks Later-

“I’m not used to be early,” you whispered to your assistant, who nodded. She knew it was true.

“What time is this supposed to be?”

“Two,” Pamela responded. Your golden Cartier watch said it was four till. Just as you were going to speak, the doors opened up and in walked three men, one of which was your manager Rob.

“Aliya, so glad you could make it.”

You shook their hands and exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes before getting down to the nitty-gritty. They spoke about a movie project that was planned for filming in the fall that they believed you were perfect for the lead role. As they described the plot and the intentions of the filming, you nodded along and took a few mental notes. As they spoke, several boxes on your list were checked off. You hated roles where black women were typecast, hated roles that degraded black women, and hated those cliché movies that were so predictable one usually regretted seeing them. These days you liked more adventurous roles, even roles that had you getting into the action genre. Why should men have all the fun of being action stars?

After a chat about the film, they gave you a rough draft of the script which you read through on the spot. It read like a classic action romance that had the lead female tackling female stereotypes of being the damsel in distress then turning around to being able to hold her own. You were intrigued and told them such. After asking your questions, the conversation turned to salary. You were prepared for them to lowball you because you were a woman and a black one at that. When they came in with five million, you didn’t bother speaking. Rob knew that you wouldn’t take it. You knew for a fact that other actresses would have been offered more. Their second offer of ten million sounded a lot more reasonable, and that was the contract you signed on for.

Three hours from the start of your meeting, it ended. As Rob finished up the details with the director and producer of the film, you made your way to the elevators with Pamela beside you. As you walked, your face was buried in your phone checking email after email and sending off message after message.

“The creative team is wondering if you’re still okay for the photos for the next publication,” Pamela inquired.

“Uh---was that the set that was done at the Botanical Gardens?”

“Yes.”

You stopped for a moment and thought about what she was asking while never taking your nose out of your phone. After a few moments, you nodded. “Yeah, tell them to send me the complete issue, and then I’ll get back to them in a few days,” you instructed.

You heard the “ding” of the elevator and waited the amount of time you expected it would take for the doors to open, then you stepped forward. Slamming into a hard wall, you began to fall backward with a yelp. “Oh my god!”

You prepared yourself to make impact with the floor, but that impact never came. Instead, you felt strong, muscular arms wrap around you. Those arms held you close, and you felt like nothing in the world would dare hurt you while there. When you looked, you were held captivated by the most intense pair of blue eyes you’d ever seen. They were eyes you’d seen in passing before, but eyes you must have overlooked until now. Henry Cavill.

The man was gorgeous. You’d always thought he was attractive the few times you’d see him in magazines or even watched his movies. It was a fact that you didn’t dare dispute. Why would you? With him, this close you couldn’t believe just how gorgeous he was. One man definitely had no business being this beautiful, you thought to yourself. You couldn’t believe his attractiveness. You should have been immune to it being an actress who’d dealt with some of the industry’s finest but here and now you felt like a fish out of water. You’d never had this strong of a reaction to a man before.

“Are you all right?”

You saw his mouth moving, but you couldn’t hear a word he said. His arms around your waist tightened. You now had a perfect view of his completely symmetrical face that had the most chiseled jaw you’d ever seen. His skin was flawless, and the stray curl on his forehead was calling your name, begging you to reach out and just touch it.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” His voice finally broke through the hormone-induced haze in your head.

“Oh my god. Yes. I’m okay.”

Henry’s eyebrows were etched together, giving you an inquisitive look.

“Are you sure?”

“No.” You sounded as if you were faint, and honestly, you kind of felt like it too.

“Let’s stand you up. Here we go.”

Slowly Henry set you up onto your feet before he let you go. Once he did, you wobbled, which had him reaching his arms out to you again to steady you. “I’ve got you.” His British accent was heaven. It was enough to have you staring at his mouth every time he spoke.

“Are you okay?”

Realizing how you were behaving, you remembered just who the hell you were and cleared your throat while straightening your back.

“Yes, I’m okay. I’m—I’m sorry,” you began.

“No, it was probably my fault. I was so wrapped up in my phone.”

“Me too,” you blurted out. The two of you smiled together, and it was right there you felt your heart skip a beat. Again, you cleared your throat and looked away from his hypnotizing eyes. “Uh, I’m sorry again. However, I am—uh—late for another meeting,” you finished.

“Absolutely.” Henry stepped to the side, giving you access to the elevator. After bending to retrieve your phone that had made its way into the elevator, you leaned onto the wall of the car, waiting for Pamela to file in. As she did, your eyes met Henry’s again, and that was where they stayed. It wasn’t until the doors closed, and you were somewhat alone, did your body begin to relax. Slouching back, you pressed your palm to your belly, hoping to calm the butterflies you felt fluttering away.

“Holy shit,” you whispered out loud while fanning yourself.

The remainder of the day, you were not your usual self. Normally you were a force to be reckoned with and able to charm any exec or paparazzi. That was not the case after you left the building. You were dazed and flustered. You even had a hard time following the meetings that followed. Your head just simply was not in the game, and that was a first for you. Your father had taught you long ago that keeping your head in the game was the best way to achieve all your goals. He taught you everything he knew, and your mother taught you then some.

You knew just who he was. Henry Cavill. You’d seen all the movies he’d been in regarding Superman because he was your favorite superhero. You’d seen his Mission Impossible movie and even his Man from U.N.C.L.E movie. He was all the buzz now because of his massive casting as Geralt of Rivia in The Witcher. Everyone had his name in their mouth.

At the most inopportune time, you found yourself thinking back to his face, his eyes, or his mouth and reminiscing about the feel of his arms around your waist. It was embarrassing. You felt like an amateur. You didn’t get starstruck. It wasn’t a thing for you because you’d been around celebrities since very early in your career. This was a first, and it was quickly getting old. Thanks to how long the day ran, you only had time to run home to quickly change your clothes in order to make your flight out of LA that night.

Once the plane took off, you were reclined back in one of the luxurious seats with a glass of fruit-infused Perrier water and a bowl of kettle corn. It was then you were finally able to catch your breath and relax for the first time for the day. Moments of quiet and slow were far and in between for you. For the most part, it was done purposely so you didn’t have too much time to think. You’d quickly learned that an idle mind invited painful memories.

Grabbing your phone, you snuggled in the seat and opened it up, ready to either scroll through Instagram or work a little bit. It didn’t take you long from unlocking it to realize this was not your phone. Once you unlocked it, the wallpaper was of an adorable dog on one side and a picture of a large family on the other.

“What the hell?”

Sitting up, you tucked your feet under you and continued to scroll through the phone. Immediately you went to pictures. The first few were interesting shots of pieces of tech and then several pictures of the same adorable dog. The more you scrolled, the pictures got more and more interesting. When you came across a picture of Henry audibly gasped.

“Oh shit! Shit, shit!”

Slowly you put the phone on the table before you and looked around the cabin to see if anyone was watching you. You felt as if you were doing something wrong. Realizing no one was paying any attention to you, you drank down the water and raised your hand for the stewardess.

“Yes, Ms. Taylor.”

“Have we taken off?”

“Yes, we’ll be landing in London in six hours,” the stewardess informed. Clenching your jaw, you nodded.

“Okay, can I have a bottle of champagne, please.”

“Absolutely. Any particular brand?”

“Surprise me.” She nodded and walked away. In her absence, your eyes stared at the phone on the table and contemplated your options.

A few moments later, the stewardess returned with the bottle and a filled glass.

“Thank you.” you dumped the fruit from the bottom of one glass into the champagne flute and gulped down half of the glass. Your eyes again landed on the phone.

“Don’t do it Aliya, don’t do it.”

Flexing your fingers, you tried to suppress the urge to go against your better judgment.

“It would be a major invasion of privacy, Aliya. Don’t,” you reiterated.

Before you even finished the sentence, your hand was reaching for the device.

“Oh, screw it.” Grabbing the phone, you unlocked it again, and while thanking the tech gods, there was no passcode on it. “Technically, I don’t know whose phone it is. I do have to get some information. Right?”

You nodded your head, accepting you were having a full-on conversation with yourself. You continued to scroll through his pictures. The majority of them are of him smiling, showcasing those perfect teeth and his perfect face. Some were him in makeup chairs, others in a house with perfect lighting, others were him at random times. After a few swipes of your finger, you’d entered pictures that looked to be of family. You could see the resemblance between him and the men and a little bit around the eyes of an older blonde woman.

Noting that they all looked happy and loving, you continued looking through more. Your finger stopped moving when you came upon a brunette with dark eyes and blonde with blue eyes. Both women looked relatively young but somewhat attractive in a simple way. You began to wonder who they were. After scrolling a little more, you got your answer seeing a few pictures of him kissing both women. That had you stumped and wondering who the women were and if Henry Cavill was a good-looking playboy.

