#genius brunettes with swagger

[themaybewoman]

I should make something for my genius brunettes with swagger and daddy issues trio again…

#genius brunettes with swagger and daddy issues #psych #mcu #fringe #tony stark #shawn spencer #peter bishop #my characters #marvel #iron man #the holy trinity

[jamespotterthefirst]

Cariño (Ethan x f!MC)

Book: Open Heart, Book 3 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2K Premise: After their confessing their feelings to one another, everyone can see something has changed. Set in book3, Chapter 11.

Author’s Note: More outsider POVs. This girl loved them and will probably never stop writing them. 

* “cariño” just means “dear” or “love” in Spanish

Grace

The placid, teal waters of the lagoon glimmer like a cluster of diamonds, blending into a breath-taking gradient with the pink swirls of sunrise. Grace attempts to take a picture, but a measly phone camera will never be enough to capture the splendor.

Instead, she takes in a deep breath, convinced such a view is worth getting up early for after a late night of drinking and dancing.

“Nothing… is… worth this, Ethan,” a breathless voice says from nearby, interrupting the silence on the otherwise deserted beach.

“Doctor Allende, I am shocked at you,” a male voice responds. “You know the benefits of regular exercise as well as any other physician.”

It's a young and rather attractive couple jogging down the shore. At least, the taller of the two figures seems to be jogging. The shorter, curvier one is slouching over, dragging their feet against the sand.

“Try to keep up, Lilac.”

As they approach, Grace immediately recognizes them from the previous night at Ines and Angie's reception. Their attractive features would have been enough to make them memorable, but what Grace remembers the most is the long, lingering looks they would cast one another from across the venue.

Now, they move side by side, the tall, handsome man clad in only swimming trunks, his broad shoulders and toned muscles glistening in the first glimmers of sunlight. The pretty brunette at his side wears a bright one-piece that has no right looking so flattering, her dark hair swaying in a high ponytail.

“Jogging isn't exercise. It's a form of medieval torture,” the young woman returns, panting after every other word.

“And you say I'm the dramatic one,” he returns with a chuckle.

Lilac, not listening, slows her steps until she stops entirely, hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath. Ethan rolls his eyes but laughs nonetheless, retracting his steps to return to her side.

“Fine,” he concedes. “You win. No more jogging for today.”

At the words, the brunette recovers miraculously, straightening and shooting him a flirtatious smile. Her companion watches her, as though her unbridled delight is the most precious rarity in the world. When he seems unable to fight the urge any longer, he pulls her to him with a roguish half smile that has even Grace's knees trembling.

Without much preamble or regard for who might be watching, he kisses her, his hands moving to cradle her face.

Grace tries to glance away, giving them as much privacy as possible, but the stark difference from last night captures her attention entirely. At the wedding, there was something quiet and restrained about the way they longed for each other. Today, there is freedom and unabashed happiness in every movement, in every smile, in every small gesture of affection.

“Now will you take pictures?” Lilac asks him, adding a flutter of her lashes to plead her case.

“Was that your only motive for accepting my invitation to exercise? Pictagram worthy shots?”

“You're a Pictagram worthy shot,” she returns without missing a beat, pulling their bodies close again and sealing the coy statement with a kiss.

Ethan does not need much more persuading after that. Despite the groan he lets out, he agrees far too quickly for a man who spends the following two minutes criticizing social media.

At last, he willingly becomes the subject of many of his girlfriend's photographs, even following her directions of different poses. He visibly enjoys the role of photographer when it's finally his turn to take pictures of her. Grace doesn't blame him in the least since Lilac works that camera with captivating poses.

“Now us together,” Lilac says after a while. The words are rushed, as though knowing what the answer will be.

“Absolutely not. No more selfies.”

He takes many selfies with her.

“Excuse me,” Grace says after watching her struggle to capture the beautiful lagoon behind them. “Sorry to interrupt but would you like me to take your picture?”

Lilac appears delighted by the offer, accepting and smiling at Grace so brightly that she too would agree to arduous photoshoots if she asked.

“Alright, say 'cheese.'” Grace lifts the phone Lilac gives her, careful to include the beautiful scenery in the shot.

Ethan looks as though he'd rather be dragged off by a shark than to say the word.

A millisecond before Grace takes the picture, however, Lilac cranes her neck to kiss his cheek, murmuring something in his ear. Whatever it is makes Ethan's smile rival the rising sun on the horizon.

Tobias

Ethan peers down at the coral drink in his companion’s hand, his brow furrowed as though the mere existence of so much color in an alcoholic drink offends him. Tobias watches from the end of the poolside bar with interest, keeping his urge to laugh at bay. Such a visceral reaction to a fun drink is so characteristic of his ex friend that Tobias can hardly help his amusement.

“What the hell is that?” Ethan is asking her.

Lilac Allende is not as successful in biting back her own amusement. She laughs at once, as though she expected such a reaction from him.

“Sex on the beach,” she answers, her voice a husky little pronouncement that is meant to weaken the will of even the strongest of beings. Paired with a lazy, deliberate nail up his arm and the world renowned Ethan Ramsey doesn't stand a chance.

Tobias, still unnoticed by the couple, gives an impressed nod, respecting her game.

“I—” Ethan stammers.

He puts on a brave attempt at impassiveness after this but even Tobias can see the doctor’s ears brighten with color.

“You want to—” His voice drops an octave. “Again?”

“It's the name of the drink, Ramsey,” she informs him in a would-be innocent voice. It's promptly spoiled by her laughter at Ethan's utterly stunned expression.

“You're an unabashed tease, Allende.”

“Yeah, but you love me for it.”

Tobias pauses at the word, uttered so confidently. He almost expects a grimace from his old friend, maybe a hasty change in the conversation. But Ethan surprises him thoroughly by smirking down at the brunette, an expression of pure adoration on his face.

“You're right,” Ethan whispers close to her ear. His voice drops so low that Tobias doesn't catch what he tells her next.

Much to Tobias's continued surprise, the usually confident and vivacious young doctor blushes.

The couple spends the following moments murmuring words that are too low for anyone nearby to hear. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that the content of their quiet conversation ranges from nauseatingly romantic to explicit.

They are interrupted by the arrival of one of Dr. Allende's friends, a short and exuberant resident whose name Tobias hadn't learned yet. After Ethan's reassurances that he will catch up in a few, they depart toward the beach where a group of grinning young doctors awaits.

“Never thought I'd see the serious and private Ethan Ramsey engage in PDA.”

If Ethan is surprised to see Tobias occupying a seat nearby, he does a masterful job at masking it. Unfazed, he simply stares at Tobias, willing him to get to the point.

“I knew you two were together thanks to the rumor mill, but I didn't realize it was this serious.”

Ethan narrows his eyes, the only hint of a reaction from him. For all of Tobias's suave swagger, the mistrust he sees in the other doctor's expression stings more than he'd ever admit out loud. He shouldn't have expected any less after all the years laden with dishonesty between both men.

Still, Tobias raises his hands in defeat, letting out a laugh that is not entirely genuine.

“Just trying to make some friendly conversation,” he tells him.

Ethan turns away to face the glass of scotch before him, as though it serves as a more superior conversation partner than Tobias. Knowing when to throw in the towel, Tobias takes his drink and prepares to move away.

“Things are… different,” Ethan finally says before Tobias can move.

It's not much but for Ethan Ramsey, that is as good an olive branch as he'll ever get.

“Lilac is…”

“Different?” Tobias finishes for him.

Even as friends, they were never poetic or sentimental. But Tobias understands the depth behind the single word without further explanation.

“I can see that,” Tobias continues with a small chuckle. “It's obvious to anyone that knows you that she's special.”

Ethan looks at him then, a flicker of surprise on his otherwise impenetrable expression.

“It's nice to see you happy.”

The words leave Tobias before he has any consciousness of forming them. He is shocked—far more than Ethan in that moment—to find he means them.

Naveen

The spell cast by a vacation in a beautiful, faraway place comes to a close as their departure time trickles near. Lamenting this fact, Naveen rounds the corner of the unfamiliar hotel hallway.

He knows better than anyone of the challenges that lay ahead for them as they return to Bloom Edenbrook. He also knows that most of those challenges will be endured by his protégé. What worries him the most is how Ethan will face the strife that is still to come.

Naveen’s steps soon come to a halt a few rooms down when the door to Ethan's room opens.

“...that we got everything, babe.”

Lilac Allende emerges, unaware of Naveen and speaking over her shoulder as she hauls her luggage into the hall. She pauses in the hallway, rummaging through her purse.

“So you decided on 'babe' then?” Ethan asks dryly, appearing at her side with his own suitcase in tow.

“You decided,” Lilac returns cheerfully turning to face him.

“How do you figure I did that exactly?”

“Last night, before we fell asleep. I informed you we had a very important decision to make,” Lilac recounts quite seriously. “I asked you what you wanted me to call you.”

Ethan nods, playfully feigning interest as though they're discussing the specifics of a particularly difficult case.

“I laid out all the possible pet names and you chose 'babe'.”

“I have no recollection of doing that.”

“I told you it was down to 'bear', 'lamb chop', or 'babe'.”

Much to Naveen's amusement, Ethan grimaces at the list of pet names, his expression growing more horrified with each one.

“Just call me your usual ones in Spanish.”

“Oh, I will, cariño. I have a whole list of those ready. Lucky for you, I’m bilingual so you’re getting both. Babe was the one that got the quietest grunt from you, so I assumed that's the one you decided on. But if you'd rather I call you 'bear', then I have no—”

Ethan, who had been watching her with such a lovestruck expression since the word “cariño”,  calls her bluff in the form of a kiss. All pretense vanishes as Lilac melts into the kiss, smiling blissfully against his lips.

“We should leave now if we want to make our flight,” Ethan says, breaking apart with a sigh. “Here. I'll take these.”

He grips the handle of her suitcase, ready to pull it along with his own.

“Thanks, babe,” she says with a wink, emphasizing the last word.

Ethan rolls his eyes but smiles—a rare, genuine smile Naveen only sees when he's around Lilac.

“It's growing on you, isn't it?”

