#picked up my new profile again and working my way through getting the bishops back 😩

[spiderin-space]

We engage in a bit of silliness ‘round these parts

(Suggestive doodles down bellow)

[a-simple-gaywitch]

Ohana

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer’s in love with his new neighbor- and her son that’s just like him

Word Count: 3234

Warnings: Typical CM stuff (Amplification specifically), Single Parent!Reader, slight angst

“Ohana means family. Family means no one gets left behind, or forgotten.” -Lilo and Stitch

~

Spencer remembered the day you moved in. He remembered you lugging boxes up five flights of stairs by yourself. When he saw you struggling with a heavy box, trying to find your key, he decided to be bold and help. 

“You look like you could use some assistance,” he said. “I’m, uh, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, I live right across the hall.”

“Dr. (Y/N) (L/N),” you said.

“Here, let me hold the box for you.”

“Careful, it’s heavy,” you said, shifting it into his arms. 

Spencer was jostled for a moment from the weight of the box, which was labeled (Y/N)’s Books. “So, MD or PhD?” he asked you as you searched for the right key. 

“PhD, I’m too squeamish to be in the medical field,” you said with a laugh. It was the most beautiful sound Spencer had ever heard. “What about you?”

“What? Oh,” Spencer shook his head, focusing back on the conversation. “PhDs.”

You stopped sorting through your keys and turned to face Spencer. “Plural? Holy shit, are you a genius or something?”

Spencer let out a small laugh before saying, “Yeah, technically. But I don’t think intelligence can be accurately quantified.”

You finally found the right key and sighed as you heard the lock click. “Um, you can set the box with the others by the bookshelf.”

Spencer turned to see a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, much like his own, with boxes upon boxes of books in front of it. Some were labeled Academics, some had the same label as the one he was currently holding, and some had Oliver’s Books scrawled across the top.

“So, uh, where are you moving from?” he asked you, following the maze of boxes to your kitchen.

You offered him a bottle of water. “Erie, Pennsylvania. I got a job at Georgetown as an Associate Professor in the history department.”

“Oh, I guest lecture there every once in a while. In the criminology department. Uh, what’s your concentration?” Spencer took a sip from the water bottle. 

“Medieval and Renaissance history,” you said. “I get to teach fun classes like Medieval Weaponry and Warfare.”

“Well, maybe I can sit in on that class someday.”

You smiled at him and that was when Spencer knew, you’d worked your way into his heart and you were never leaving.

~

Spencer remembered the first time he met Oliver. It was 53 hours, 27 minutes, and 15 seconds since the day he met you. He was coming home from an exhausting case when he saw you trying to balance paper shopping bags in your arms while opening your door. A small boy, no older than 6, stood behind you with oversized headphones and a mobile gaming system. He had a huge backpack on his shoulders.

“Ollie, take the keys. Ollie. Oliver.”

“You need some help?” Spencer asked, setting his go-bag in front of his door.

“Spencer, hi! Um, some help would be great.” Spencer took the bags from your arms so you could open the door. “Oh, uh, this is Oliver, my son.”

“Your-your son?” Spencer asked. If you had a son, it was likely you had a partner. 

“Yep, he’s my boy.” You tapped his shoulder and gestured for him to say hi. The boy gave a small wave before going back to his game.

Spencer cleared his throat. “So, uh, where’s-where’s his father?”

“California. At least, that’s where he went when he left us.” Your hand was resting on top of your son’s head. He looked just like you. “Here, can you just set the bags on the counter?” you asked after opening the door. Oliver started down the hallway when you grabbed the loop of his backpack. “Not so fast. You know the rules. Homework first, then you can play your game again.”

Oliver groaned and handed you his game. You set it on the counter next to the bags of groceries. 

“So, you’re raising him alone?” Spencer asked you. 

You nodded and started unpacking the bags. “Yeah. You know, it’s been hard, but I can’t imagine life without my Ollie. He’s my heart and soul.”

~

Spencer and you became friends quite quickly. He told you about his job as a profiler, and you told him about working at the university. He would come over after cases and watch movies with you and Oliver. He’d help you put groceries away and he’d help you with simple tasks. 