You didn’t know how long you scrolled, but when you ventured into the shirtless ones, you scrolled a lot slower. The man was built like Greek God by Hollywood standards. He had like zero percent body fat and one hundred percent muscle definition. You didn’t even realize you were practically drooling until you got to a picture of him suggestively nude. He laid in a bed with a blanket aimlessly thrown across his groin, which left little to the imagination.

“Lord have mercy up in haven for all things that are holy.”

Pressing his phone to your chest, you closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths then continued. You quickly transitioned to his messages. Most were work-related. Six names down, you saw a woman’s name—Francesca. Not too far below hers was another—Abby. Though your curiosity was at an all-time high, you ignored it and exited his messages. For the next fifteen minutes, you scrolled through the remainder of his pictures until you dropped it back into your purse to alleviate any more temptation to ogle his body. That was when you used the champagne to distract yourself, but it was no use. All you could think about was Henry’s literal ten pack.

~~~~~~~~~~

-Henry-

“Bollocks!”

The flowery wallpaper that stared back at him was the only thing he needed to see to know this was not his phone. It was then he realized his phone must have gotten mixed up with yours due to the mishap in front of the elevator. Leaning back in his chair, he groaned and stared at the ceiling. The thought entered his mind to look at it, especially since there was no passcode on it.

“You can’t. That’s a massive invasion of privacy. She’s a lady,” he drilled to himself.

Raising to his feet, he paced the floor of his hotel room. Most days, he felt like he lived in hotel rooms rather than his flat in London. He groaned, feeling the ache to his muscles, he needed a vacation. Working every day, nonstop was staring to wear its toll on his body. He got lost in thoughts on a possible vacation for a few minutes before the light of your phone on the table brought his attention back. His struggle was something real. On the one hand, he wanted to look so badly, but on the other, he wanted to respect your privacy.

The battle waged on for an hour until he gave in to curiosity and delved into your phone. The first place he went was to your pictures. As soon as he scrolled, he was blown away. You were gorgeous. The first few rows of pictures had you all dolled up in makeup, lashes, lipstick, and all. He spent a lot longer examining those pictures than he should have. When he got to the ones of you fresh-faced, he found himself drooling. While you were gorgeous with makeup, you were breathtaking without. He marveled in the way your skin looked to be glowing, and the way your lips looked so supple—kissable. It took everything in him to move on.

There were pictures of you with who he assumed were your friends, in these pictures you looked happy and it wasn’t long before he found a favorite one of you.

“Christ, she’s too beautiful.”

As he scrolled, he stopped in his tracks at one of you in a bikini, and his jaw dropped. Every inch of you was perfect. You had not one flaw. When you bumped into to him earlier, he realized you were beautiful and that there was a draw between you that triggered a reaction for him, one that he hadn’t fully noticed until the elevator doors closed. Sitting here now, he was fully aware of his reaction to you. Quickly he scrolled on then dropped the phone when he came across a shot of you in heels with your back turned to the camera in your underwear alone. He found himself biting his bottom lip as his imagination took over. That was when he got out of your pictures.

When he got into your messages, he began admonishing himself for what he was doing, but he couldn’t stop. He wanted to know more about you—everything really. He scrolled through those messages that looked like work until he came upon two names, Liam, and Jesse. Though he was curious, he still decided against reading them. Instead, he slide the phone to the farthest corner from him and contemplated all he’d seen and the best approach to this situation. He had to get his phone back and give you yours, but he also was filled with an overwhelming desire to know you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lee’s Note: What do you guys thing? Continue?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#kismet fic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x black reader #black fanfiction #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic #henry cavill x ofc

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snarkwrites · 3 years

Text

17.12, kissing booth, sweetpea

Title: kissing booth

Theme: holiday carnival/fair

Fandom / Character(s):Riverdale, Sweetpea x OFC, Alyssa Andrews

Warnings: Swearing, Sweetpea being a smartass, Reggie being an antagonist, and floofy kisses.

Word Count: uhh.. 1k-ish?, roughly.

Look.. I blame my niece for getting sucked into this show and fandom to begin with. I guess I just have a connection and deep love for grouchy types, because when Sweetpea was first introduced I was instantly hooked on the character. This is my daily entry for @champbucks 12 days of Christmas. Hope you guys enjoy it. I had a blast writing it. I guess sometimes it’s just fun to write something that’s not purely related to a thirst I happen to have, who woulda thunk it, huh?

Also, again.. I made the banner for this. Don’t steal or repost.

TAGGING:

There’s actually nobody on my riverdale tag list. If you’d like to be on it, let me know on my main to add you or click the lil link below and add thyself.

[ about my writing | masterlist | multifandom tag doc ]

“Oh come on!” Cheryl pouted, tapping her foot impatiently because she knows full well that I’m the only person her demanding and bossing around doesn’t work on. In fact, it usually makes me dig my heels in even more.

“I said I’m not doing it. Why do you want me to take two hours at the booth anyway, Cheryl? We both know there’s probably no one in Riverdale who will line up to kiss me. Can’t Betty or Veronica take the extra hour?” I eyed her, a brow raised.

“Actually, that’s where you’d be wrong, Alyssa. I have proof that you’re the one they’d rather have in the booth for an extra hour.” Cheryl dug around in her backpack and produced a piece of paper. I eyed her and then it, taking it with an amused laugh. “Right. You totally just fabricated this. I’m not doing it, Cheryl. Nope.”

From nearby, Toni spoke up.

“Doing what? What’d I miss?”

Cheryl beamed and went into Toni’s arms, hugging her, taking the paper back from me to show Toni and the two shared a laugh.

And then both of their gazes settled on me expectantly.

“Ah fuck. Look, I said I’d do an hour. That’s absolutely it. I’m already going to spend most of that kissing freshmen or something, shit. That paper proves absolutely nothing, by the way.” I nodded to the paper that Toni was now holding in her hands.

“We don’t have time to argue this. Jughead took Betty home and your brother’s spirited Veronica away. Everyone else has gone.”

“So have I. And I’m still not over that sophomore with the Hoover suction. Do you know that little shit tried to cop a feel?”

“Waaaa.” Cheryl mimicked. Toni leaned in, whispering into her ear and then Cheryl muttered “Interesting.” as her gaze fixed on me again. As Toni walked off, I pinched the bridge of my nose and eyed the empty chair. The booth was on a break right now. The line was pretty small.

Riverdale High needed the money. Taking on a whole other student body recently had pretty much depleted the school’s funds. Everyone else on my team had already gone. I eyed Cheryl as I mulled it over. “Is anyone else going twice?”

“Actually, both Toni and I are. Cheek kisses only, of course.” Cheryl gave me a pleading grin as her words fell away.

I felt a little better knowing that I wouldn’t be the only one being offered up for sacrifice twice. I tapped my foot and dragged my fingers through long red hair, giving it a tug. “Fine.”

Cheryl hugged me and I laughed, letting her. Even hugging back just slightly. “I’ll go take my seat I guess. But I’m telling you, my second turn is going to be a total bust.”

I caught sight of Toni talking to Fangs and Sweetpea over by the hot chocolate booth and I bit my lip, my gaze lingering on Sweetpea for just a few seconds longer than it should’ve.

,, My fantasy kiss is not gonna happen. I can hang it up.”

That was my last thought before flopping into the chair positioned behind our booth. And nearly as soon as the few people waiting realized that the line was opening up again, they started to push to the front slowly. One or two walked away.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Three times. Then a fourth. But I wanted to just get my second turn in the kissing booth over with because I’d pretty much resigned myself to the fact that like my first turn, I’d have mostly underclassmen in my line. Or friends of my brother Archie. Luckily my brothers friends seemed okay with just a hug and a peck on the cheek. I hadn’t had to actually… Lock actual lips with anyone.

XXX

Sweetpea watched as Alyssa took her seat at the kissing booth a second time. Toni wandered over, tapping her best friend’s shoulder and nodding towards the booth. “Are you gonna stare all afternoon or grow a pair and get in line, Pea?”

“I’m not taking part in… that shit.” Sweetpea nodded his head in the direction of the booth. Toni reached into her back pocket and smirked to herself while Sweetpea was busy watching Alyssa Andrews get settled into the booth for her second go. “Yeah? Well if you won’t.. I have a long list of guys that Cheryl has spoken to who all seem to say that they’re more than happy to.”

She unfolded the paper right as Sweetpea heard her and focused. He reached for the paper, snatching it from her hands. His eyes darted over the poll and sign up sheet and then settled back on the red-head currently manning the kissing booth.

When his eyes got to Reggie’s name on the list at least three times, his fists clenched tight. He tugged at the collar of his tee shirt. It wasn’t a secret that Alyssa and Reggie liked to flirt back and forth and frankly, it was something that annoyed Sweetpea continuously. To a point where lately, it caused him to stay constantly irritated.