“Perhaps,” Ethan concedes. “Or maybe I'd let you call me whatever you want.”

Lilac laughs, delighted.

“I'd be careful in awarding Dr. Allende that much power,” Naveen says to make his presence known.

The couple turns to look at him, Lilac with an amicable smile and Ethan with a resigned sigh.

“Too late for that,” Lilac responds brightly.

At that, Naveen laughs in agreement much to Ethan's chagrin.

“Is there something you needed or were you just prying?” Ethan asks though not unkindly.

It is a rare sight, though a pleasant one, to see them simply be with one another, all guards down. By Naveen's observations, they are always the picture of professionalism at Edenbrook—at least to the public eye. But now, as they stand side by side, fearless and unapologetic in their affection, Naveen realizes his concern for Ethan was in vain.

“The reason for my visit seems pointless now,” he admits with a small chuckle.

Ethan raises his brows, unconvinced.

“Forgive the interruption,” Naveen goes on. Before he turns to leave, he offers them a barely restrained grin. “And for the record, Ethan, I would have chosen 'lamb chop.'”

Author’s Note: I finally wrote in my hc that MC calls Ethan babe ironically (and to annoy him) at first but they end up liking it as time goes on lol. 

Thank you so much for reading this! 

Thank you @aestheticartsx​​ for pre-reading!

#ethan ramsey #open heart #playchoices #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #Ethan Ramsey Fanfiction #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction #My writing

[itsmeevie01]

Bio!dad Bruce Day 7-Fashion Show

Marinette laughed as she linked arms with Alix and hurried out of school. Today, the girls had arranged to go out for the evening, and they were insistent that nothing would ruin their fun, even an akuma. As the shorter girls hurried away, Alya watched from where she stood on the steps. When she had transferred, she had hoped that the girl she had made a connection with would become her best friend. Now, as they neared the end of April, she had resigned herself to the fact that she wasn’t part of the other’s inner circle.

Although she was friendly with the entire class, Marinette had quickly proven to be hard to get close to. She had her life out of school, and she had her life in school. They didn’t mix.

Unknown to the rest of the school, Marinette’s birthday was coming up. Every year, she would do something small with Tom and Sabine. Sometimes she would invite a friend over. Mostly, she kept her birthday quiet. The teen knew that if she offered, her class would love to celebrate with her, but she didn’t see it as a big deal. three years earlier, Bruce had asked her if she wanted to do anything for her birthday. When she had mentioned that she didn’t really celebrate it that much, he had nodded in acceptance. Each year, he flew into Paris and took her out for a day of shopping, an amusement park, or a fancy dinner. This year, he had invited her to join him in Gotham so that her brothers could come along. Since the event earlier in the month, Bruce had been more at ease when talking about many of the things going on in his home city. Now that he knew that Marinette was already entrenched in the hero life that he had been working so hard to keep her out of, he had opened up about the times that the family had vanished during her visits.

When Marinette had eagerly agreed to join him in Gotham, Bruce had asked his daughter of she had any preferences on what they did. The girl, as expected, shook her head and told him to surprise her. As long as they were together, it didn’t really matter. Imagine her surprise, when she got home from her late-night movie with Alix, to find her parents waiting for her, both buzzing in excitement.

“Mariette! Oh good, we were afraid that you would be out later. Bruce got in contact with us, he is going to fly you our for the entire weekend, instead of just one day!” While the bakers continued to gush about how wonderful it was for Bruce to fly Marinette out for her birthday, the girl paused. Usually, as much as she enjoyed her brothers, they were very upfront with her. When she had asked if they knew what Bruce was planning, they had been cagey. Now, he was flying her out on a Thursday, and bringing her back on a Tuesday? That was a long time considering she still had school.

Later that week as she packed her carry on, the noirette crinkled her nose in concentration. She had been doing the best she could to figure out what it could be, but she still had found nothing on their plans for the next few days. Once she had finished, she plopped the bag next to her suitcase. Whatever her family had planned, she could only hope that she was ready for it.

The next day at school, Marinette rolled her eyes as Alya started to chatter at her. The girl was nice, yes, but Marinette had seen what had happened when she had started to zero in on information. Alya was not likely to let anything go, which sadly, meant that for the sake of her secret identity, Marinette had t keep her distance. When Nino plopped into his seat in front of her, he turned to flash Marinette a grin. “you ready for your trip, dudette?” Marinette smiled in return,

“So ready! I finished packing last night, so Maman is going to pick me up at noon. That makes sure I have a little under four hours to get on my plane.” Nino nodded in understanding.

“International travel is nothing to mess with. You may be joined by Chloe; she is flying out to visit her mother. Where are you flying into?”

“New York! They said that they would meet me there, and that we would head back after whatever surprise they’ve been planning.” Nino snickered at his friend’s frustration. It was well known within their friend group that the girl liked to know what was going on so that she could plan accordingly. The last time they had tried to surprise her, Kim had ended up with a broken arm, and Alix had gotten enough blackmail to last a lifetime. It was also pretty common for the girl to refer to her family in vague terms. As much as she trusted her friends, her class was more than willing to dig into her personal life in an attempt to force friendship. Because of this, Marinette tried to keep her personal life a vague as possible. In situations like this, she was grateful that Nino understood what she meant, because Alya had caught onto their conversation and started to ask as many questions as she could. Thankfully, Chloe must have gotten the notice from Nino to rescue her, because the blonde swaggered into the room and made a beeline for the duo’s desk.

“So, Mari trash, what this I hear about you leaving the country?” while Alya bristled at the name that the heiress had thrown out, Marinette sent her friend a secret smile. Chloe sent her a nod before returning to riling up Alya until Madame Bustier made her way in, effectively shutting down all conversations.

The girls giggled as they hurried through the airport. When they had realized that they were on the same flight, they had agreed to meet up at the airport and wait out the extra time together. As the duo sat there, they chatted and traded pictures, and discussed fashion. When Chloe mentioned that her mother was taking her to meet a ‘rich client who she wont name. Ridiculous!’ Marinette paused. “Chloe, that’s not the only reason that your flying out, right?” the blond gave an undignified snot.

“Honestly Mari, I wish! She’s dragging me to her ‘secret fashion show for the ages’ as she calls it.” Soon the girls were giggling and discussing the latest trends. When the flight attendants called for first class, the two girls gather their bags and made their way over to the line that was forming. When they had gotten settled (conveniently next to each other, which spoke of manipulation to Marinette, although she refrained from mentioning it to the diva next to her), they each pulled out a book and got ready for their flight. Thankfully, they both made the transatlantic flights enough to know what to expect.

 That evening, when they arrived, the girls hurried to get through security and collect their bags. As they exited the baggage claim, both girls started to scan for their rides. On one side of the airport, was Audrey Bourgeois’ personal assistant. Next to her stood the stately figure of Alfred Pennyworth. While Marinette threw herself at Alfred in a hug, Chloe nodded to the frazzled looking brunette who had greeted them. The girls hugged and parted ways, promising to meet up on Monday if they didn’t see each other before hand.

While Chloe settled in her mother’s penthouse, Marinette was buried in a pile of hugs from her brothers. When they had finally given her room to breathe, her father introduced her to a girl who had been standing nearby. Cassandra (her sister!!) smiled at her and waved shyly. Marinette had sent her a smile worthy of the sun and given the girl a hug in return.

The next morning, the two girls were the first to join Alfred in the kitchen. Was Marinette caught Alfred up on the last few months, she started to help him with breakfast. Cassandra (Cass, Marinette scolded herself) settled on a stool to watch her move through the kitchen with a fluidity that spoke of many, many hours of experience. Once Bruce and they boys had joined them, the group settled at the dining table.

When the food had been cleared up, Marinette turned to her father, “you know, you made it really hard to pack for this trip, when I had no idea what we are going to do!” Bruce smiled at her ire and easily brushed aside her worries.

“it’s a good thing that we’re going shopping then, isn’t it, Marinette?” the way the girls face lit up made Tim snort.

“B, you really shouldn’t have said that, now she’s not going to sit still for the rest of the day.” The teen made a face at the look sent his way and Marinette huffed at her older brother.

“At least I know how to dress myself nicely without having someone pick my clothes out for me!” Dick sniggered at her response before wincing as she directed her fury his way. “don’t think I’m ignoring you, Richard.” The man froze, because his sister had used his first name only once and that occasion was not to be brought up unless the world was ending. “your fashion choices are even worse than Dad’s!” As the family started to argue about the validity of her statements, Marinette slipped away, beckoning for Cassandra (Cass!) to follow her.

Once they were in Marinette’s temporary room, the girl handed her sister (!!) a small wrapped package. “Tim gave me a heads up that there was a new addition to the family, and I wanted to make something for you.” The other girl studied her for a moment before hesitantly ripping the paper. Inside was a small journal that was leather bound and had the name Cass written in an elegant script (A/N Cass is probably the character that I am the least familiar with the origin of. That said, I’m going to run off the assumption that she is learning to read when she is brought to join n the Wayne family. If I am wrong, lmk, for now, this is what we are vibing with). The quiet girl gave Marinette a tentative hug as a thank you before Tim knocked on the doorframe.

“Time to go, ladies. Your chariot awaits.” Marinate rolled her eyes at their brother while throwing a pair of balled up socks at him.

“We’re coming, boy genius. Be fearful though, this is the start of an alliance. Soon, maybe ill be able to finally compete against you boys on game night without rigging the games!” Tim spluttered at her declaration as she strode past him. He huffed and hurried after the girls, bemoaning Bruce for making this trip a ‘family affair’.

Three hours later, Tim and Dick were each carrying handfuls of shopping bags, as the family of five re-entered their temporary living space. The girls were walking together, Marinette explaining some of her ideas for different designs. Alfred smiled at them as they all stood talking together, until an unfamiliar ringtone broke the low ambiance. The brothers looked at each other in confusion, while Bruce raised an eye at his youngest daughter. The girl flushed in embarrassment and dug into her purse for a long moment before pulling out a phone that was very obviously not her own. “hey! Is everything ok?” her immediate switch to French made the others pause and zero in on her conversation. “Oh, you caught it. How much damage was there?” A pause and then, “do I need to- I know I’m supposed to be on vacation but- oh fine! Leave it on my balcony in the jar, ill take care of as soon as I can.” A beat, and the girl made a face at whatever the person on the other end of the phone said. “stay safe, and call me if you need me, yeah?” once she had hung up, the girl turned back to them with a raised eyebrow. “what? Are you saying you don’t have a second phone for emergencies?”