He also picked up on Oliver’s eccentricities. He reminded Spencer of his younger self. He didn’t talk much about kids at school and he breezed through schoolwork. His interests seemed heightened beyond what could be considered normal for a kid his age. One day, Spencer decided to ask about it as inconspicuously as he could. 

The two of you were playing a game of chess when he brought it up.

“So, Oliver seems to be doing pretty well in school. What grade did you say he was in, second?”

“Yeah, the school bumped him up a grade. They wanted me to move him up to fourth, but I know how important it is to have friends your own age. And he already struggles to make friends.”

“He does? Why?”

You sighed, moving your knight. “Check. He was diagnosed as autistic when he was three. He doesn’t quite get social cues so it’s hard for him.”

Spencer moved his bishop and took your knight. “I’m sure his dad leaving didn’t help.”

“Well, he, uh, he never actually met his dad. Leo left me when I was four months pregnant.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

You waved him off. “It’s fine. It was almost seven years ago. I moved on, and I learned to balance motherhood with college. I completed my undergrad when he was only a few months old and I worked on graduate school when he was a high-energy toddler. It just proved to me that I can do anything. Checkmate.”

~

Spencer was enjoying a rare day off on a Tuesday when his phone started ringing. He groaned, thinking it was Hotch with an urgent case. But when he saw your name on the caller ID, his face lit up. 

“(Y/N), hey!” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Ollie’s school just called me. He’s sick but I have classes and meetings all day so I can’t go get him and-”

“Are you asking if I can go get him?” Spencer said, cutting off your rambling.

“Yes! Could you, please? I’d be so so grateful.”

Spencer smiled, grabbing the spare key you gave him. “Of course.”

“Oh, thank you so much. There’s a spare car seat in the coat closet. I’ll call the school and let them know you’ll be picking him up. Thank you so much, Spencer.”

When Spencer got to the school, he was fidgety. He’d never spent time alone with your son before. And he wasn’t even sure if the kid liked him. 

He walked into the front office and said, “Hi, my name is Spencer Reid, I’m here to pick up Oliver (L/N)?”

“Oh, (Y/N) said you were coming to get him. If I could just see your ID?” the receptionist asked. Spencer nodded and pulled out his driver’s license. “Great, if you could just sign Oliver out on the clipboard here, you’ll be good to go.”

Spencer scribbled his signature on the clipboard and the receptionist got up to get Oliver from the back office. Oliver followed the receptionist, his backpack on his shoulders and a paper bag clutched in his hands. His face was pale and he was swaying slightly. 

“Hey, Ollie,” Spencer said.

“Hi, Spencer. Where’s my mom?”

“She got stuck at work, buddy. You’re gonna stay with me until she comes home, okay?”

Oliver nodded. “Okay.” He followed Spencer out of the school and climbed in the back of his car.

“Do you want me to put the window down?” Spencer offered, looking back at the boy in the mirror. When Oliver nodded, Spencer put his window down and pulled out of the parking lot.

After pulling into the parking garage, Spencer looked in the mirror again. Oliver was fast asleep, his head slumped against the door. Rather than waking the boy, Spencer unbuckled him and scooped him up in his arms. 

Oliver wrapped his little, sweaty arms around Spencer’s neck as he was carried inside. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was how much he cared for the boy, but Spencer pressed a small kiss to the side of his head. Spencer dug your spare key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, setting Ollie down on the couch.

After covering him with a blanket, Spencer dug around in your kitchen for some ginger ale and crackers. After setting them on the coffee table, he heard a small voice say, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Spencer noticed Oliver watching him from the couch. He sat on the edge of the coffee table, handing Oliver the soda with a red bendy straw. “What do you mean, bud?”

“I know you like-like my mom. But you’re nice to me even when she’s not here. Matt didn’t do that. He called me names when Mom wasn’t around. He said I was weird.”

Spencer knew Matt was your ex from your time working at the Erie campus of Penn State. He was the first person you’d been with since Oliver’s father. And hearing how he treated Oliver didn’t sit right with Spencer.

Spencer sighed and looked at Oliver. “I’m nice to you because I like you, too. And I was a lot like you when I was your age.”