Especially when she’d blow off their little gang of friends to go on drives with Reggie.. Or study. Or grab a milkshake at Pop’s.

“She’s only doing this because she’s part of that stupid cheer thing.” he said it to himself, mostly to keep himself from doing something stupid and crazy and marching over, dragging her away from that booth and telling her that the only guy she needed to kiss was right in front of her. And had been for months now.

“Actually, she volunteered. And she’s the only one people have specifically asked for twice.” Toni shrugged as she tried to stop the laughter. Sure it was a small fabrication in details, but Sweetpea didn’t know that, nor did he need to. What he did need right now was a nudge. Because for one thing, Toni was beyond done with seeing him mope over Josie and their little fling ending. For another, the tension in the room between Sweetpea and Alyssa lately when they were all hanging out was almost unbearable. And rather than stand back and watch her grumpy idiot of a best guy friend let a chance at actual happiness pass him by, she was determined that today was the day. She was going to give him that loving but firm little nudge in the right direction.

Because lately, Alyssa was starting to think that Sweetpea didn’t feel the same way about her as she did about him, hence all the dates with Reggie Mantle. Toni was also sick of watching Alyssa try to feign happiness when lately, she’d been down. Because every attempt she’d made thus far to tell Sweetpea how she felt wound up Sweetpea, bringing up Josie in conversation.. Or lately, with Alyssa just talking herself right out of it altogether.

Something needed to happen, otherwise someone was going to explode.

Reggie Mantle wandered over, getting into the line for the kissing booth. Sweetpea looked as if it were taking literally every single shred of willpower he possessed not to storm over and make a scene, especially when Reggie smooth-talked his way right to the front of the line almost.

“You know she’s only going out with him a lot more lately because the guy she really wants ahs made himself so hard to be around that we all wanna strangle him most of the time now.. Right?”

“You’re lying.”

“Yeah? Let me show you something.” Toni grabbed her phone and held it out. “Have a read at our text history, Pea. See for yourself.”

Sweetpea took the phone reluctantly. At first, he was skeptical. By the middle of the most recent conversation, about Alyssa blowing them off to hang at the quarry in favor of going to watch Reggie at football practice because he asked and Alyssa admitting that maybe it was time she… Moved on. Got over her huge crush on Sweetpea… He wanted to kick himself.

His eyes fixed on the booth and his jaw set firm.

He knew her well enough to know that she’d never own up to anything she’d admitted to Toni in the texts. And he knew that lately, he’d made it almost unbearable to be around him. Picking fights with her, grilling her about pretty much everything. Just purposely being an ass.

His pride was going to cost him a shot with her if he didn’t swallow it soon. And the thought was not a pleasant one when it settled in his mind.

“Nothing to say, Pea?” Toni teased, flashing him a smirk as soon as she managed to break through his thoughts and gain his attention for a second or two. Sweetpea dragged his hand over his hair, taking a breath or two. Reggie was just about to the front of the line. His gaze fixed on Alyssa, almost as if he were willing her to look at him. Catch him staring.

“If you really want her to know how you feel and not have any doubts, you know what to do.”

Toni’s statement had Sweetpea wandering over to the line for the kissing booth. What Reggie Mantle had in charm, Sweetpea made up for in sheer intimidation skill and a second or two later, Reggie scowled as Sweetpea wound up right behind him in line.

“The hell are you doing, Serpent?”

“I know what you’re not gonna do, Mantle.”

Reggie whirled around, staring Sweetpea up and down. “You think so, huh? Watch and see.”

“I don’t fucking think so.” Sweetpea towered over Reggie, his fists shoved safely inside his leather jacket.

From the front, Alyssa cleared her throat. “It’s,uhh.. It’s your turn, Reggie.” she bit her lip as she looked back and forth between Reggie and Sweetpea. Sweetpea caught her gaze and held it, biting his lip.

After a little digging, he found a badly wadded twenty dollar bill.

Reggie sauntered up to the booth and slipped a five dollar bill down, giving Alyssa a playful gaze as he leaned in for the kill.

And Sweetpea’s fists clenched even tighter in his pocket. He barely managed to bite back a growl. And after about five seconds, he cleared his throat and spoke up, addressing Reggie.

“You’re holding up the damn line, Mantle.”

“I paid, Sweetpea. What are you even doing in the line to begin with, huh? Didn’t we have a talk about this Friday afternoon?” Reggie was body to body with him until Cheryl hurried over.

“Break it up you two!”

XXX

I think when I saw Sweetpea wandering over, my heart fluttered a little and I tensed up all in the same breath. I honestly thought he was coming over just to start something. To heckle me for offering myself up to do this. He looked mad.

Or I thought he did, at least.

When he didn’t start with the heckling and instead, intimidated about ten of the guys waiting in line to let him go before them, I found myself having a harder time focusing on the task at hand. A guy named Ben who played basketball with Archie every few weekends came up and put a dollar into the basket, chuckling as I rose to tiptoe and gave him a friendly and slightly awkward cheek kiss. He pulled me into a hug and muttered into my ear, “The rowdier guys are still waitin, red.. If you want me to hang around… Hell, maybe I should. Archie would kick my ass if somebody got out of line with his kid sister.”

“Ben, I’ll be fine. I’m perfectly capable of handling things.” I explained, giving him a gentle smile and thanking him for the offer because his heart was in the right place. Reggie was next and I took a deep breath.

Truth be told, I was a little irritated because Reggie doing this made it kind of clear that Reggie was just going to try and find ways to skirt around any boundary I set. I got that this was in good fun, but there was a perfectly good reason I hadn’t really… Kissed him yet. Even when he’s tried to initiate at least two or three times now and each time, I’ve politely declined.

If this were a few months ago, I’d have jumped at the chance. I was shocked at myself when we were sitting in front of my dad’s house and he tried to kiss me the first time and I didn’t go for it then, if I’m being perfectly honest.

Because I’ve always had a soft spot for my brother’s friend Reggie. I guess that’s when it really hit me… After I met Sweetpea, a lot of things changed. And my feelings for Reggie just kind of slowly died.

The argument between Reggie and Sweetpea caught my attention and if I had any actual hope left of Sweetpea being into me like that, it would’ve grown as I listened to the words being exchanged back and forth before clearing my throat.

As I got their attention and for a few seconds, they glared one another down, I found myself kind of wondering what Sweetpea was up to. I honestly hadn’t even thought he’d show up at the carnival. I mean yeah, Toni most likely dragged him, but… He’s in line… For the kissing booth. And not just any line, my line.

My brain seemed to start working then and it hit me that in a few seconds, I was going to have to kiss Sweetpea.

,, I’ll give him a peck on the cheek. Because if I had my way and gave him a real kiss, things would get so awkward between us, holy shit..” the decision was made and I felt a little better.

Reggie finally approached the table and I bit my lip, eyeing him. I could feel Sweetpea’s intent stare burning a hole right through me, even as I pretended to be happy and interested in the kiss I was about to give Reggie.

Maybe knowing Sweetpea was watching was what made me decide to settle with a clumsy corner of the mouth kiss. Reggie muttered quietly against my mouth, “Red?”

“Sorry, I just.. I thought I could but I can’t.” I muttered so that Reggie could hear me.

Reggie gave an understanding nod and smiled, shrugging “It’s cool. Do you wanna meet up later?”. I shrugged and told him I’d text him when I left the carnival if I felt up to hanging out or going to Pops and he walked away from the kissing booth, leaving me frustrated at myself and panicking a little because naturally, Sweetpea was next.

For a few seconds, I felt bad about the half hearted attempt. Especially when I thought back on just how wrapped up in Josie Sweetpea had been and just how little I’d given him hell for it in comparison to how much hell he’s put me through for going on a date or two with Reggie lately.

I zoned out a little, mostly just trying to pull myself together and in that time, Sweetpea stepped up and smacked a 20 dollar bill down on top of the table, gazing down at me expectantly as he swallowed hard and dragged his hand over his hair.

I eyed the 20 dollar bill and eyed him. “I,uhh.. A kiss on the cheek is only a dollar.”

,, you seriously open your mouth and say that?”

“Obviously, that’s not what I got in line for, princess.” Sweetpea muttered quietly, licking his lips as his gaze settled on mine. I gulped and I swear, it felt as if all the air got sucked right out of the space between us. I dragged my hand through my hair and raised a brow as his eyes left my lips and settled on mine, locking me in a gaze.

“Is this a joke?” I muttered quietly, dazed.

“I believe somebody once told me I have zero sense of humor, so no. No it’s not, doll. You gonna kiss me or not? I paid.” Sweetpea’s tone took on a hint of teasing and I felt my stomach starting to flop lazily, just like it always does when he’s in the rare mood to tease and make it hard for me to tell whether he’s flirting or just being a teasing ass.

I usually play safe and put my money in him simply being a teasing ass, but right now, I wasn’t sure what he was up to at all.