The next day, Saturday, was a whirlwind, as Alfred got everyone up and moving by7 am. When asked what was going on by Marinette, the butler simply smiled and moved to lure Dick out of bed. When the family was once again gathered around the breakfast table, Marinette turned to her father and demanded an explanation at the reason for a wakeup call before what she considered ‘reasonable hours’. The man smiled in return, “Today, Marinette, we are going to celebrate your birthday. As promised, this year, the entire fairly will be able to join in.” the girl protested at his declaration.

“what was yesterday? I thought that was us celebrating my birthday without going overboard!” Dick laughed at her shock before jumping into the conversation.

“well, Net, yesterday was part one. Today is part two…and the part that we think you’ll like the most.” At her confusion, Tim leaned over from his spot across the dining table, pushing a stack of six tickets towards her,

“were going to Audrey Bourgeois’ secret fashion show.” The screech that came from the youngest in the family was well worth the suspense.

As the family approached the hidden venue, Marinette felt excitement bubble up once again. She had spent the day making sure that the entire family was dressed appropriately for the event. Somehow, Bruce had managed to buy a dress on the sly for her, after catching her gazing longingly at it for the duration of their time in the shop. As for the others, for the most part, they had the necessary pieces to put together a look that would be presentable at the secret show. The door was opened once they had handed over their tickets, and the Wayne family were handed a stack of passes that they hurriedly settled around their necks as they were show their way to their seats.

When the catwalk lit up, Marinette sat there, frozen, anticipating the beginning of the show. The lights blacked out, and a spotlight followed the first model on her way towards the middle of the room. Marinette’s breath caught in shock at the beauty of the coat that was trailing down the runway. As the next model made his way out, Marinette lost herself in the world of fashion.

 After, Bruce turned to the girl and raised an eyebrow, “so…was this too over the top for your birthday?” the 14-year-old smiled at her father.

“no,” she breathed, “it was perfect”

whew! that was a long one! obviously, this one is not compleate, but it’s other half is going to be coming soon! any feedback is more than welcome, im going to try to keep these a little longer if i can...

also, what did y’all think of Alya? i’m not her biggest fan, but didnt want to make her a villian? 

#b!dbwm2020 #b!dbwm #miraculous ladybug #maribat #My writing #shit this was supposed to be short #i love Chloe #so she will probably play a bigger role in mari's life #idk where this came from man...

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Out Tonight (Part 6)

K!nktober 2020 Kink Bingo!: Nipple Play

<- Part 5

Summary: Backstory, Spanish lessons, and finally some sober sex! 🥳 (This chapter is very NSFW/18+)

For @thatesqcrush​​’s Kink Bingo challenge! And with this, I finally finish a row! 

5,420 words

The twenty-minute coffee date Rafael Barba had been dreading somehow turned into hours without him realizing it. The summer morning passed quickly until the sun was at its zenith above the turtle pond, and all of the work-related responsibilities he would have been grinding himself to death on had slipped his mind as he wandered through the park with your hand in his.

It turned out that you did have a few things in common. You both grew up in the Bronx. Though when you told him where, he snorted and joked, “What is an upstanding young lady from Spuyten Duyvil doing with a boy from the projects?”

Your jaw dropped when he told you what neighborhood he grew up in. It was an area you were familiar with mainly as a place to avoid, especially, god forbid, at night. The clean-cut lawyer in a sharp suit did not look anything like what you’d expect from the poverty he came from. You just assumed his family was wealthy.

“That’s incredible,” you said, a new surge of admiration for him stoking the fire of your attraction. You scooted closer on the shaded bench beneath a tall oak you’d stopped to sit on, your bare leg pressing against his slacks. You still hadn’t kissed, everything just barely skirting the romantic. The touch of his hand shot electricity through your skin, just from his fingers brushing yours. Neither of you wanted to push things too far, too fast, considering the guilt still lingering between you. “You must be a genius.”

Instead of boasting with the sly, cocky grin you had learned was among his favorite facial expressions, he grew serious, all but a trace of a smile leaving his lips. “I just worked hard,” he said.

“Really hard,” you said, knowingly, squeezing his hand. “Even people who work hard, who are smart… it’s almost impossible to escape that kind of poverty. The fact that you did it is…”

His inquisitive eyes, matching the foliage behind him, were strained as if deciding whether to share something or not. But he did, quietly. “I still work hard. Every day. It feels like if I make one false step, everything could fall apart. But, I have enough to support my mother.”

“And an impressive collection of ties,” you chimed.

He smirked, lifting your hand to casually press a kiss to the back of your knuckles. “And suspenders.”

Your pulse raced. Looking up and down this flawlessly stylish man, it all made sense. “Dressed to kill,” you muttered. “You wear it like a disguise.”

He frowned, the warmth leaving his eyes. You had touched a nerve. “Would it be a disguise if you wore it, or just because I’ll always be poor deep down?”

“I didn’t mean—OK, I get how that sounded. I just mean… you are exceptionally attractive. Like, really attractive. I mean, why am I telling you? You know that. Look at you.” You continued the obsequious flattery until a sarcastic smile appeared in the corner of his lips. “You know, actually,” you admitted, “I only grew up in a good neighborhood because my dad re-married rich. The weeks I was with my mom… she worked three jobs just to support me and a crummy apartment. I could never actually count on what the step-family would pay for, so sometimes I rode on boats with rich people, and sometimes I lived off canned pasta. It was weird.”

He looked at you appraisingly as he assimilated this new tidbit of information. “It isn’t easy, straddling two worlds.”

“Except you worked your ass off to break into one, and I ran away into the woods and got really into trees. Trees don’t judge you for not fitting in.”

“I’m sorry for judging you,” he whispered, his voice turning surprisingly tender. He lifted a hand and gently brought it to your cheek. You closed your eyes as it made contact, his palm warm against your skin, the pad of his thumb soft as it began stroking your cheek. You leaned forward, and he closed the remaining distance, his lips capturing yours, slow and sweet. It was chaste at first, and careful, but neither of you wanted to break it, and as it continued, his arms wrapped around the small of your back and your shoulder, drawing you in deeper as his heady scent enveloped you, the taste of coffee on his tongue as his lips parted.

“Barba?”

Rafael practically jumped out of your arms as an inquisitive voice called his name, leaving you kissing the air. The voice belonged to a tall brunette woman pushing a toddler along in a stroller.

“Liv!” he practically shrieked in alarm, straightening himself.

You looked between them and the kid, and felt like such an idiot. “Oh my god, you are cheating!”

Liv gave you a look, and burst out laughing. “Sorry, sorry, nothing like that. I’m Sergeant Benson, SVU,” she extended you a firm handshake and explained, “I work with Barba on a lot of cases.” She turned back to Barba with an amused smirk. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your date, I just couldn’t believe my eyes. Counselor, I didn’t realize you had a personal life.”

“It’s a new thing I’m trying. How’s Noah?”

“He’s perfect,” she smiled, cooing at the curly-haired child. “He loves the turtles, so we’re going down to the pond. Beautiful day for a nature walk.”

“She knows every tree,” Barba volunteered, puffing his chest out with the same cockiness he used to talk about himself, tipping his head at you. “Go ahead, test her.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Liv said, bemused. She gave a polite nod and a reminder that she still owed Barba a coffee for some legal thing he had come through on (which only gave you a slight pang of jealousy), and then waved goodbye, walking down the path toward the water.

You sat in silence, recovering. Barba was obviously scandalized to have been caught in a compromising position by a colleague, the tips of his ears turning red. You were glad she wasn’t his wife, but didn’t love having to suddenly confront the fact that he had an entire social life you knew absolutely nothing about. It sort of ruined the intimacy of the moment, tearing the cardboard moon out of your sky too soon.

Barba broke the silence first with a low, drawn-out groan. He turned to you, his eyes soft but flashing with passion, taking your hands in his again. “If we start seeing each other… there is a good chance you will get to know Liv in some capacity.” He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, and on the exhale beseeched, “You cannot tell her how we met.”

The earnestness with which he implored you, holding both your hands, made you burst out laughing. He did a poor job hiding his smile as he watched you double over. When you finally contained yourself, you pecked an innocent kiss to his lips. “We can say we met at a bar. We don’t have to mention all the, uh...” Karaoke. Drunken shenanigans. Dubious consent. Whatever you call we-didn’t-have-penis-in-vagina-sex-but-you-fingered-me-until-we-orgasmed. He grimaced with you as you both recalled all of the things you would not be telling anyone about your meet-cute. Then you started remembering his fingers gliding in and out of you, his hungry lips marking up your skin, and a warm shiver ran down your back. He swallowed, seeing the lustful heaviness creep into your eyes and responding with his own.

He nearly kissed you again, wrapping you in a passionate embrace that would have hastened you to a bedroom, but you pulled back. He said “seeing each other.” You thought this was a fun fling with no strings attached, and the idea that he was already thinking about more made your heart sink with guilt. “I should tell you...”

You never got to finish your thought. Liv had only gotten fifty feet when her phone rang. She was yelling into it frantically, demanding answers. Barba’s phone buzzed with an incoming message. Liv stormed back up the path, waving to him. “There’s been a… development,” she said, censoring the case details in your presence. “They need me at the precinct. You’re probably going to want to come, too.”

“I believe I am already being summoned,” he replied, checking his phone.

“Good. I need to call the sitter. Please let everyone know I’m on my way.” She hurried off, and any hint of flirtation was gone from Barba’s eyes as he stood, fully back in cold lawyer mode as he made a phone call, then another to order a Lyft.