“You were?” Oliver handed the cup back to Spencer to set back on the table.

Spencer nodded. “People still think I’m weird. But being weird is good. How boring would the world be if everyone was normal?”

Oliver smiled. “It would be pretty boring,” he said.

“Get some rest, okay? It’ll help you feel better.”

You finally managed to sneak out of work and get home. When you opened the door, you saw Spencer sitting in the chair across from your sleeping son, reading a book. 

“Hey,” he said in a voice just above a whisper.

“Hey. How is he?”

“He has a low-grade fever and he hasn’t been able to keep anything in his stomach. I’ve been having him nibble on some crackers but even that doesn’t stay down.”

“Oh, my poor boy. Thank you for staying with him.”

“Of course. You know I’d do anything for you, for both of you.”

~

The team got back from a particularly rough case dealing with kids. Hotch gave them the weekend off to recuperate. 

“Anyone want to go grab a drink?” Derek offered to the group.

“Or five?” Emily added.

“What do you say, kid? You in?” Derek asked Spencer as the younger man packed up his bag. 

“Oh, no, sorry. I, uh, I have plans,” he said with a smile before slipping out of the office. The team watched him hurry out of the building before sharing glances with each other. 

“Spence has a girlfriend,” JJ realized. 

“Pretty boy has a girlfriend?”

“Think about it. When does Spencer ever have plans? And when was the last time he didn’t stay to do paperwork when we were given the time off?”

“And he upgraded his phone out of nowhere,” Emily chimed in. “He went from one that had only the bare essentials to a smartphone he texts on all the time.”

“We need to find out who this girl is,” Morgan decided. 

Spencer had been keeping you a secret from the team on purpose. Not because he was ashamed of you, or embarrassed, but because he knew the team saw him as the baby and they would be invasive if they ever found out. He didn’t want them to scare you away, he loved you too much to lose you. Though, he hadn’t said it out loud yet.

~

You and Spencer were walking down the street, Oliver asleep on Spencer’s back, snoring against his shoulder, his arms wrapped around Spencer’s neck.

“You have no idea how excited he is for you to see his science fair project,” you said. “It was all he could talk about all week.”

Spencer smiled and adjusted the boy on his back. “I think I’m just as excited to see his project, especially since he wouldn’t let me know anything about it.”

You reached the apartment complex and you dug your keys out of your bag. “Are you sure you can carry him up the stairs? I can wake him if you want me to.”

“No, it’s fine. I got him,” Spencer whispered, moving so that Oliver was clinging to his front rather than his back. He followed you up the stairs to your apartment. When you unlocked the door, he went straight to Oliver’s room and put the tired boy in his bed. He kissed Ollie’s forehead before flicking on his nightlight and leaving the room. 

“Oh, hey,” you said when Spencer came out of the room, “Is he still out?”

“Yeah. I think we might have put him in a coma.”

You laughed and kissed Spencer’s cheek. “Go get some sleep. I know you’re tired, too.”

“I’m not-”

“Spence, you nearly fell asleep at the movies tonight. Go.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll go. But not without a kiss goodnight.”

You gave Spencer a kiss before shooing him across the hall. When Spencer unlocked his door and flicked on the light, he saw his team sitting in his living room. 

“What the hell? What are you doing here? JJ, I gave you a key for emergencies!”

“This is an emergency!” Penelope said. “You have a girlfriend and you didn’t tell us!”

“Kid, please tell me she’s a single mother and you haven’t been keeping a family a secret from us for years,” said Morgan.

Spencer was still annoyed his friends broke into his apartment, but he couldn’t resist talking about you, especially when they’d already seen you. “Her name’s (Y/N), she moved in about a year ago with her son, Oliver. We’ve been dating for three months.”

“Spence, why didn’t you tell us?” JJ asked.

Spencer looked down at his shoes, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “I didn’t want you scaring her off. I love her. I love both of them. And you guys can be intimidating.”

~

“Spencer’s coming to the science fair tonight, right?” Oliver asked you as you got him ready for school. 

“That’s what he said,” you told him. “And you know Spencer likes to keep his promises.”

“I can’t wait to show him my mold project!”