The way he was looking at me right now did not feel like Sweetpea teasing. The look in his eyes was downright hungry.

“I..”

From the back, Reggie heckled. “What the hell makes you think she wants your disgusting Serpent mouth on her, man?”

I grumbled to myself quietly, frustrated because apparently, I was going to freeze up. “You don’t have to..” I trailed off. Sweetpea chuckled to himself and leaned across the booth, his hand tangling in the hair at the back of my neck, tugging at a handful as he pulled my mouth against his. His tongue trailed slowly over the outline of my lips and I whimpered quietly. The palm I had resting flat against his leather jacket wound up curling in it instead. His hand settled on my hip, guiding me partially over the table and halfway out the opening of the booth that we’d been leaning through.

I could feel my face heating up as people started to catcall and whistle and slow clap. When somebody said “Oh shit. Listen man, I don’t wanna die, I think I’ll just.. Wait for Cheryl to take over in a little bit.” I barely heard it, but I couldn’t help smiling into the kiss.

The kiss broke and I slowly raised my hand to my mouth, wiping the back of it across. I was beyond stunned at the moment. At a total and complete loss for words. But when Sweetpea leaned back in and pecked my cheek before whispering with a laugh, “Go on.. Finish working your kissing booth, princess.” and copped a feel, I bit my lip before pouting at him.

“What’s that mean?”

“It means, I’m gonna stick around. Keep these fuckin knuckleheads left in line from getting too much enjoyment, princess.”

“Oh, it does, hm?”

“I mean.. Unless you have a different idea as to why I kissed you like that, Red.” Sweetpea teased, smirking at me for a few seconds.

I eyed him and he muttered quietly, “Later.. We’ll talk, doll. The kiss was just something to think about.”

And somehow, god help me, I don’t think I’ll be able to get it off my mind for the rest of my time left to go in this booth...

#12 days of christmas #12daysofchristmas #sweetpea #sweetpea fanfiction #sweetpea fanfic #sweetpea imagine #sweetpea imagines #sweetpea oneshot #my writing; sweetpea #my fics; sweetpea #my oneshots; sweetpea #// gahhh. i hope this isn't wildly out of character for the guy #// i feel like it isn't but i have been wrong about a character before..

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mulletcal · 4 years

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flowers, maybe daisies, might relieve the gloom. - an a.i blurb

a/n: i lowkey blame @sexgodashton for starting this whole mini series of boomer!ash things, but i also adore this because boomer!ash is soft as hell. and also a lil d*ddy but we don’t need to talk about that. title is from wait by sweeney todd bc i love it. alternative title was gonna be from L.G. FUAD by motion city soundtrack

word count:

warnings: ashton irwin being a thirst trapping, lemon stealing whore. i’m kidding it’s just a solo ash fic w no smut but some mild ash thirst trapping.

-----

‘ashtonirwin started a live video.’

Ashton didn’t often go live on Instagram, but this shelter in place order had left him ultimately bored - writing a song every day before noon, sure, but anything after that was a blur. Occasionally he would have interviews or live-streams with the band, but on days without that he was left alone with his thoughts, and his thoughts weren’t always the safest place to be; so talking to fans it was.

It was going well so far, simply asking fans how their quarantine was going - bringing some of them into the livestream so he could talk to some face to face. One girl in particular had caught his attention when they began to discuss hobbies she had picked up during the time she’d spent at home.

“Yeah, I’m learning to garden. I have a tomato plant that is just starting to sprout actual tomatoes, so that’s kind of exciting,” She had said, a nervous laugh escaping.

“Well, I would hope that your tomato plant is sprouting tomatoes, it would be a little concerning if it was growing something else,” Ashton replied with a chuckle, the girl giving a small shrug but still laughing along with him.

“You should look into it if you’ve got the room at your house, I bet it would feel rather rewarding to be able to cook something with your own fresh vegetables.”

“Would save me quite a bit of money too. Can I grow yeast? I’d like to learn how to make my own bread but here in L.A. you can’t find yeast anywhere.”

The conversation continued like that for a few minutes more, Ashton taking only a couple more fans into the livestream after that to talk to before he decided he should probably do something else productive with his day. Something like learning to garden.

It surprised Ashton the things you were able to order online during this time - soil being the main thing. He also read that saving coffee grounds would help, and he was excited at the idea of his insane coffee habit wouldn’t be completely useless. He ended up buying seeds for tomatoes, mint, sunflowers, lemongrass, and zucchini. The lemongrass and mint was specifically for Calum, realizing he would be able to dry the plants out once he had harvested them so he could make the man his very own tea.

When his package finally arrived, Ashton spread the packages out, sliding them across the table as though he was some card dealer in Las Vegas. Thinking the fans would find it amusing, he took a picture of the spread and added it to his story with the caption of ‘pick a card, any card…’. Maybe it would only be funny to him, but it did prompt a fire reaction from Michael.

It seemed as though the reaction from fans were positive though, them taking to Twitter to let him know their excitement about his new endeavour. That’s where his weekly livestreams began. He would show everyone the progress he was making with his plants, and just in general him chatting with fans. Ashton never really thought of how refreshing it could be to just talk to the fans, without the worry of time restrictions or anyone’s personal safety in the way; in fact, it left him rather inspired, loving their fans even more if it were at all possible.

A particularly warm day in L.A. left Ashton wondering if he should go out to the garden that day - but it was the day he would normally livestream, and he was excited to show what he was up to that day. Ashton wanted to plant another tomato plant, and also the lemons on his infamous tree had enough for him to make some lemonade so he was going to go through that as well.

Clad in some cut off jeans, or as Calum so affectionately called them his jorts, and a white tank top, he pulled up the live option on Instagram and waited for the people to begin to filter in before he started to speak.

“Hey guys! Just gonna wait for more of you to filter in before I actually head outside, but I thought that since you guys love my lemon tree so much, I’d make some lemonade. Fuck, I sound like a YouTuber. Is that gonna be my next career, is just YouTube tutorials on how to make shitty lemonade?” Ashton laughed to himself, slicing the lemon so he could juice it, ignoring the comments he saw about murdering his lemon children.

It didn’t take him long to make the lemonade, making mild conversation with the fans while he stirred in a little bit of sugar and some cheat mint he had ordered while waiting for his own to grow.

“Alright, now that I’m waiting for that to cool, probably best we go outside and check on those tomatoes, hm?”

It had been weird at first, talking to himself; but he quickly realized that he talked to himself anyways, even without the phone in front of him, so it couldn’t have been too weird for anyone who could overhear him.

“So I wanted to plant another tomato plant today, because everyone can use a friend right now, you know?” He looked into the camera, a smile spreading across his face when he saw the flood of cute little emojis that followed. “M’gonna be like the Bob Ross of gardening. No mistakes, only happy accidents or whatever it was he said.”

Ashton began to work away at his garden, building up a sweat in the process. It wasn’t until he leaned back, glancing at his phone did he see a text from Michael flash across the top.

‘Mate, Crystal said stop thirst trapping the fans.’

Ashton’s brow furrowed, unsure of what the text was saying, “Okay so I just got a text from Michael - what’s thirst trapping? And am I currently doing it?”

Of all the comments that followed, he noticed one that said ‘I mean… I’m not gonna say either way but take a look at yourself and get back to us’. Another one told him that it was when someone wears something in order to provoke risque texts, or gain attention from someone.

Ashton pouted, looking down at his appearance. He was kind of sweaty, but he didn’t think that the fans would mind him being covered in dirt and sweat, it’s not as though they had to smell him. Though, he would admit that he needed a shower.

“Well, since my tomato plant has been… planted next to its’ friend, and I’m apparently thirst trapping you all, I should probably go shower and clean up. Is me mentioning a shower thirst trapping as well?” Ashton rubbed his face over his hands, a small huff leaving his lips, “I don’t know… Fellow youths, tweet me and lemme know. Also, may hold a poll later on what to name these guys.” He flipped the camera around, struggling for a moment, to show the sunflowers that were starting to sprout, “M’thinking of naming one Denise. Just seems like a Denise.”

After his small speech was over, he ended the stream, grinning to himself. He hadn’t meant to show off his body in such a way, but it was funny to know that even with him hardly doing anything but be himself they still lost their shit.

Glancing around at his garden, he felt himself swell with a mild sense of pride. He was still a ways off from seeing any fruits of his labour (literally), but it made him feel good knowing he did something with his time at home, instead of slipping further into his mind which wasn’t always the kindest to him.

Ashton realized that when he was gardening, it was similar to songwriting in a way where all of his self doubts and fears went away and he could just pour himself into it - the reward being well worth the risk in the end.