He was already walking with quick, purposeful steps toward the nearest exit of the park when he hung up his last call and turned back to you apologetically. You had been trailing behind him, unsure if he wanted you to follow, and didn’t miss that you were an afterthought. But his regret was sincere. And the truth was, you didn’t mind this serious version of Barba at all—the sober Barba who poured his soul into getting justice and would forget a date he had been enjoying the instant duty called—because you’d seen the drunk version who fell apart, sobbing in your arms when he let down the victims. He had a hard side and a soft side, and so far, there was nothing about him that you didn’t like.

Oh god, you had a crush on him.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. It’s an emergency,” he explained, brow furrowed heavily over yearning green eyes.

Oh god, this was only supposed to be a one-night stand. Maybe a few nights, but a stand nonetheless. How dare he look at you like that?

“It’s alright. It sounds important,” you half smiled.

“Can I call you later?” he asked. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and he had none of the confident swagger usually in his voice. It was a small, hopeful sort of question that told you there were real emotional stakes to your answer.

Oh god, did he have a crush on you, too? Did you have a crush on each other? This was terrible!

Drawn in as if by a magnetic pull, you closed the short distance, threaded your hands between his arms and body, and clasped them together behind his back. His lips quirked as his confidence returned. His hands cupped the sides of your face, then his mouth crashed against yours, fired with all of the passion of desire realized and reciprocated, relief, and longing. It was the type of kiss that would have been drawn out and sensual if it hadn’t been condensed by necessity into a hurried goodbye. You were out of breath and overheated when he broke it, seconds later.

“I’ll be waiting,” you breathed. He gave a hungry growl and a sharp, promising stare that sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core before running to catch his ride.

***

Barba hated intelligent psychopaths. Even after they’d been put away, there was always some new appeal to fight, a new witness to come forward, some clever misdirection to cast their crimes into doubt. He’d been running around since noon working out deals with witnesses, obtaining warrants, and warning Liv’s detectives that they were being played. Now the sun was hanging low in the sky, and he realized he had never heard Carmen’s futile warning for him to go home already because his secretary didn’t work on weekends when he was pulling overtime. It was just him and his headache.

The time. What time was it?

He sat bolt upright in his leather office chair and groped for his phone. There was a notification from you from an hour ago that he vaguely recalled hearing buzz.

“How’s the emergency?”

He cursed and checked the time. It was getting late. Too late to make a reservation at any of the swankier restaurants he could take you. But he called you anyway, and was delighted when you answered.

“Hey. It’s Barba,” he said.

“I know,” said your amused voice on the other end of the line. “Your contact is in my phone, Sexy Karaoke Lawyer.”

He groaned in a way that was secretly a laugh. “Alright, Lorax. Are you free tonight? I’d like to take you to dinner. Actually, I thought I could make dinner. At my place?”

You gasped with mock scandalization. “Is this a booty call, Mr. Barba?”

He choked. “No. I just—” He stopped stammering when you started cackling like a grinning idiot, and his voice dropped low. “What if it is?”

The sudden shift in confidence caught you off guard, and he heard you swallow. “Then I’ll be there.”

***

It had been ages since he’d had time to make his abuelita’s costillas de puerco recipe. Or rather, it had been ages since he’d made time, considering he hardly had the time to do it now. He rushed through the corner deli at lightning pace to pick up what he needed, and rushed through prep, knowing you’d be over in less than an hour.

He had no idea why he felt such a drive to impress you. Why he needed to see you again so soon when you’d spent hours by his side that morning. The entire short time he had known you had been strange, anxiety-inducing, and guilt-ridden, but instead of hating you, he found himself wanting more.

The truth he didn’t want to admit was, every interaction with you, no matter how awkward, had been underscored by a potent sexual chemistry, and at the moment, he was nothing but a horny teenage boy who wanted to get laid.

That was all. This was some mid-forties hormonal resurgence. Madre de dios, it was a midlife crisis.

Or maybe this was what happened when he stopped getting in his own way. He’d spent years nursing a broken heart, years that turned into decades guarding himself against anyone getting too close. He never thought he’d feel this way again for somebody new. It was too late in life to meet someone who would know him as well as his childhood friends from el barrio, and they were all married by now. But he’d opened himself up just an inch, just for a night, by mistake, and let someone see past the hard, cynical facade, and now he wanted you to know him. He wanted to know you. He wanted to see how this ended. Maybe this was a revelation.

His heart jumped in his chest at the buzz of the door intercom.

***

“Hola, Rafael,” you greeted, and he grinned at the way you pronounced his name with the correct accent. “Oh my gosh, what smells amazing?”

He stood aside and nodded you in. The apartment was tiny, as most city apartments are, but tidy and well decorated. You were immediately drawn to the sturdy dining room table made of solid burl, and admired the natural chaotic pattern of the grain.

“It needs fifteen more minutes,” he said, observing with amusement how you completely ignored the good silver he’d broken out and started stroking the wood.

“What ever shall we do to pass the time?” you pouted innocently. Barba growled low in his throat, cupping a hand around your hip to draw you close, and you responded by pressing your hips flush against his, smiling lustily. Well, you had more or less agreed that dinner was a pretense for a booty call—no reason not to get right to it.

You hadn’t changed, but he was wearing a more casual wine-colored cashmere sweater, and you ran your hand up it, relishing the velvet softness under your palm as well as the shape of his chest. His lips met yours hot and searching, but didn’t stop there. They trailed over the side of your mouth, kissing down your jaw. He pressed wet, hungry kisses along your neck, and you moaned as his tongue lapped over the soft underside of your throat, his hands gliding over your hips. He pulled back by an inch. “Are you sure… you want this?” he murmured.

“God yes,” you moaned with your lips in his perfect salt-and-pepper hair, arousal raising your temperature as your body responded to his touch. “You haven’t been drinking this time?”

“Not a drop,” he replied huskily, somehow making it sound lewd as he resumed kissing the crook of your neck, and over your shoulder. You curled your fingers through his hair, and backed you up until your legs hit the edge of the table, and rested your weight against it, enjoying the feeling of being pinned as you angled your pelvis to grind against his growing erection.

“Oh, Rafa...” you moaned. “Can I call you Rafa?” you asked, not sure if the nickname was too personal. With the emotional baggage of your first night together, you hadn’t been sure if being on a first-name basis was respectful enough.

“You can call me anything you want,” he purred, his teeth gently pinching your shoulder.

You made a deep, chesty noise, sinfully considering that. “Don’t give me such broad permission, or you might regret it… papi.”

He groaned, and you felt his cock kicking against your cunt. Bunching up your skirt over your hips, you rocked your hips against him, panting just from feeling the strength of his arousal through his clothes. “Yes,” he hissed softly, holding you firmly against him as he worked his clothed erection against your panties, growing more excited with every mewl and shudder it drew from your lips. “That night was… moronic… but I remember the way I felt… how much I wanted you.” He turned his head and sucked a light bruise into your neck. “Do you still feel that way?”

You dipped your head to coax him back to your mouth, his pink lips wet with saliva as your tongue tasted them. “I wanted you to fuck me so bad,” you groaned, jerking your hips for emphasis on the word fuck. “But your fingers are very skilled… and your mouth...” You kissed him again, and felt his hand reach between your legs to slide your panties off.

His fingers paused halfway down the elastic. “Is this moving too fast?” he panted, suddenly trying to be reasonable. The kind of thing you would worry about if you were building a long-term relationship.

“Shh,” you hushed him gently. “I don’t want to think about too fast or too slow, or how different our lives are, or what’s going to happen after tonight. We’re just two strangers having fun. Can’t it just be that?”

He kissed you so softly, then. So tenderly that he could only have been subliminally trying to convince you of something more. His heart drummed with possessive affection; he already knew he wanted more than just tonight. At least the primitive, reckless part of him that didn’t overthink and over-plan every decision did. The rational part of him and the part that would say anything to please you came to an accord as he nodded, lips moving against your skin, “It can be.”

You grabbed his wrist and helped him slip your underwear the rest of the way off, stepping out of them and kicking them aside. His fingers didn’t immediately plunge themselves into your drenched folds, and his hips didn’t immediately return to grind against your wetness. His intelligent, cocky green eyes gave you a probing stare.

“Y qué quieres hacer esta noche?” he purred, low and seductive, giving you a choice.

“Oh, papi, me encanta cuándo hablas español. I want you to do anything you want to me. Anything,” you moaned, fairly certain that, with one or two exceptions, you really meant it. This man turned you on in ways you’d never experienced. There was nothing you wouldn’t try if he wanted it, and you knew he’d stop the second you asked, which made you feel bolder.

He chuckled. “Don’t give me such broad permission, dulce naturalista.”

The promise of mischief in his voice made you shiver, your cunt dripping. “Anything, papi. I just… want to know that you want me.”

He hummed. “This dress, this flimsy thing,” he hooked his index fingers through the narrow shoulder straps and tugged. “Did you know I’ve been staring at it all day, thinking about doing this?” He pulled the front down, just by a few inches, and freed your nipples. He dipped his head, and you gasped as he took one in his mouth.

“Oh god, it feels so good,” you whined as he began to suck, rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger. It was like he had a direct connection to your clit. He wasn’t even touching you there, but a hot pressure began to build between your legs as he devoured your sensitive nipples.

Then he suddenly released, your hard peak popping out of his mouth with a wet sound, and you whined for him not to stop. “Tu no dominas el español, verdad?” he asked.

“Qué?” you blurted, confused, but answering his question by not understanding it.

“I didn’t think so,” he said, a devilish look in his eyes. “You need practice, so I’ve decided I’ll only give you what you want if you say it in Spanish.”

“Pero… Qué pasa si… yo no sé… how to say it in Spanish?” You did want to learn more dirty talk, but this game didn’t seem fair. You wanted him to keep sucking your tits.

“You said I could do anything I wanted...” he reminded you, bringing his hand back to one of your breasts and kneading it tormentingly slowly. “Si no lo sabes, intenta. Practica, practica, practica.”

You wondered if this was some sort of dominance thing, or if he just liked watching you struggle with his native language. It was a bit exciting, though, you had to admit. Your pulse was racing with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment, because you genuinely had no idea how to say what you wanted. “Mis… pechos? Tu lengua. Por favor.” you pointed from his mouth to your breasts.