“Okay, kiddo, we have to go. We don’t want to be late, do we?”

Meanwhile, Spencer was in the conference room at work, worrying about the latest case they’ve been presented. Someone was releasing a new strain of anthrax in public places around the DC area.

But under his stress over the case, he was worrying about you and Ollie. Maybe that’s why he worked so much harder on this one. 

He and Morgan were sent to the suspect’s house, and Spencer entered first. Looking around, he noticed his mistake. When Morgan made his way to the door, he slammed and locked the door. 

“Reid, what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry.”

Spencer was infected. He knew there was a large chance he would die, but he couldn’t stop working. He needed to find the antidote. HIs breathing was getting heavier and he felt sweat dripping down his face. He pulled out his phone and dialed. 

“Hey, Garcia?”

“Reid! Oh, my god, Derek told me what happened. How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

“That’s not important right now,” he said. “Um, can you- can you record a message for me? It’s for (Y/N) and Ollie.”

“Oh, uh, of course.” He heard her typing. “Okay. Go ahead.”

Spencer cleared the lump in his throat. “Uh, hi, (Y/N), it’s Spencer. Um, I-I wanted to let you know that, uh, I love you and…” he paused, taking a breath and blinking tears from his eyes, “and I’m so happy you let me into your life, into your family. And I want Ollie to know I love him, too. You- both of you- you’re my family.”

After that, things happened too fast. Spencer was being pulled out of the house and hosed down before being ushered to the waiting ambulance. He fell out of consciousness on the ride to the hospital. 

When he woke up in a hospital bed, Morgan was sitting by his side. 

“Are you eating Jell-O?” he asked, his voice cracking from being dry.

Morgan lit up with a smile. “Welcome back, kid.”

“Is there anymore Jell-O?”

Morgan chuckled. “You know, there’s some people here waiting for you.”

“What?”

Before Morgan could explain, you and Oliver burst into the room.

“Oh, my god, Spence!” You ran over and hugged him the best you could with the various medical equipment attached to him. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” you scolded. 

Oliver climbed onto the bed and curled up next to Spencer. “Yeah, don’t do that again,” he said. “How can I take you to Donuts with Dad if you’re dead?” He looked up at Spencer with his big doe-eyes and Spencer felt his heart break a little bit. 

“You-you want me to go to Donuts with Dad with you? Even though I missed your science fair?”

Ollie nodded. “I don’t care that you missed my science fair. I just care that you’re still here.” He looked up and Spencer and wrapped his arms around his torso. “I love you, Spencer.” He gave Spencer a light squeeze. 

Spencer smiled and ruffled his hair. “I love you too, Ollie.” He looked up at you. “And I love you, (Y/N).”

You smiled and gave Spencer a soft kiss. 

“Ewww!” Ollie squealed, making you both laugh. 

~

Spencer proposed to you about a year later. You’d both decided you didn’t want a huge wedding, just family and close friends. Rossi gave his backyard for you to use for the ceremony. It was simple and small, but it was special and wonderful. Spencer had flown Diana out, and you’d flown your parents out.

After the ceremony, Spencer announced that the both of you had a surprise for Ollie. He went inside Rossi’s house and returned with a manila envelope. He cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, in this envelope, I hold the most important document I have ever signed.” He opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper. He cleared his throat. “This certificate certifies that Oliver B. (L/N) is the adopted child of Spencer W. Reid,” he read.

Oliver’s jaw dropped. “What? You’re- what?”

“Remember all those Saturdays Penelope watched you while Spencer and I went out? This is what we were doing,” you told him. 

Oliver ran over to you and Spencer and wrapped you in hugs. The rest of Spencer’s team and your parents joined in. In just two years, your family had gone from just you and your son to more people than you knew what to do with. And that was more than okay with you.