Once his shower was done, he sat outside in his backyard, sipping his lemonade and enjoying the sunshine - realizing that having to stay home wasn’t all too bad, if it meant he could reset his mind, and do some small part to help how he could during that time.

tag list: @haikucal @talkfastromance4 @softbabiestan @boyfriend-cal @calum-uncrowned @wildflowerirwin @irwindoll @gosh-im-short @thesubtweeter @heavenisapeach @ridingcthood @loveroflrh @mantlereid @inlovehoodx @irwinkitten @n-ctarinenga @g-l-pierce @thecurlsofgod

#ashton irwin #ashton irwin blurb #ashton irwin fluff #ashton irwin fanfiction #5 seconds of summer fanfiction #boomer!ash

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writingbakery · 4 years

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⤿𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐤𝐲𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬

chapter i ➳ a murder in the dining carriage; the tokyo express is comfortable, quiet, & meant to be superior travel. murder, however, is neither comfortable or quiet, and the circumstances are less than ideal.

dessert pairing; multiple characters x investigative journalist! gn reader

a/n; here we go ! remember to read carefully — clues are hidden everywhere ! — & keep an eye out for the poll at the end of the chapter !

calm.

the train compartment is quiet, calm as you slowly pull away from the station. you’ve been blessed with your own room, an odd number of passengers in this particular compartment — 11, including yourself. you haven’t seen them yet, too focused on organizing your belongings to venture into the other carriages. you’d be on this voyage for six days, you had more than enough time to get acquainted with them.

your room is closest to the back of the compartment, as you’d requested; quieter, less distracting. there was little chance of someone stumbling past your door, isolated from the other double rooms. you were here on business after all, not pleasure; you needed peace & quiet.

investigative journalism required focus, a keen eye for detail that you’d had since childhood. essentially, you were a detective without the restrictions of the law — and without its protections — & with an obligation to find the truth. the public deserved nothing less, & your determination had brought you fast promotions & faster assignments.

you were currently on your way to Sendai, on the trail of a particularly exciting museum theft — your press had paid for this excursion, so you were sitting comfortably in first class, the premium compartment at the back of the train. the rooms were at the very end, then the washrooms, then the dining & lounge carriages right before the coatroom. everything was a little gaudy for your liking, red velvet drapes and gold fixtures, but you couldn’t deny its comforts.

a rustling just outside your door made you pause; setting aside your notepads, you slid open the door a crack to peer into the sunlit hall. there’s a man & woman arguing a foot or two away from your room, clearly frustrated; the woman jabs a finger into the man’s chest with enough force to shove him back against the wall before storming off towards the dining carriage, and you slowly slide the door closed once more to avoid detection. how odd.

you settled into the dining carriage at half six; only a few of your seatmates had done the same. you counted four, all looking rather serious; you do your best not to stare & enjoy the pasta on your plate.

slowly, the carriage fills up; a heavily tattooed man in a button down and ripped jeans sits to your left, wholly out of place in the elaborate room. two businessmen follow after, both in expensive suits; one seems almost angry, scowling into his chicken as the other talks animatedly about stocks and prices. the arguing couple from earlier slip in silently, having seemingly resolved their previous spat; they hold hands, but the fondness of the act doesn’t reach their eyes.

the rest of your seatmates were there when you arrived, & you could only recognize one; ushijima wakatoshi, a well renowned national volleyball player. he’s joined by the couple, & says nothing as he eats. interesting, you think to yourself, & continue with your pasta. another pair of gentlemen are off to your right, quietly discussing nothing at all, & you can tell by their faces the conversation is forced. one is tall, with a mess of black hair over one eye; the other is shorter, a grown out blonde with a permanent disinterested expression.

the last seatmate is seated directly behind you: a slightly disheveled & exhausted looking man in a loose fitting suit. you only know he’s there by his extensive sighing, peppered by the scratching of his pen against paper. there’s a badge on his hip, & a gun concealed under his arm — law enforcement of some kind, probably a detective. you try to drown out his sighs with your paperwork as you eat.

after dinner, you move to the lounge carriage, not quite ready to retire to your quarters. socializing was important for the mind, & you were more than a little curious about your seatmates. [& perhaps you were a little starstruck over ushijima — who could blame you?]

sitting against one of the plush, dark velvet couches, you flick through a simple mystery novel as you observe your surroundings; both the businessmen are here, arguing over the best way to cook a roast duck, as well as the two serious young men. ushijima has sadly returned to his quarters, & so you busy yourself with the hushed argument taking place off to your right. you can’t fully hear them, but the taller man is clearly upset, & you just barely catch the words “abandoning me” & “petty gossip” before he storms out. the two businessmen silently watch the exchange, clearly invested, & you take a mental note. odd, that strangers should be so saddened by someone else’s argument.

all the excitement is more than enough for one evening, & you make to gather your things & retire for the night. you’re stopped, however, by a heavily tattoed hand covering the front of your book; it’s the man from earlier, the one who seemed just a hint out of place.

“ah, leaving so soon ? i was hoping to finally get a chance to speak to the mysterious cutie with the room next to mine,” he smiles, & up close you can see his tongue is pierced, & his messy blonde locks are covering a sleek undercut. you can’t help your little snort, a half-amused smile on your lips as you reply. “does that work on everyone you flirt with, or only the truly desperate?” you ask, & he mocks a hiss as he sits across from you.

“oh my poor heart, that stings. and here i thought you were nice,” he pouts, & you actually laugh; he perks up almost instantly. “now that’s a lovely laugh, i like it. i’m yuuji, yuuji terushima.”

“[y/n] [l/n], at your service,” you counter, deciding to humor the man in front of you; what more could you do, really ? he moves to speak, a charming glint to his eye that you can only assume comes from another attempt at flirting when a shadow looms over you both, & his face hardens immediately. it’s the sighing detective who sat behind you at dinner, looking displeased.

“is he bothering you?” he asks, hands coming to rest on the table, & yuuji swiftly stands despite your reassurances that you were just fine.

“sorry to cut this short, sweetheart, but detective hardass here has a raging boner for me, & i’d rather not spend the evening in his company,” he says curtly, taking a moment to savor the reddening anger rising on the other man’s face before making his exit towards the coatroom.

with the distractingly charming man now gone, you turn your attentions on your “savior” detective, who’s looking much more sheepish than the imposing figure of just a moment ago. “i apologize for intruding, i’m certain you can handle yourself. it’s him i’m not very fond of.” you smile a little, leaning back into the sofa as you eye the exhausted man.

“i can tell theres no love lost between the pair of you. care to tell me why, detective...?” he’s quick to flush again, sitting in the now vacant seat across from you.

“detective daichi sawamura, of the tokyo police department. & so you know, i do not have a “boner” for him. i arrested him for grand larceny & fraud; he’s a well known con man.” you raise your eyebrows in surprise, but a part of you knew yuuji seemed just a little.... greasy. “well, thank you for protecting my wallet,” you joke, gathering your things.

“i’ll leave you to it then, detective. have a good night,”you call over your shoulder as you disappear into the corridor; you’d had just about enough of socializing for the evening.

upon returning to your room however, you find another dilemma; the lock to your doors been tampered with, & it’s nearly impossible to open without scraping against the frame. a call to the front carriage only brings more bad news — maintenance won’t be available till morning, & you resign yourself to a night trapped inside your room. at least no one would be able to get in.

there’s hurried footsteps outside your door suddenly, & harsh voices; you pause, before it grows quiet again. faintly, you think you hear the telltale sounds of vomiting, but it’s soon silent, & you brush it off as your exhaustion creeping up on you. you’re fairly certain you look like detective daichi, & you shake your head to clear it.

you turn out your lights & curl up in bed, wholly unprepared for what the morning would bring.

you’re awoken by a blood curdling scream, just as the sun creeps over the horizon.

the sound shocks you awake so clearly you’re certain you dreamed it for a moment, before a symphony of shouts and panic stream out from the hall. scrambling to find your bed slippers, you stumble towards the commotion in your silk pajamas, pausing at the entrance to the dining carriage.

gone is the smell of pine and mint, replaced with the heady scent of alcohol and blood. face down on the carpet is the black haired man who’d been arguing in the lounge the night before, blood staining the back of his white dress shirt — he’s clearly dead, and the pool of blood beneath him only solidifies that fact. your seatmates are scattered amidst the room; some behind you, following you into the chaos, some perched on the sofas in distress. detective daichi keeps everyone at bay; “this is a crime scene now. please, don’t touch anything,” he orders, still wearing his rumpled suit from the night before.