“Por favor, chupa mis pezones,” he corrected. “Repite.” You repeated it, and before you’d finished the last syllable, he replied, “Con gusto,” and began stimulating your nipples to the point of torture with his nimble lawyer’s tongue.

“Oh god,” you whimpered, your voice high and pleading, “It feels so good.” You bucked your hips into his and curled your fingers around the back of his head trying to force him to keep going, but he pulled back.

“En español,” he chided.

“En serio?!” you complained, but he simply watched you with his eyebrows quirked, waiting. “Me siento bien?” you tried. He smiled approvingly and lowered his sultry mouth to your skin again, flicking your hardened peak while pinching it between his lips. This time he pushed his hips back against yours so you could feel the heat of his erection on your pussy, and it sent new waves of electricity coursing through your body, which was already heaving just with the attention to your breasts. “Por favor, más... Oh god, yes,” you whimpered.

“Qué sabor muy rica, tu piel,” he murmured, muffled in your skin. “You taste delicious.” The vibrations from his speech tore a choked whimper from your lips, and you bucked your hips against his cock.

You bit down on your lower lip, fighting your rising climax even as you lifted one leg, wrapping it over his hip, to hasten it. “I’m gonna—oh god, you’re going to make me come just from this!”

“Voy a venir,” he coached you in a firm, teacher-like voice that nearly made you double over with arousal. “O puedes decir, ‘Me vas a poner a venir.’”

“M-me pon… ah!” he lightly nipped at your sensitive peak, turning the rest of what you were trying to say into helpless babble. “Please, please fuck me… oh god.” Before he could correct you, you remembered what he’d taught you in the bar right before begging you to leave with him so he could fuck your brains out. “Dámelo duro, papi.”

His whole body shuddered as he took in a shaking breath, but sober Barba never lost control until he decided to surrender it. As much as he wanted to fuck you, he was having too much fun teasing you. “You could also say, ‘Quiero que me coges,’” he explained academically, and you growled with frustration, writhing under him, your cunt seeking purchase against his cock. “If you’re going to speak a language, you’ve got to practice it,” he said, his voice far too calm and even for the circumstance, even with its wicked undertone.

“Dámelo! Por favor! Dáme tu pinga!” you begged frantically, rapid-firing off every way to ask for his cock that you could think of. You reached between your bodies and grasped his engorged sex through his tightened pants and stroked him hard from balls to tip. Your efforts were rewarded with an involuntary whine, Barba’s hips jerking forward.

“Me rindo,” he whimpered in surrender. His breath was ragged and he looked ready to fall apart. You purred with victory, but as you slowed the furious pace of your stroking, he recovered enough of his senses to smirk through his lust. “Pero primero, quiero saborearte.” His voice was thick, and his eyes dark as a tropical storm on a Caribbean island. He lifted the leg you’d wrapped around him up onto the table, and knelt beneath you. “Con tu permiso?”

You nodded, gasping sharply even before his tongue made contact with your soaked pussy just from the obscene expression on his face as he opened his mouth and extended the point of his tongue as he slowly leaned toward you. Your hands braced behind you on the table for support. Then you cried out loud when that tongue did hit you, slightly cold from the air, but quickly warming to match you as his mouth closed over your whole cunt. “Ah, que rica,” he sighed into your pussy, lapping at your slippery arousal with broad, languid strokes of his tongue, unhurried, as if he were aiming for no particular goal but to enjoy your flavor. “So wet for papi. Qué buena estudiante eres. Good students should be rewarded.”

He finally stood back up to his full height in front of you and removed his pants and underwear, letting them fall around his ankles, and his cock sprang free. You gaped down at it in awe. “Oh god, look at that cock,” you practically drooled. You automatically reached down and started stroking it, babbling on about what a thick, beautiful cock it was. He was too lost in the touch of your fingers wrapped around his shaft to even complain that it wasn’t Spanish.

“Ah, condoms!” he interjected before pushing himself inside you like every muscle in his body was screaming to do. “I’ve got some in the bedroom.”

You chewed your lip, not sure if this would come off the wrong way since he wanted to be responsible, but you slowly said, “We don’t need to use one if you don’t want. I’m on the pill, and I don’t have any STDs.”

His stormy eyes pierced into you, clearly tempted, but he couldn’t help remarking cynically, “If you give me a disease, I swear...”

“I’m afraid I don’t have my medical records on me, so I understand if you don’t want to take my word for it. I don’t know why I’m blindly trusting you.” That was a lie. Everything about Rafael Barba screamed precision, caution, and consent, and even after such a short time knowing him, you were absolutely certain he would never put you at risk. In fact, there was no way he’d ever have unprotected sex with a stranger.

Except his very next words were, “Fuck it,” and he hooked his arm under your elevated leg, and began rubbing his thick cock through your folds, coating it with your slick arousal. “You are absolutely sure you want this?” he looked at you with soft, understanding eyes, checking for any doubts.

You let out a needy whine, rolling your hips to rub your pussy against the tip of his fat cock. “Te quiero,” you whimpered, intending to say you wanted it, but his cheeks reddened and his heart flipped as you said something better translated as I love you.

You wouldn’t realize your mistake until much later, thinking back on it, or understand why his face was suddenly frozen between tenderness and panic, and then dawning realization, relief, and a small, barely noticeable wince of disappointment.

He entered you slowly, letting you feel every inch of stretch from his cock. Like the rest of his build, it was not the longest you had ever seen, but it was impressively girthy, and each blissful inch he worked you open brought the slightest fraying edge of pain. He knew his size could be a challenge, and was practiced at preparing, and patience. You were already so dripping wet, you didn’t need extra lube, though he had it on standby, and watched you carefully, pausing to let you rest every time he advanced. As he waited, feeling your walls relax to accept him, he ducked his head to your breasts, savoring the helpless squeals you made when he gave attention to what he learned was one of your most sensitive erogenous zones. Every time he flicked his tongue over your nipple or sucked its hardened peak into his mouth, your cunt twitched around him and your back arched to take more of him. It worked so well, he never stopped teasing your breasts, and your silent cries of, “Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god!” grew in intensity until you were screaming with pleasure, fist clenched in his hair as you held him to your chest, and his balls were pressed tight against your ass.

Panting hard and moaning into your breasts, he began to thrust, slowly at first, but you wrapped your legs around his back and used them as leverage to buck your hips into him, pushing back into each of his thrusts, deepening them and coaxing him to increase his pace. As you angled your hips, he began hitting a deep point inside that made your legs turn to jelly. “Dámelo bien duro,” you tried to say, but it mostly came out as unintelligible gasps and whimpers. His mouth never left your tits and you loved the angle it gave you, being able to watch his face, strained with concentration and clouded with lust, and his tongue working diligently to bring you to a climax that took you off guard with how suddenly it crashed over you. You couldn’t say there was no buildup to it, because you had been in throes since he first pulled down your dress, but he had barely begun to thrust when the heat coiling in your lower back suddenly tightened and snapped, shooting sparks behind your eyelids. “Ah—Rafa!” you wailed, squeezing your fingers in his hair.

He gasped, releasing the globe of your breast from his mouth at the wracking of your body in his arms. Your pussy convulsed, clenching tightly around his cock, coating it in your sweet release, almost too tight for him to thrust through. One more jerk of his hips through your rippling, fluttering muscles and he let out a string of swears, and you felt his abdominal muscles tense up against your belly. He pulled back and thrust into you once more, balls swinging against your ass, and his hot seed flooded you. He panted, trembling, still trying to hold onto you, though halfway sitting on a dining table without knocking off any of the plates was not the most ideal location for post-coital recovery cuddling. He grabbed a few paper napkins from behind you to catch the drippings as he pulled out.

It was over too fast, a testament to how long it had been for him. Both of you, really. But you weren’t disappointed. He made you come almost entirely with that silver tongue of his, and you were still shaking too much to take your weight off the table and put it on your legs.

The timer on the oven rang shrilly, announcing dinner was done.

“After dinner,” he promised, pulling his pants back on. “Quiero más de tu cuerpo.”

You were satisfied, but not yet sated, and looked forward to round two.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

@beccabarba​ / @caked-crusader / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @da-po / @madamsnape921 / @charlottegrice / @onerestein

#Rafael Barba x Reader #Rafael Barba #Raúl Esparza #rafael barba x female reader #my writing #thatesqcrush kink bingo #thatesqcrush

[jordswriteswords]

I Don't Believe In Magic

A continuation of my Clextober universe. I Don't Believe in Magic is set in the College time of Clexa. I'm always accepting more prompts!

---

Lexa drew circles in her notebook with her right hand while her left supported her lazy head. She sighed and flipped the page as the lecturer continued to drone on about mythology. She didn't even know why she took this class. It was a joke in one aspect - listening to humans blather on about mythical beings and how eerie and strange they appeared in comparison to their human counterparts - but another part of her longed to find some similarities between herself and the humans.

She easily found one - they were terrified of one another.

Lexa just didn't understand why.

Her father had scolded her time and time again for being careless with her magic, giving herself away to humans. "You can only rewind someone's memories so often before you run into trouble, Alexandria."

But, Lexa always had a soft spot for humans - always interested in the way they perceived the world and knew that deep down they were more alike than they knew. So, denounced her family tradition of attending the top wizarding school in the world, and accepted the soccer scholarship offered to her by Arkadia University.

***

Clarke Griffin was on a mission. Her last name carried the power of a world-saving doctor. Unfortunately, it also carried the expectations. But Clarke was always known to defy expectations.

That's why she wanted to go above and beyond her mother's medical degree, and double major in both medicine and art.

It was her greatest ambition.

It was also her stupidest idea.

Because, at eight in the morning, when Clarke could have been sleeping before her three hour Animal Kingdom lab, she was stuck in this stupid Mythology 101 class, learning about creatures that never existed and paintings that didn't capture anything of substance.

She wondered how high some of these painters were when they painted these things. Because scientifically speaking, there was no way a woman could take an inanimate object, like a broom, and create enough velocity and speed to have it fly.

Clarke was a woman of science. She had seen her father beat death twice, all due to the medical advancements of man. Sure, hundreds of years ago it would have been seen as witchcraft, but she was positive that the only magical beings were the things that weren't researched.