~

“They may not have my eyes, they may not have my smile, but they have all my heart.” -Anonymous

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

When We Were Young Part Eight

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader Rating: T Notes: Not beta-read. I hope everyone’s having a good week! I hope everyone’s had a good week and is doing well :) Thank you for all of the likes/reblogs/replies 🥰 Warnings: Some fluff; some angst. Summary: Your mother was deathly afraid that you would come through this season without a proposal; you had never been more afraid that you would receive one.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” You accused Sherlock as he captured one of your rooks. “I disagree. I believe I’m enjoying it exactly the right amount.” You rolled your eyes openly, careful not to let your smile widen as he chuckled. “It is your turn, dove,” He added. Your eyes darted to Cornelius, whom you saw shift in his seat at the use of the pet name. He had been steadfast in his chaperoning of yourself and Sherlock whenever the detective made it a point to stop by, as he had nearly every day for the last three weeks. You were unsure if Dawson had caught wind of your other… Visitor (Sherlock wasn’t a suitor, he wasn’t courting you, surely. You refused to put too much stock in the books and flowers that he brought; even if the books were on topics that you loved; even if Mrs. Lloyd insisted that carnations stood for fascination, and small sunflowers meant adoration, and kennedias signified mental beauty, and Peruvian heliotrope were for devotion, and mossy saxifrage represented affection).