slowly, carefully, the train staff begin ushering everyone out of the room, leaving you & daichi alone with the body. “his name is kuroo tetsuro. travelled alone, met an old friend on the train, kenma i think he said his name was,” he informs you, & you nod slowly. “i think i saw them together at dinner last night. what a horrible way to start a journey.”

daichi turns to you carefully, weighing his next words. “we’ll arrive in Sendai in six days. between you & i, their police force is .... well. they try their best, but this case will go cold faster than we can blink.” you follow along with his subtext, shifting in your fuzzy slippers as he speaks.

“you want my help,” you clarify, and he nods. “well, i’ll be happy to give it. but trust, everyone is a suspect— even yourself, detective.”

“i’ll say the same to you. for now, we should examine the scene, question everyone while it’s still fresh. we’ve got oikawa tooru, iwaizumi hajime, kenma kozume, tanaka ryunosuke & tanaka kiyoko, ushijima wakatoshi, & yuuji teshurima. i say we start with yuuji. he’s a shifty one, & no one saw him return to his room last night,” he decides, but you’re quick to counter.

“don’t you think that’s your prejudices talking? i’d say we should start with his old friend — he was the last to see him alive last night in the lounge,” you say, & daichi frowns.

“i don’t agree. i’m fairly certain yuuji may have run into kuroo last night, after the incident in the lounge.”

what will you choose ?

question yuuji ?

question kenma ?

vote here.

#haikyuu x reader #daichi x reader #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu imagines #oikawa x reader #kenma x reader #kuroo x reader #ushijima x y/n #yuuji x reader #tanaka x reader #kiyoko x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #murder on the tokyo express series #evywrites

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sherlockfanficwriting · 4 years

Text

Sherlock BBC “I’m sorry”

Summary - Based on a request, you, Sherlock’s sister, end up in a disastrous fight with your brother. Having been verbally horrible to you, you storm out and never look back. Not much longer, you have the shock of your life, but you won’t recover in a second from it. Will your brother change?

Warnings - small angst

A/N - please take the poll that I recently uploaded :) and enjoy this angsty story. its short btw hehe

WHo GON send me more REQUESTsssssSSS?? Dracula? Sherlock?

You skipped down the steps of Scotland Yard in a pair of mid black heels. You had just finished a small amount of paperwork with your brother, Mycroft, on a difficult case.

“I can’t believe I am being seen in a place like this,” Mycroft scoffed, desparately trying to hurry down the steps.

“No one’s even looking at you!” You shouted at him, lightly punching his arm.

“Sometimes I wonder how we’re related, (Y/N).”

You flew down the outside steps with Mycroft and whipped open your car door. He awkwardly bent down to fit in the medium sized car. Mycroft held his phone with one hand and used his index finger to scroll up and down, which caused you to roll your eyes. You drove through the city and parked in front of an immensely tall building.

Mycroft placed his phone back in his pocket and sat up straight. You sat still.

“You’re not coming inside?” He asked.

You shook your head. “I’m going to see Sherlock for a little.”

“Well, okay. I hope I’m not that boring for you.” He opened the door and swung his legs over.

“Never. I’ll stop by tomorrow and bring you something.” You smiled at him and waited until he walked through the large glass doors into his highly professional life.

As soon as you parked in front of Sherlock’s flat, you whipped your body over, searching for the crumpled white bakery bag on the seat behind you. You grabbed it and peeked inside the bag. There, the warm blueberry scone that was his favorite, lay idle. You hopped out of the car, clutching the bag, and let yourself in the apartment. You walked up the steps and knocked on his door.

“Come in.” He said.

You walked inside and found Sherlock reading a book on his chair. He looked up to you and his eyes immediately went to the bag. A cheeky smile formed on his face.

“Blueberry?”

“Just how you like it.”

Sherlock jumped up and ran to you, wrapping you in a tight hug. He grabbed the bag and as soon as he opened it, it was already eaten. You looked at your brother in pure amusement.

“Do anything interesting besides being with Mycroft today?” He asked.

You shrugged. “Just paper work.”

“I see Anderson’s got something with you.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s just being friendly.”

“You like him.”

“Sherlock, I’m just friendly. Not like you.”

“Why are you nice to him? He’s nothing but stupidity. He gets in the way.”

“Don’t be so rude. I’ll be nice to who I want to.”

“Did you screw him?”

Your eyes widened at him. “Sherlock! What is wrong with you! Like I said, I only join in conversation. Friendly. Nothing more. It’s like I do with everyone else.”

“Whatever. Just don’t make the same mistake again.”

“What mistake?”

“You know. You remember James. I bet you do.”

You sighed. James was one of your dear friends. He was smart. He was talented. However, one day, you both did the riskiest thing you could ever do involving crime as well as hacking. It was both to challenge your intelligence, but it didn’t end well, especially for James. You had been fond of his name for years. You never liked to remember the past, but it wasn’t all your fault. It was realistic. It was something the two of you did, but one suffered more. It was random, but you would do anything to take it back.

“Can you just leave it be?” You asked, feeling emotional.

Sherlock scoffed. “Why did you even do that? I thought you were smart. I never knew. Do you miss him? Well, certainly not, you fundamentally killed him. I just can never fathom myself doing that.”

You felt your eyes becoming ever so slightly watery. You didn’t know why Sherlock always escalated things like this. Sometimes it was too much.

“Don’t kill Anderson and please don’t kill Lestrade. We need him. I don’t kill my friends. I hope that was the last one.”

You looked at him in the eyes. He had no right in doing this. What does he know?

“Just leave me alone.”

“Was James good to you? Are you hitting up Lestrade too?” He asked, chuckling.

Your face burned and you clenched your fists.

“I never understood why you did selfish things like that. I should know. I wonder if Mycroft does.”

You had it with Sherlock. You couldn’t hear it anymore. You bring something nice over to your brother and he treats you like this.

“At least I’m not a failure in life. At least I don’t live in a trash place like this, acting like I’m smarter than everyone and constantly showing off what I can do. I don’t act like I’m better every single moment of the day. You could have been something big, but what are you doing? Solving whatever you call these easy cases in London and acting like you hit home every time you solve them? You’re just sitting around and doing what? You’re doing nothing. You’re a failure.”

Sherlock looked stunned at this. Tears were streaming down your face.

“Why can’t you just be nice? Normal? Why do you think you’re all alone in life except for John? He doesn’t count! He’s mentally unstable and troubled. He’s not normal. He’s just there to make you feel better about your skills and intelligence. No real person wants to be with you ever. Yeah, I made a mistake. I don’t need you doing this again.”

Sherlock’s eyes grew dark and cold. They lost the familiar glimmer inside. You couldn’t look at him any longer. You whipped your body around and stormed down the steps and into the city. You didn’t look where you were going nor did you care.

“(Y/N)!” A voice behind you shouted. It was Sherlock. You paid no attention to him. You turned a corner and noticed him running towards you. You picked up your pace, wanting to get away from him. You turned your head back to the road, and in a split second, right in front of you, you slammed into a car, which immediately braked. Your body fell to the ground. You heard Sherlock scream your name, but his voice sounded distant. Soon you temporarily slipped into a deep trance while your brother, panicking, picked you up.

------ an hour later -------

You started to yawn but soon stopped as you winced in pain. You touched a spot on your head near your scalp. It hurt. As you opened your eyes wider and adjusted to your surroundings, Sherlock sprinted in, blocking your view of the table in front of you.

“What happened?” You asked.

Before you finished your question, Sherlock’s long arms were immediately wrapped tightly around you. You moved your head into a comfortable position nudged against the nook between his neck and shoulder. After a few seconds, the events came rushing back to you, but instead of becoming angry, you retaliated. After what just happened, it wasn’t appropriate. You grimaced as you thought of it. You couldn’t change everyone. You tried, but you couldn’t and you shouldn’t.

Sherlock let go of you carefully and examined every part of you with his eyes.

“Are you in pain?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

He noticed your attitude and the scene from earlier was constantly replaying in his head. You began to swing your legs over the bed. Sherlock grabbed both of your arms and held you down.

“I’m sorry. I really am.”

You were partially shocked and couldn’t really believe you heard him saying this. You covered your surprisement.

“It’s okay. It really is.” You weren’t lying.

“I’m serious, “(Y/N).” I’m working on it. I can’t do it without you. This was all my fault. You should have never gotten hurt. It was all because of me.”

You looked into his eyes. The glimmer was still gone. You couldn’t help but feel bad. This wasn’t you. You took Sherlock’s hand, which was freezing, and you held it inside your warm hand. You squeezed his hand and looked into his eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. Well, maybe a little.” You said, laughing. A smile started to spread on his face.

“I hate you sometimes.”

You stood up and began walking out. “Do you want me to walk in front of a car again?” You asked.