She sighed, rubbed her eyes as the sigh turned into a yawn, and flipped the page of her agenda, scheduling her free time into her already packed schedule.

***

"Excuse me, I understand that as a society, we've always been a bit spooked by the unknown, but it just seems like the entire concept of witches were solely based on repressing women. I mean, Medusa only turned the men that raped her into stone, but she's spoken of like a villain. Women who showed any sort of forward thinking in Salem were hunted down for witchcraft. I think that maybe we should be discussing the mental health of the accusers than the 'magical powers' of the accused."

Lexa's ears perked up at the husky voice in the midst of destroying the lecturers current argument. Not that she knew what it was, zoning out into a state of semi-consciousness as the monotonous voice of the lecturer carried on.

She looked across the room, noting the long blonde hair and dark blue leather jacket sitting in the front row. She felt her heart do a funny thing then - it beat with a staccato rhythm, every pound precise as she gazed at the girl.

The beating of her heart was so loud that the rest of the argument was lost to the sharp beat in her ears.

Before she could snap her fingers to bring herself closer, the lecturer had dismissed the class, and the blonde was the first one out of her seat.

Lexa grumbled, wishing that at this moment she could snap her fingers to catch up to the blonde. Instead, she had to hustle down the stairs from the back of the class, her shoulder bag flopping against her bare leg.

She caught her just as she had stepped out of the building. "Hey!" Lexa said.

The blonde didn't turn around. Lexa ran past her and came to a stop just in front, doubled over and gasping for breath. She held her hand up to the blonde to ask her to wait.

"I really don't have time for this," Clarke sighed.

"I just -," Lexa gasped. "I wanted to - whoo," she panted, "I wanted to tell you that I liked what you said back there."

Clarke quirked a brow.

"About witch hunting."

"Oh," Clarke laughed. She let her eyes trail up and down Lexa's lithe figure, noting the purple soccer shirt she wore and the short soccer shorts that left little to the imagination. "No one really believes in that stuff anyway. Witches? Goblins? It's just stuff parents tell their kids to behave."

"Maybe we could discuss that? Over coffee?" Lexa asked.

Clarke's grip tightened on her bookbag. "Thanks, but I don't believe in magic. It was nice meeting you…" she trailed off, waiting for the brunette to say her name.

"Lexa, and you will."

"Lexa," Clarke repeated. "It was nice meeting you. See you next week." And with that, the blonde was off.

"Is that the face of a girl who has been sorely rejected?" The dark figure asked as it stepped out of the shadows of the building.

"I'd ask you how much you heard, but I know you're a lurker," Lexa replied, not bothering to look over her shoulder and acknowledge her sister.

Anya laughed and slapped her sister on the back. "I'm not a lurker, I just happened to leave class at the same time. She's cute."

"She's human," Lexa said.

"And yet, that's never bothered you."

"Of course not," Lexa said with a cheeky smirk.

***

"Oh my God," Raven gasped.

Clarke looked up from her notes for a second to check that her friend was okay.

"Who is that hottie? How have I never seen her before?"

Clarke glanced over her shoulder, much to Raven's protest. "Don't look! Oh my God, you make it so obvious!"

The only person Clarke saw was the long brown hair of the soccer player in her class - Lexa.

"Lexa?" She asked her best friend. "The brunette?"

"Screw the brunette, I mean the blonde sitting with her!" Raven said. "She's hot."

"They're both hot," Clarke commented offhandedly. "They're probably together."

Almost as if being summoned, Lexa and her companion stood from their table and walked towards Clarke and Raven.

"Be natural, but they're headed this way," Raven said. She adjusted her posture to sit up taller, pushing her chest out.

"Totally natural," Clarke teased. She bowed her head just slightly, pretending to be deep into her work. For some ungodly reason, the idea that Lexa was walking towards her was unsettling.

"Hey Clarke," Lexa said, stopping by the table. She adjusted the strap of her satchel on her shoulder. She held a regal posture, swagger and confidence seeping from her core. "What's up?"

Clarke looked at her, stunned by the intensity of the green eyes - ethereal in their beauty. She hadn't seen a pair of eyes quite that colour - as though it was constantly shifting when she finally found the name to match the shade. They were light at first, but the longer Clarke stared, the darker they appeared.

"Oh, hey, um…" She was so taken aback by the girl's eyes that she fumbled over her name.

"Lexa," Lexa answered for her. The quirk of her lips disappeared at the rejection. Her eyes shifted to a sharp green before they dropped to her shoes. Her cheeks turned red in embarrassment. "I um," she shook her head. "Nevermind."

Anya cleared her throat.

Embarrassed that the girl she hadn't stopped thinking about could barely remember her, Lexa swung her bag wildly to knock the pile of books in front of Raven to the floor and hustled off, her cheeks hot with embarrassment.

"Hey!" Raven yelled after her.

Lexa got all the way to the parking lot before the sound of the raspy voice she was enamored with got her to slow down.

"Hey!" Clarke yelled. "Lexa!"

Lexa stopped walking, pulling in a deep breath into her chest. Lexa Woods was better than some silly embarrassment. She turned, cocky smile on her lips and ready to greet Clarke again, but anything she had been planning disappeared with a sharp pang in her cheek and a hollow thud only she could hear.

She fell back onto her butt, her outstretched arms the only thing stopping her from hitting her head.

"You know, you're such a dick. Bullying someone with a disability isn't going to make me want to be your friend! You may be the school sweetheart because you can kick a ball, but Raven is so much more than you'll ever be."

Lexa gaped at the blonde, confused by her words and impressed by the ache in her jaw.

"Just leave me alone, and don't you ever put your hands on Raven or her things ever again!" She turned and stormed away before Lexa could even get a word in.

***

"You're a genius!" Anya sighed, throwing her bag onto the counter of her shared apartment with Lexa.

"Yay," Lexa said sarcastically.

Anya pouted down at her sister and flopped down onto the couch beside her. She flicked her wrist and an ice bag hit Lexa in the face.

"Ouch," Lexa whined. She adjusted it to press against the blossoming bruise she had received from Clarke.

"Raven's human, but the science she used to fuse her spine and create that brace to allow her to walk is practically magic. She's so open minded. Not to mention, beautiful. She and I are going out tomorrow."

Lexa sighed and smiled at her sister. "I'm happy for you."

"I'm sorry Blondie KO'd you. I cleared it all up and told her that you were just incredibly clumsy."

Lexa shrugged.

***

"Hey," Lexa said to the blonde as she entered her Mythology class. She wanted to clear the air and apologize to Raven. "Listen, about yesterday - I didn't -"

"I know," Clarke sighed. "Raven already yelled at me. I'm a little overprotective. Sorry about the left hook."

Lexa smiled down at the girl, and shifted her satchel. "I think it's hot," she said. Her eyes widened, and she looked away, her cheeks dusting pink at her slip.

"Well " Clarke said, pulling at the edge of her textbook, "I'm really sorry. I thought you did it on purpose."

"I did," Lexa answered, nodding at the blonde, "but not for the reasons you think."

Clarke quirked a brow.

"My sister wanted to meet Raven. I had promised to introduce her, but you couldn't remember my name and I was embarrassed. But, I never break a promise, so," Lexa shrugged one shoulder.

Clarke looked down at her text. "Yeah," she breathed.

The lecturer walked in at that moment, and Lexa sent one last look at the girl before heading up the auditorium steps to her seat.

She spent the entire class picturing blonde hair and blue eyes.

***

"Hey, Lexa?" Clarke called out to her as they exited the building. It was pouring rain, most students huddling under the awning as they prepared to race to their next class.

Lexa turned and smiled at the blonde. Clarke was struck again by her beauty. "What a miserable day," she said. "It'd be a good day for a warm drink."

Lexa might have had a witty response if she weren't so preoccupied of the way the little clouds of condensation curled out of Clarke's lips when she spoke.

Clarke chuckled. "About that coffee," she said, hands tightening on her textbooks. " I have eighteen minutes until I have to get to my next class. Would you like to join me?"

Lexa smiled and Clarke blinked rapidly, swearing she saw the green of her eyes shift to a lighter shade.

"Do you feel that?" She asked Clarke.

"Feel what?" Clarke asked, unable to pull her gaze from the brunette even as the girl stepped out into the rain. She was thoroughly soaked when she turned back to Clarke.

Her smile was blinding in it's intensity. "The magic in the air."

"I don't believe in magic," Clarke called, cheeky smile on her lips.

Lexa ran back up the steps next to her and produced an umbrella seemingly out of nowhere with her clothes remarkably dry.

"You will."

#alycia debnam carey #13daysofclexa #lexadeservedbetter #the 100 lexa #the 100 clexa #clarke griffin #clextober19 #magic #accidental magic #modern magic #magic!au #magic prompts #witch!lexa #clarkegriffin #clarke #clarke x lexa #the 100 clarke #commander lexa #lexathe100 #lexa kom trikru

[get-a-new-lease-on-life]

OC development - Excerpts from the “New Lease on Life” series

develop-your-oc:

Which OC is just… really, really weird?

Hmmm…that’s a toughie because a LOT of my OCs are pretty freaking weird. Sonja threatens to fork people if she thinks they’re getting mushy. Maggie insists on ‘naming’ her Elemental techniques like she’s in some crappy anime. Dakota runs a one-woman pyrotechnics show, frequently blows herself up with fireworks, and always ends up with no eyebrows…

Then again…

“That’s it,” Leo scolded the two arguing idiots. “Do you two even know why you’re fighting anymore?!” Donatello stared blankly at his brother and Amber blushed darkly.

'It’s either fight'im or fuck'im,’ Amber thought sarcastically. 'If I stop pushin'im away, I’ll wind up molestin'im!’ Donnie’s nostrils flared, finally picking the familiar non-scent emanating from the brunette avoiding his eyes. Pheromones?! His eyes wide in disbelief, he slowly turned to stare at her. Was she seriously turned on by their fighting?! The very idea was preposterous, but it would certainly explain some things!