You looked down at the board. “Aren’t you always the one counseling me not to rush into my next move?” “I suppose I am,” Sherlock mused. “Then perhaps you only pointed out that it was my turn to distract me from the bigger picture.” “Do you really think that I would do something like that?” “I think that that is exactly what you would do,” You looked up at Sherlock from under your lashes, and this time, you couldn’t help but share his smile. You reached out, your fingers settling on your bishop. Sherlock made a soft sound in his throat. “Shush,” You ordered. “You’re certain?” Sherlock asked. “It’s not going to work this time, Holmes,” You insisted, moving the piece before sitting up straight. Sherlock cocked his head to the side; the movement put you in mind of a small, confused puppy. “What’s not going to work?” His tone was woven with innocence, but you knew better. This was the third game that you’d played with him that afternoon, and he’d managed to make you second-guess yourself during the last two. “You know what. Now take your turn.” You watched as he clasped his hands under his chin, resting his chin and lips against his knuckles as he surveyed the board. In his concentration, you let your eyes wander his face. He tended to get this furrow between his brow when he was thinking; now and again, his eyes would narrow, but only a touch and just for a second. You heard him push a short huff out through his nose before he hummed thoughtfully. You didn’t follow his gaze back to the board. Instead, you continued to watch him unabashedly as you asked, “What now?” Sherlock’s eyes flitted to yours, and you felt a shock of warmth spread through you. He held your gaze with such intensity that you almost missed his moving his queen and murmuring, “Checkmate.” You looked down at the board before you leaned back in your seat, groaning in frustration. “You did far better this time than last,” Sherlock said, sitting up. You could tell that he wasn’t teasing you, and you hummed. “I didn’t beat you, though.” “You will, dove. Just not today.” You raised a brow. “No time for one more?” “I’m afraid I have to meet with Lestrade in,” Sherlock reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out his pocket watch, “Nearly half an hour.” “Ah,” You nodded, “New case?” “Yes, though from what details he told me, I’m hoping for a speedy resolution.” Your brows rose. “That sounds rather unlike you. I thought you preferred the cases that were more difficult to unpick.” “I do, but I have...Other things occupying my mind at present.” Beautifully vague; classic Sherlock. “Things regarding Enola?” You asked. He hesitated in answering before he settled on, “Some.” You stood when Sherlock did, and you cleared your throat, signalling his departure to your Uncle Cornelius. You heard him folding his paper. “I’ll be stopping by to see her tomorrow,” You added, clasping your hands, “She told me that she’d be quite occupied with Edith at the tea rooms, else, and-- and I will have to leave town at the end of this week.” Sherlock cut you a look, briefly sharp, then stunned. “This week?” He asked, frowning. “Yes.” You’d been planning on telling Sherlock at some point during his last few visits, but the two of you just seemed to get so caught up-- with conversation, or chess, or cards. “I’m afraid her mother has been quite miserable without her,” Cornelius added, rounding his armchair. You glanced at him. He knew as well as you that that was a lie; she had been irate with your departure, and only grew more and more frustrated when you’d stalled in town. She’d only allowed it for as long as she had because Cornelius had reported to her that Dawson was visiting you with some frequency. It was unlikely that he would make a trip out to see you at your home. Your mother was deathly afraid that you would come through this season without a proposal; you had never been more afraid that you would receive one. You could see on Sherlock’s face that he didn’t buy the reason for a moment, but he gave a stiff nod, murmuring, “Of course,” before he turned to look at you. “I will do my best to see you at least once more before you leave London.” “I would like that,” You said; your heart twinged with how much you meant it. -- Enola tended to get caught up in things; you knew that about her. That was why, when you arrived at Baker Street the following day, you found her not at home. Mrs. Hudson apologized profusely, offering to let you wait in the sitting room for her. You accepted, and in solitude, you took your chance to look around. It was a cozy room. Sherlock and Enola seemed to each have their own corners: Sherlock’s was by the fireplace, beside a bookshelf; Enola’s was by the window, with a desk that was stocked with books and drawing pencils. You chuckled at the caricature of Mycroft that you’d last seen at Ferndell pinned to the wall beside the window. You ran your fingers over the back of Enola’s chair before you turned, drifting toward Sherlock’s armchair. He had a reading table beside it; there was a wooden box with a pipe engraved on it, and a stack of books. There were a few pieces of paper sticking out of the books here and there, and you could just make out Sherlock’s handwriting. You glanced toward the door, holding your breath for a moment. When you were sure that you couldn’t hear anyone coming, you picked up one, scanning the title on the spine: On the Origin of Species. Your brows rose before you reached for the one under it. It was a plain-covered book, unassuming. You hummed, curious, and set the first book aside in favor of flipping through the second. You smiled a little when you saw sketches. You knew that that was one thing that Sherlock and Enola both held a love for. As you flipped through, you recognized Ferndell; there were a few pressed flowers with their sketches, meanings, and uses jotted down besides; you snorted when you spotted a caricature of Dawson. It depicted him with rather a large head and very small, beady eyes; his coat had money bursting out of the pockets, and he was leaning heavily on a dandy’s cane. Had Sherlock given your suitor gout? It certainly looked that way. You turned the next page and then froze, your breath catching in your throat. It was… Well, it was you. Sherlock had sketched you in profile. Your eyes were downcast, your lips drawn up in a smile; there was shading around your cheeks, making it look as though you were blushing. He’d made you look so soft, so...Gentle, but somehow mischievous. Was this how he saw you? Sitting on the page beside it was a flower petal - white, pressed, but