Sherlock’s eyes widened then he soon rushed over to you, beginning to ask more questions and annoyingly pecked at the three bandages you had on.

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sleeplessandstubborn · 3 years

Text

Emily in Paris episode 3 or it’s still more accurate than American media recent coverture on France.

Ah, I had to write that title. And I am not even talking about American Twitter. But yeah. Feel better. Somewhat I have the impression that this is going to substitute the still a better love story than Twilight in my mind. But, I’m sorry, Stephenie Meyer, I am not here for that but to make a belated, totally improvised, not at all completely planned recap of Episode 3 of Emily in Paris, your favourite Instagram version of the French capital.

So episode 3 starts with our heroine running, as she usually does every morning. Why this Paris is more empty than the town where I live which has like 25,000 inhabitants? So many questions about where did people go. The case is her boss in Chicago calls. Yes, the one who speaks French and should be now best friends with Sylvie but it’s stuck in Chicago with her pregnancy.

I know, Madeline, I know. It would be frustrating for me too that the main trait of my personality was I’m pregnant and on my bed. They both exchange about how now that Doug dumped her Emily’s life is full of croissants and sex, when actually is about sex. Also Emily meets street furniture. As does Madeline, too. I guess that’s not the kind of idea she had of meeting French men. Thanks Anne! Hidalgo of course.

Madeline is sending Emily the corporate commandments for Savoir. Yikes, I thought again, a cultural clash is coming and what are corporate commandments anyway (I don’t know, sounds tacky, I’m just a puzzled European), but for now there are another problems to solve. Emily’s shower breaks, the building manager only speaks French and of course our leading lady is still struggling with understanding it. Also, sidenote: manager building is right with Miss Cooper. Only problems.

Fortunately Gabriel exists and he helps her to break the language barrier. But this isn’t going to magically repair her shower and so Emily has to wash her hair in one of humanity’s wonders, one apex of civilization, the bidet. It’s supposed to be a bad hair day for her afterwards but... Does she look that different? Well, not for me! Discuss:

This shows... A character development! At last! Emily is trying to learn French, and even if her beret isn’t going to help in the task, is good to see she’s trying to adapt. Still, she’s overdoing a bit with that Gioconda bag.

I mean, girl. Relax. In order to improve her knowledge, she tries to trick her teacher - who considers a working place full of French people must be an interesting environment where to study the behaviour of the Emily Cooperius Chicagoensis but refuses the pleasure of her company if there’s not a 50 euros banknote in between. Business is business after all. Cut to Emily reuniting with my adored godess Sylvie, whose elegance and beauty only can be matched with the flag of the twelve stars in the background. Ah, Freude, schöner Götterfunken/ Tochter aus Elysium,/ Wir betreten feuertrunken/ Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!

Well, the case is they are going to film the advertisement for De l’Heure today and it’s an important thing Emily keeps her mouth closed and unsmiling because she looks stupid, at least in Sylvie’s opinion. I’d say more scary but well.

Luc and Julien receive them with the enraged face of every European citizen who just met an aggresive attempt of being forced into the American Way of Doing Things. Which they refuse naturally. Madeline just sent the corporate commandments and everyone is pissed at nonsense like giving praise in public and critizising in private. But off to filming the spot for the perfume. The location is the Pont d’Alexandre III that has featured in like 20,000 advertisement for fragrances. Here they met Antoine and Emily has the twentieth humiliating experience with languages telling she’s horny out of a sudden when she wanted to mean excited.

Emily meets the model, a Serbian blonde beauty that doesn’t speak French, that’s her personality trait. Our heroine seems rejoiced to find at least a kindred soul but we won’t have more time with the model, whose task is to walk across the bridge naked - or wearing the perfume, Antoine says - , while surrounded by men in costumes. The campaign Dream of Beauty, in short. Emily’s reaction is this:

Antoine argues this is meant to represent the woman’s fantasy, to be desired by all these men. Emily doesn’t think this is going to be appreciated by women at the other side of the Atlantic ocean and says the idea is sexists rather than sexy. Filming stop for they to debate, which seems expensive. Stopping, not debating. Without entering on what fantasies are valid or not and who actually pays attention to advertisements for fragrances - I am not one of these people - we don’t get to learn if Emily knows who Cocteau was.

The following morning the plumber can’t fix Emily’s shower. His gestures are pretty easy to understand, as it’s an universal fact that often the pieces needed to repair are not immediately available. Anyway, Emily asks Gabriel to help her with translation again. She must pay him or something. The thing doesn’t get to be fixed and Emily gets to shower in Gabriel’s appartment.

Maybe he has a fantasy of some sort here? Who knows. At the office and after her class, Emily’s first conversation of the day with Sylvie goes, as usual, for a rocky start. She has made lost money and time to the company, her boss argues, and on top of that she’s the prude police. The final straw for Emily immediately after that is that someone (called Luc) drew a dick on the Sacred Corporate Commandments. Having forgotten the fact that drawing penises is part of the human nature since the dawn of times, Emily doesn’t take well the profanation. It’s too much so she goes to lunch with Mindy.

Mindy - who is celebrating a party later and invites her - rolls her eyes at the corporate commandments and more or less say she deserves the hate because she could not expect French people were going to receive that gladly because they are against all. Well, it’s one of their multiple charms. “People like me! That’s my thing!” , Emily argues. Oh my sweet Summer child... Once back at the office, the commercial is as nonsensical as your average perfume commercial. Emily suggests a poll on Twitter to decide if it’s sexy or sexists. Bad or good, they’ll have publicity. Sounds about right?

One day I want to be Sylvie when she answers, after Emily invited her to Mandy’s party: Sorry, I’m busy. Also when she goes on with a mini the reason you suck moment: “You come to Paris. You walk into my office. You don’t even bother to learn the language. You treat the city like it’s your amusement park”. Apparently Emily can’t wrap her head around the idea of not everyone liking her and that you don’t have why to be friends with your bosses or workmates. Girl, just a civilized relationship with them is enough. Anyway... Emily does invite her, incapable of taking a no for an answer.

As predictable - don’t say you didn’t predict it - the party is a bit crowded and, leaving aside Mindy, Emily doesn’t know anyone there. Because, Sylvie knowing better, she didn’t show up. Well done Madame. Out of water again, Emily finds an apparently cute boy who engages in a conversation with her. With hand kissing at the balcony at all.

All it’s very romantic until, when they are strolling the streets and after flirting a bit, Fabien I think was his name - sorry, not checking again - tells her he likes American pussies. This is too much information all of a sudden for Emily - even if it could lead her to learn another the meaning of a new French word, equally related with felines - and storms off to Gabriel’s restaurant. Why is a thing the chef is there, available to serve her a glass of wine, I don’t know, I didn’t write this thing. But finally, finally, FINALLY our heroine says she’s going to stop trying being liked by everyone. Thank you Paris, you inspired some adult realities on Emily’s brain. It’s also a productive night after all because Gabriel says he likes her. So... yay? Since many of you have already seen the complete season, you know that things are... more complicated than that.

Of course the last three minutes of the episode are reserved for Emily Was Right After All moments. The poll is a success even if the commercial is not universally liked - but as Emily has learn this is not that important anymore -, she takes revenge on Luc bringing a dick shaped bread, or cake - I don’t know exactly what it is - which is a funny and irreverent way to respond him aaaand... finds a present from Antoine on her desk, lingerie from La Perla. Which is, ew, a bit creepy.

Aaaand that was all. I had to rewatch it because it had been eras since I last wrote about this series. I promise to be more disciplined with the next ones. Until then.

P.S. Down with Corporation Commandments.

#emily in paris

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lunarrwolf · 4 years

Text

black butterflies [colby brock]

fandom: sam and colby/traphouse

pairing: colby x self

word count: 1,963

part(s): one

summary: after a prank gone wrong, colby and his friends meet another youtuber during her meet and greet in hopes it will cheer her up

A/N: this is a self-insert because it’s a fic that was started for my own personal pleasure. it was supposed to be shared last year on my fan account after a poll was done but never was bc i ended up not feeling ready to do so. i figured since i‘m ready to share it now, it would be best to do it here since it’s pretty detailed

ONE

“What’s up guys?! It’s your girl Kirsy here, and today we’re going to be entering Freetown State Forest. Otherwise known as The Cursed Forest of Massachusetts.” The girl looked into her camera brightly, the excitement of finally being able to explore her home state’s most bizarre places setting in as she recorded.