Bearing a tray of dishes, two empty mugs, and a full carafe of coffee, Donnie crept through the door of his bedroom backward and closed the door as quietly as possible without setting anything down. He let out a sigh of relief at the accomplishment and turned to set the tray on the nightstand. He didn’t expect to see Amber sitting up in bed watching him with bleary eyes. A yelp of surprise ripped from his lungs and he rattled his cargo. “Uh…morning?” he greeted sheepishly. Amber’s initial attempt at a reply was cut off in a loud yawn she just barely managed to aim into her cleavage.

“E'ry man 'oo goes'out wi'g'mornin’ on'is lips,” she grumbled tiredly, “sh'be fried wi'is own bacon an’ buried wi'a stalk'a cel'ry through'is heart.” It took a minute for his befuddled expression to register; funny, it made sense in her head. “Mornin’.”

“Sleep well?” he asked with a smirk; while she blinked and tried to goose her mental hamster into doing its job, he unloaded everything onto the nightstand and set about filling the mugs. “Brought breakfast…and coffee.” If she’d had the energy, she would have perked up at the last word; unfortunately, she barely had the energy to keep her eyelids aloft much less recognize the bacon, eggs, and cinnamon rolls piled on the two plates.

“Brek…fus?” she asked as though she couldn’t recall what the word meant. Donatello was laughing at her, she was sure, but she didn’t have the energy to do more than blink at him; maybe after a cup of coffee…or two…or twelve…

The small desk lamp kicked on behind the changing screen and Donnie realized his error. Though he intended only to help his lover avoid injury in the dark corner, he didn’t take into account the effect of light and shadow on canvas; right before his eyes, Amber’s silhouette was cast onto the lit canvas screens with striking clarity. His cheeks scalding hot, he found himself unable to turn away.

Without realizing she was putting on a show for him, Amber wrenched open the clasp of her brassiere and let the garment fall away with a barely suppressed groan. “God, that feels better,” she mumbled aloud tempted to fling the hated contraption across the room slingshot style. She took a moment to enjoy her newfound freedom—unaware that Donatello could see her awkwardly rubbing the feeling back into one sore breast after the other, and the unavoidable response her body had to said massaging—then begrudgingly reached for the zipper of her jean shorts. Donnie choked and tore his eyes away, forcing him to focus on the blueprints scattered across his small desk. 'Don’t think about the breasts,’ he reminded himself almost frantically. 'Just ignore them - nothing there to see - and definitely no nip-NO, bad Donnie! Don’t think about the breasts!’

When Amber finally emerged from the little cubicle, clad in her oversized Knicks jersey and a pair of modest cotton sleep shorts, she found him blushing up a storm and unable to look at her. “What’s your problem?” she asked dryly, one under-groomed eyebrow arching to the heavens.

“Apparently,” he finally admitted, “I need to rethink the screens for the changing corner…canvas just doesn’t cut it.” Amber stood there staring at him for a moment, puzzling through his reply, then with a start, turned back to the cubicle. Sure enough, the outline of the desk lamp on the floor was cast on the screens. The way she saw it, she could get embarrassed—turn just as red as the genius was turning and start babbling in humiliation—or she could make things awkward. Amber being Amber, and Amber being shameless, it was obvious which she’d pick.

“Hey, bras hurt. You try wearin’ one'a those things all forkin’ day.”

After Amber’s unexpected stint in the Hashi, Donnie should have guessed he’d find her in the barracks. Standing in the open doorway of her small vacated room, he shook his head at the sight of her slumped face-down across the narrow bunk—clearly favoring sore buttocks and a stiff back. “It ain’t funny,” she grumbled into the musty mattress; huh, so that chuckle wasn’t just in his head. “My everything hurts.”

“You expected otherwise?” Donnie retorted too-innocently. “How’d it go?”

“I am never pissing that rat off again,” Amber swore vehemently, her cheeks blazing against the sheets. “He said I needed to work on my balance…then made me 'bout puke every time I got the hang of it…an’ added time when I fell…an’ I fell a lot. I can’t feel my arse.”

“You will tomorrow,” Donnie pointed out simply, strolling over to perch on the edge of the bed. Amber held her tongue, feeling completely ridiculous and sure she just made a fool of herself. A sudden—admittedly gentle—pat on the rear shot that belief to hell and sent spasms of pain wracking through her backside. “GAH, scunner!” she shrieked rolling away and clutching her hands protectively over her behind. “The fark, Dunnie?!”

“Guess you can feel it after all, huh?” he remarked without even the slightest visible sign of mischief; if she hadn’t seen his playful side many times before now, Amber might’ve been fooled.

“Well, NOW I can!” He was laughing at her—openly laughing at her!—and still, she couldn’t be mad at him.

“I just can’t help feeling something horrible’s 'bout to happen, Dee,” Amber admitted. “I mean, think about it—We’ve been dodgin’ the bullet this long, things jus’ kept getting’ worse, an’ now we fin'ly have a break—a chance to breathe! Hell,” she swore, her nose crinkled in annoyance, “if I was writing this story, this’d be when I’d randomly gank some poor sucker to force the characters’ hands!”

Sometimes she really worried him…

Clever hands roamed Amber’s clothed curves—Donnie was just getting in a few gropes while he could, Amber was sure, nothin’ wrong with that. Dextrous fingers made short work of her button-up shirt—men like boobs—then the clasp of her admittedly plain bra—it was an eyesore, and again, boobs. He nervously kept his eyes away from her naked bust, swallowing noisily—he’s tryin’ to be a gentleman, but boobs! The running internal commentary made her feel like a horny teenager sneaking off with her mum’s dirty novels.

Normally, someone requesting a large pizza delivery to a dark alley would be a red flag for any delivery driver, much less one on a particularly dorky grey scooter. Fortunately, this wasn’t just any delivery driver, and the customer was a regular. Full helmet still in place, she examined her nails as though bored with life in general.

A faint scraping noise changed everything. “Yer late, Mister Angelo,” the driver drawled into the darkness. Sure enough, Mikey hopped down from the fire escape and swaggered over to her—that was her cue. With all the seriousness of a fashion model, she leaned back on her scooter in a generic 'sexy on a motorcycle’ pose, swept her helmet off, and threw her head back to send her hair flying…only to squawk in pain. Her audience cackled with laughter as she fought to free one of her two grey-streaked braids from the helmet’s straps. Only when it became clear she was truly stuck did he lend a hand.

“Jeez, Sis,” he teased as Amber grumbled into her covered cleavage. “On a scale of meh to holy frijoles, I’d give that an eek!”

“Ya know,” Amber remarked leaning into Donnie’s embrace and swaying in time to the Ray Charles number playing, “where I’m from, folks call this sorta music 'baby-makers.” Donnie flinched, his eyes shooting open wide and locking with hers set off by a deep blush. She really shouldn’t have so much fun teasing him. “Ya know what they say about a man who plays crooner jazz durin’ work hours?”

“…uh…?"

- Critical error – illegal operation - reboot necessary. Send report to admin? -

Seeing the panic in his eyes, Amber went in for the kill with a waggled eyebrow. "Either he’s bangin’ the secretary or he’s hidin’ somethin’.”

“So you don’t wanna leave Mercy,” Amber repeated sharply, “but you’re not willin’ to fix things unless she apologizes first? Never mind that she may not even know what she did wrong?” Raph winced; when she put it like that, it sounded ridiculous. “In that case, ya got a third choice.” She tossed back the rest of her bourbon, then snapped, “Strap on a wah-bag, whine it out, an’ get over it—if ya really care about someone, ya don’t dump 'em over a pissin’ contest.”

Raph gaped at the woman sitting across from him—stunned by her unexpectedly harsh response. When he finally found his tongue, all he could manage was, “A WHAT bag?”

“When a horse’s hungry,” she explained tersely as she topped off his tumbler, “ya strap on the feedbag so it can eat. When a grown-ass man’s pouting like a toddler, you strap on his wah-bag so he can get the whinin’ out of his system.” Suddenly realizing something, she winced and turned beet red. “That wasn’t meant to sound sexual—just ignore the strap-on part.” Raph choked. “Note to self,” she added with a suspicious stare into the bottom of her glass, “bourbon’s bad for my filter.” '…and I need'a get laid before I start really embarrassin’ myself.’

Amber was back from her first tattoo removal appointment…and clearly just shy of drunk and leaning on Mercy for support. The blonde led her inebriated friend to her and Donnie’s bedroom, kicked the door open, and they disappeared inside. Gaping, Donnie followed, listening in on the hushed conversation.

“Nez-time,” Amber slurred as Mercy eased her down onto the bed, “I’m'a stay sober fer-it—tha’ wiz crap…”

“No one said it’d be easy,” Mercy reminded bluntly dragging the trashcan over by the bed for easy access. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen ya drunk—this’s hilarious.”

“’m no’ drunk,” Amber argued sourly. “’m fuggin’ blootert!” Without further ado, the wasted brunette passed out completely.

“I’m'a just pretend I know whatcha said,” the blonde grumbled at her unhearing friend.

The verdict? I wholeheartedly believe AMBER JEAN O'BRIEN is officially the weirdest, or at least the most awkward, character to come out of my head yet.

#Fanfiction #Donatello/OC #TMNT #Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #Ninja Turtles #Romance #Drama #Hurt/Comfort #PTSD #Non-Sue OCs #OCs #A New Lease on Life #ANLoL #Get-a-new-lease-on-life #Plot twists #Fanfiction excerpts #oneshots #OC Development #Donnie/OC #Donatello #Raphael #Leonardo #Michelangelo #Humor #Amber's a little weird... #Amber-Tello

[boundlessshuffle]

REMEMBERING CHUCK BARRIS

About ten or so years ago, a girl that I was dating and I had a long coversation about film.  In particular, she brought up the topic of which movie charcater each of us felt that we most identified with.  Oddly enough, she chose Shrek as she- like many females- wasn’t happy with her weight.  In truth, at 5′8 with 38DD breasts, she was a bit curvy, but also quite striking and hardly a Shrek-type.  When she asked me the question, she fully expected me to say some sort of swaggering, machismo hero (like a James Bond), or Fight Club-era Brad Pitt.  I came right out and said that, for me, the one and only character was Chuck Barris in the 2002 film, Confessions of a Dangeroud Mind (which, it should be said, was played perfectly by Sam Rockwell).  