“Wait - cursed? You didn’t say anything about that.” Her best friend and roommate exclaimed, red locks shaking as quickly as her head was. Casey had been interrupted during a well credited movie of theirs when her friend decided she wanted to go out and take advantage of the fact that neither of them had any plans for the weekend. And as usual in their two bedroom home, no morning schedules meant the freedom to explore the best-worst possible places and capture it all on film for both social network and personal use.

“Didn’t I?” Kirsy chimed, turning the camera toward her roommate who only glanced into the object before shooting her friend the middle finger. She laughed and followed the retreating figure toward the path that would eventually lead them into the actual forest. It was a widened road of dirt and rocks, causing the two of them to nearly trip every so often. The sun was just beginning to set, so the scenery on the other side of the camera was something the green haired girl was glad she was able to capture as she filmed. They continued to walk down the barren path for about forty-five minutes - trees starting to surround them after a half hour - and by then the sun had set quickly without notice and the night began. She could hear Casey muttering about how the place was significantly creepier, and an idea popped into her head. She turned the camera to herself and glanced up to make sure no attention was being brought to her before looking into the lens. “So we’ve been walking for nearly an hour. Casey is already kind of freaked out because of how dark it is, so as her best friend I thought it would be fun to do a little prank on her.”

“What are you doing?” She looked up to meet the narrowed eyes of the redhead that caught her speaking lowly to the camera.

Casey’s eyes didn’t falter from their current state as she continued to glare at the other girl. “Kirsy, I swear if you’re planning something-”

Kirsy scoffed, “What would I be planning out here? Your murder? No thanks - too much work.” She finished off, laughing lightly at the expression she received before the girl with reddish brown locks turned back to survey their surroundings. Kirsy did the same thing for the following ten minutes of their walk. The only sounds they heard so far were forest animals and the wind rustling through the loose leaves of the trees. There was the occasional crunch or branch snapping, which unnerved both of the girls until they would see some small critter scattering to another bush or inside a hole somewhere. She really wanted to pull a practical joke on her friend after not being able to do one on her the whole month she’d been gone on a trip prior to this night. It seemed to be quiet enough to where she wouldn’t really suspect a thing. As long as comments were made from behind her, Casey wouldn’t notice.

She took the opportunity when they were nearing a fork in the pathway and jokingly said something about the atmosphere of the place that would make her friend give her a knowing look. And that was just what happened. However, when Casey turned around, the main star of the channel the video would be posted on was nowhere to be seen. She turned in a full circle slowly, being even more aware and extremely careful where she stepped so she wouldn’t disrupt the sudden silence of the area. “Kirsy.. Kirsy.” She hissed out, moving toward the edge of the path. “I swear to god if this is one of your pranks-” A twig snapped from directly beside her once she got to the natural line that separated a way back to civilization from unpredictable darkness. Her heart was pounding, and tears were springing in her eyes. It had been too long of a time since her last appearance in one of her friend’s scary videos; she forgot how frightening things could get within minutes or hours of arriving somewhere.

There was an obnoxiously loud rustling coming from the same direction, and she approached the bushes to her right cautiously. Reaching a reluctant arm out, she started to move stuff away from her so she could peer behind the plant. As her face got closer, someone jumped out and screamed a scream that was deadly enough to be included in a horror film. “Shit!” Casey jumped back, almost falling to the ground if she hadn’t been able to balance herself.

She glared up at the girl who was trying hard to hold on to the camera as she held her stomach in laughter. “Holy crap, you should’ve seen your face!”

“Dude. What the fuck!” Casey stood back up and snatched the camera away from her friend, marching away as she ignored the calls of the hysterical girl running to catch up.

A small group of friends sat on the leather couch in the living room, watching a fellow YouTuber explore a haunted forest with only one other person. It was entertaining to say the least - the amount of times the media influencer messed with her friend was endless, and it only got better when payback would be put into order. One of the darker haired males shook his head, a smile on his face as he shared an amused look with his friends. “I need to marry this girl.”

“Marry who?”

Brennen looked up to see a brunette enter from upstairs, looking at the group of them with curiosity written all over their faces. “Kirsy, dude. Not only is she rocking the new hair, but she obviously knows how to have fun.” Colby didn’t hesitate to join the others on the couch once he heard the name. She was very well known in their industry; a skyrocketing vlogger who stuck to the same several categories of videos and never failed to deliver quality content. She was known to go above and beyond for her fans after having been one herself for years before deciding to dive into the world of explorations. At a recent milestone of 500,000 subscribers, she not only released new merch, she also scheduled a last minute meet and greet that had the sidewalks and almost half of the central park of Boston flooded with local fans of hers. She was someone the members and friends of the trap house admired, as she wasn’t afraid to be herself even when others put her down and criticized the way she behaved on camera.

“Guys, check it out. She added something at the end of this.” Jake brought the guys’ attention back to the computer from their phones. She wasn’t smiling and didn’t hold a bright aura like she usually did when adding bits recorded after her adventures. When she spoke it sounded normal, but after having watched her for the past three years, the boys knew when something was off. They watched the girl give the lens a wry smile before clearing her throat, glancing away as she dove right into the point of the additional bit.

“So this part was recorded a couple of nights after we went into the forest. Casey hasn’t been with me since we got back.” She started off. “I did realize after the fact that she was genuinely mad at me, and I do feel really bad about it. She’d been gone for a month before then. Which meant she didn’t have to deal with abandoned houses, restless spirits, or me and my stupidity - so she wasn’t prepared to be brought back into the swing of things so quickly. I take full responsibility for any actual fear I caused her, and I want to apologize for doing this to her right as she got back from what I know was a good, relaxing trip for her. I did apologize off camera as soon as I caught up with her and she did say she forgave me. However, she uh- she won’t be in videos anymore. And I’m going to be honest with you guys...” She trailed off, and Colby’s heart lurched when he noticed the glossiness in her eyes, “I don’t know where our friendship stands. We know each other’s limits, and while I didn’t go too far, I think she just got tired of me doing all of this. So... yeah.” She gave a dry chuckle, tugging at the end of her sleeves.

“Damn.. she must be crushed right now.” Mike commented, glancing between his friends as they all gave their agreements.

“I can’t even imagine possibly losing you guys.” Sam added.

“And over a prank - Casey’s pretty cold.” Corey brought in, changing his position on the couch and leaning forward when the girl began to speak again.

“Anyway, I’m sure you guys didn’t keep watching just to see me get all emotional. So on to the good news!” The green haired girl continued, clapping her hands together and smiling brightly at the camera as if nothing happened. Still, they could see the look in her eyes, and it was unsettling to see the otherwise outgoing Dominican that way. “I'll be going to Los Angeles in a few days on business, and am happy to announce that I'll also be having a meetup at Santa Monica Pier. I haven't set the exact date in case my schedule goes out of whack, but I will be bringing along someone special. I expect that our family's policy of acceptance will be applied to him.”

“Wait wait wait - my girl's got a man?”

Mike rolled his eyes, smirking at Brennen. “If she was yours, wouldn't she know you exist?”

There was a short amount of silence while the targeted guy looked over with a playfully offended look on his face. “That was cold.” The guys laughed and chuckled, but deep down they still felt bad about what they just heard. The ginger had been by the brunette's side since the start of the channel. Though Casey was mostly the support and a guest in abandoned vlogs and some other types of videos, she would speak out as her friend's defense and help out in any way she could. Some would have figured that a month off would have her ecstatic in going back into working with her best friend. However, it sounded like that time away made her less for the type of content Kirsy had and more against it. The latter of the two must have been devastated at that moment.

“We should go meet her.” Sam announced. “Sounds like it's free - and Brennen could use an ego boost if she does know he exists.”

“You guys gotta give me a little credit here. My channel's pretty big.”

“Yes, but has she acknowledged it?” The dyed brunette questioned, laughing at the glare he received in return. It seemed like it was a unanimous agreement to take a short trip to the pier when she arrived, but everyone was vocal except for Colby. Sam shook his best friend's shoulder, and the young man blinked, switching his gaze over to the former blonde. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, glancing back at the screen. “I agree. We should go meet her.”

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