Now I’ve never created a game show or hosted one.  Nor have I ever claimed to have murdered people on behalf of the CIA. I’ve never written hit songs for other artists or best-selling books (come to think of it, I’ve never written a song or a book), and I’m very much an ordinary and average guy.  And yet, I identified with Chuck, or at least the way he was portrayed in the film.  He was ambitious, if slightly unfocused.  He was well-intetioned with the ladies in his life, but struggled to keep it in his pants.  He wanted to fancy himself as being dashing and handsome, but he was a man of average at best looks. He tried to be swaggering, but could never entirely mask his vunerability.  He did his best to be cold, calculated, and heartless when necessary, but couldn’t hide his guilty conscience.  I remember being struck by his presence as I watched Gong Shot reruns as a kid.  As the host, he strutted around stage not in a perfectly taiolred suit, but rather awkwardly, in a tuxedo with an open-collar shirt and his chest hair pouring out.  He managed to be both endearing and slightly creepy at the same time. Forget James Bond.  This was the guy I wanted to be like.  

Chuck Barris, who passed away earlier today at the age of 87, was an unlikely star and pop icon; the perfect behind-the-scenes creative genius who found himself in front of the camera when he hosted the hugely succcesful game show, The Gong Show.  But long before his on-screen success, he created some of the most popular and defining game shows of all time, like The Dating Game and The Newlywed Game.  He wrote Palisades Park, which was a chart-topping hit in the early 1960s for Freddie ‘Boom Boom’ Cannon, and claimed to have written a variety of other songs.  I was particularly fond of his two autobiographies.  The first, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, caused a bit of a stir as this is where he first claimed to have been a hired gun for the CIA. This claim has been debunked by the CIA, but hey, you never know, right? The second autobiography, The Game Show King, was more of a straightforward (and highly entertaining!) look at Hollywood in the 1960s and 1970s.  In addition, Barris penned a handful of other books. 

But it was undoubtedly The Gong Show that made Barris a household name in the 1970s.  And while critics slammed the show for being trash-television, it’s safe to say that without The Gong Show, there would be no Star Search, no American Idol, no America’s Got Talent, etc.  

Barris had a sort of unrefined charm that was completely without pretense. He rose to fame in an industry which was all about glitz and glamour, during the tail-end of an glitzy era.  But there was a certain element of Chuck not giving a shit about all of that.  He was seemingly so uncool and out of place, that it made him incredibly cool.  And let’s face it, if you’re going to be so insanely and outlandish that you claim to have murdered over thirty people for the CIA, then- true or not- you’ve got to have some balls. 

More than decade or so after that conversation I had with that curvy brunette girlfriend, I can’t help but wonder if she ever outgrew that insecurity that often plagues early twentysomething females about their body and figure.  Does she still identify with Shrek? Who the hell knows.  Who cares, really?  As for me, I can safely say that I still identify with the conflicted and often times square-peg in-a-round-hole Barris in Confessions of a Dangerous Mind.  And I probably will for quite some time. 

#Chuck Barris #Confessions of a Dangerous Mind #sam rockwell #The Gong Show #1970s television #the dating game

[themaybewoman]

@whumptober2020​​: Day 21 – Infection

Fandoms: Psych & Fringe Characters: Shawn Spencer, Peter Bishop Universe: Pre-Canon (both accounts, ~1998 (both around 21-22)) Summary: Shawn ignores the signs of an infection. Thank god another runaway genius is there to steer him in the right direction.

Despite the churning of his stomach, rent was steep and Shawn’s bank account too low to cover the expense it posed, so he geared up for yet another shift at the twenty-four-hour diner down the road. Being already a month late in payments and in the bad graces of his landlord, Shawn summoned all the strength he could, wiped at the sweat beading his forehead, and took to the streets (on wobbling feet). Worse comes to worst, he could always run to the restaurant’s toilet, should he need to unload.

He walked into the diner at eight-fifty-two in the evening, punched in, and prepared for a gruelling, overnight shift.

The night began, thankfully, uneventfully. Shawn wearily rubbed circles of a paper towel into the countertop until ten-thirty p.m. when a young man, maybe a year older than Shawn if that, sauntered in. He made a beeline for the bar stools, slid onto the vinyl, and hunched over a scrap of paper. Shawn eyed the new brunette half-attentively. Swap the rumpled M.I.T sweatshirt for a leather jacket, throw on a cowboy hat, and maybe he could pass as an Indiana Jones impersonator. Shawn bit back a laugh at the thought. Though the young man was handsome in a charm-your-parents sort of way, there was no matching the great Harrison Ford.

Movie references aside, Shawn itched his wrist, tugged down his sleeve again, and shifted across the bar to greet the newcomer. Upon closer inspection, he noticed key features of the young man’s: dark circles under the eyes, a stain on the sweater’s left sleeve, the lack of order to his hair.

“How’s work at the garage?” he asked, coming to a stop directly across from the newbie. It might have taken him a few decades, but he’d finally understood how he wanted to use his gifts (who knew it’d take running out on his childhood home to figure that out).

The man looked up, confusion frozen in the shining blue of his eyes.

“Grease stain,” Shawn said, nodding to the man’s torso.

"Astute of you,” he muttered.  “Where’d you learn that party trick?”

Shawn shrugged. “Well, when you work here long enough,” he dismissed. How easy it was to pretend his dad hadn’t had influence on his life. Like he wasn’t the reason Shawn was fifty states East of his stomping ground; like he wasn’t the reason Shawn could derive intimate life details from other people; like he wasn’t any of that, all of that was Shawn’s doing. How easy– how addicting it was to have agency over his own life. “What can I get you?”

“Coffee.” Not even a hesitation. Shawn lifted his brows but turned around to grab the brewing pot with the black handle. His left arm smarted with the motion, but other than a grimace in response, he ignored the pain.

He threw a reply over his shoulder, “I’m guessing, not decaf?”

“Right again.”

Shawn topped off a ceramic mug with delicious smelling French roast, spun carefully around, and slid the mug across the counter. “Any milk or sugar?”

The young man smirked. “Why don’t you try to guess that as well?” he asked, already slipping his fingers through the handle. Shawn made a show of holding his hand to his head and scanning the guy up and down only to release his position with a dramatic gasp and drop of tension.

“You prefer it black,” he announced.

“Couldn’t be more wrong,” was the answer. “Cream and sugar, please.”

Shawn ducked down to the fridge and pulled out a handful of cream pouches. He piled them onto the counter where they promptly skittered apart from one another. One tumbled over the other edge of the counter, yet before it could fall, the customer stuck out his hand and caught it in his palm.

“Nice catch,” Shawn said. Absently, he brought his right hand to his left wrist and scratched through the shirt sleeve.

The man cracked open a cream container. “”Nervous tick?” he nodded to the itching.

Shawn jumped out of his head and right back into those sky blue eyes. “Oh!” He disengaged his fingers from scratching and pulled his sleeve down once more. He chuckled. “Uh, no, just itches. You don’t have sugar yet.”

“Or a spoon.”

“Stole the words right out of my mouth.” Shawn chuckled again. “I’ll go get you one.” He disappeared into the back room, coming out five seconds later with a spoon and sugar dispenser. He set the sugar before him and handed over the spoon. A quick “thanks” received, Shawn parted for the position he’d left mid-clean, not that he wanted to finish the job. His knees shivered with strain, and his stomach rolled with nausea. He reached out to steady himself on the espresso machine.

“You okay over there?” Shit, the guy saw. Shawn pressed his lips together, waiting for his vision to clear of black spots, before calling back a (supposedly) reassuring ‘yeah’.

“Tripped,” he dismissed the stranger’s concern. Eyeing the rag within reach, Shawn snagged it with his good hand before and wiped the excess sweat from his brow before spinning on his heel and facing the customer. “So. You got a name?”

“Peter,” he said casually before shaking the stirring spoon towards Shawn’s lapel. “Don’t employees usually wear name tags?”

Shawn glanced down at his shirt. He bared a breathy laugh. “You’d think,” he smoothed over. “Yeah, I forgot mine.” Again. Thank god the store manager wasn’t working this night, so Shawn could skate by without so much as a mention, let alone a lecture about responsibility to maintain business dress code. It’s just a name tag, he’d roll his eyes, which in itself received a bark back. “Usually, it’d say ‘Shawn’ right there,” he pointed to his chest, “just imagine it. And if my manager asks, I always have it on.”

“Gotcha,” Peter said. Shawn only wished he’d heard it. The black spots resurged upon him with a vengeance. He jerked away from the counter’s edge, eyes squeezed tight, wrist flaring in pain. “Shawn?” But queasiness washed over him like the downpour of a storm front. The entirety of both his legs morphed into jello.

“Fine, I–” Suddenly, the walls and ceiling switched places. The black spots in his vision won out. The last thing he felt was the floor.

#whumptober2020 #no. 21 #infection #fanfiction #psych #fringe #shawn spencer #peter bishop #// #lilly's writing #maybe this is crap #but it's fun crap #the kind of crap you can play with #crossovers #genius brunettes with swagger #lilly's whump #brotps #psychic fringe

[themaybewoman]

SHULES PLAYLIST [1/14]

“Come To Me” by The Goo Goo Dolls

           Come to me with secrets bare;            I'll love you more so don't be scared;

         When we're old and near the end;           We'll go home and start again.

#shules #psych #psychedit #shawn spencer #juliet o'hara #ships & otps #come to me #goo goo dolls #aesthetic #ship aesthetic #otp #genius brunettes with swagger #otp playlist #shules playlist #psychic #lilly's edits

[themaybewoman]

Ever just think that if Tony Stark, Peter Bishop, and Shawn Spencer ever teamed up and became friends, they’d have the power to create so much chaos, everyone would lapse into incurable bewilderment?

No, just me?

What a dynamic trio they’d be. :)

#tony stark #peter bishop #shawn spencer #psych #mcu #iron man #fringe #dynamic trio #genius brunettes with swagger #exactly my type #lilly's musings #original #i want this fic #badly