still soft. It looked familiar, but you couldn’t place it at first. You trailed your finger over it, frowning, before you realized that you had last seen it at the dinner party: your gardenia. You heard the door slam shut downstairs, and the thunder of footsteps, and you hurried to shut the notebook and set it down on the stack, replacing the other book on top of it before you hurried over to the window. You turned to see Enola burst into the room, grinning. “I’m sorry, I got caught up,” She apologized as she shrugged out of her coat. You smiled, chuckling, “It’s quite alright.” “Would you like some tea?” Enola asked, but she was already heading for the kitchen. You followed close behind, answering, “Certainly.” As the two of you settled back in the sitting room with your tea, you couldn’t stop your gaze from straying to Sherlock’s reading table now and again. Enola was sharp, you knew that; you didn’t know why you thought you were being sneaky. “He’s working on a case,” She informed you after she caught you looking for the fifth time that afternoon. You nodded a little. “Yes, he mentioned. He thought it would move along quite swiftly.” “Maybe it is. He was out all last night, and when I awoke this morning, Mrs. Hudson said that he hadn’t been in yet.” You frowned at that. “Does that happen often?” You asked. “Occasionally,” Enola shrugged, “But I don’t mind.” You smiled, then, trying to reassure yourself; you knew that she didn’t, but you couldn’t help but wonder where he was and what he was up to. “...Enola.” “Hm?” “You haven’t happened to see an odd glove around here that isn’t yours, have you?” -- Your visit with Enola ran late, as it always did. You heard the clock chime five and you frowned; you were going to be late for dinner. “I should be on my way,” You sighed softly. Enola opened her mouth to reply, but it was cut off by the thudding of footsteps coming up the stairs. There was a pause before you saw Sherlock sweep through the living room. He didn’t acknowledge either of you; you could see his shoulders hunched forward, his jaw tight with irritation. You watched as he opened his bedroom door, then flinched when it slammed shut behind him. “...And now we know how the case is going,” You muttered sarcastically. Enola wrinkled her nose as you straightened from your chair. You exchanged your goodbyes, and you were headed for the front door before you stopped yourself, glancing back toward Sherlock’s door. Enola had had no leads; there was still time to get your glove back. “Just-- I’ll be a moment,” You said. Enola arched a knowing brow before she nodded, stepping into her own room and shutting the door. You frowned a little bit. What on earth had that look been for? And why had she retreated to her bedroom? You shook the thought away as you walked over to Sherlock’s door, leaning in the doorway. You raised your hand, rapping your knuckles lightly on it twice. You heard a gruff call of, “What?” and you bit your lip. Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea. “What is it--” Came an additional yell, and you hurried to answer, “It’s me.” There was a pause, and you straightened up as you heard Sherlock’s footsteps approaching the door. He opened it, and you were briefly taken aback. You’d never seen the man look so...Disheveled. His curls were mussed, as if he’d been taking his hand through them; he’d removed his jacket and tie, and opened the top two buttons of his shirt; his sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows. You couldn’t help the way your eyes wandered his form before you met his gaze again. “I’m sorry, I-- Didn’t mean to disturb you.” “You haven’t,” Sherlock insisted, “I apologize, I didn’t realize that you were still here.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and peered into the sitting room, searching for Enola, before he looked back to you. “When does your train leave?” “Friday morning. The 10:30.” “Perhaps I’ll see you at the station.” That took you aback, and you were able to deduce a few things from it. “...I take it the case is proving a little more difficult than expected?” Sherlock pushed a heavy sigh out through his nose, leaning against the door frame as he hung his head; it more than confirmed your suspicions. “I’m sorry,” You added softly. He raised a hand, rubbing over the back of his neck. “It is nothing I haven’t dealt with before, but...I fear I may not be able to come and see you again before you leave.” You felt disappointment fill you, but you pushed it away, shielding it with a smile. “It’s alright, I understand,” You insisted, “I was glad to have your company while I was in town.” “And I, yours, love,” Sherlock murmured. Your heart soared at the words; you blinked at Sherlock a couple of times, certain that you’d imagined it. “Pardon?” You asked. Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “I-- I said I was glad to have yours, too, dove.” That feeling of elation plummeted as quickly as it had swelled, your heart dropping like a kite that had lost the wind. You’d simply misheard him. You lowered your eyes, nodding. “Of course. I should be on my way. Cornelius is expecting me.” “Let me hail you a hansom--” “No!” You rushed to stop him. Sherlock looked stricken; you felt bile rise in your throat, and you hurried to cover this with another smile. “I can manage it myself. Good luck with your case, Mr. Holmes.” You hurried out of Baker Street as quickly as you could, your glove completely forgotten. Tag list: @run-through-wa11s; @thefallenbibliophilequote ; @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem ; @maan24 ; @awkward-walking-potato ; @madalore ; @alexa-lightwood-blog ; @chelseaxaz ; @marwritesgood ; @runawayolives ; @parkerismybaby ; @magicstrengthandcourage ; @shesthelastjedi ; @wolfiepirate ; @xremember-me-notx ; @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 ; @alagaesian-bookdragon ; @libbymouse ; @truthdaze  ;  @crispysublimecupcake  ; @cavillhavoc ; @juliesland ; @lyannamartell23 ; @seeking-a-great--perhaps​  ; @anxiousgoldengirl​ ; @gooddaykate-reads ; @rn7rocks ; @remember-happy-things​ ; @angels-pie​

[simp-for-spencer-reid]

Sugar with a Side of Coffee Ch.5

Chapter 5: Technologically Inept.

The next morning, Cate was scheduled to work the cart. Upon checking her phone, which she had done compulsively the day before, awaiting a text from Spencer, and there was still no reply. After feeding Shrimp and showering, Cate was on her way to The Empty Mug. Miranda and Marcus were waiting at the counter with Marta as Cate came inside.

“Your baking has been such a big hit, Cate!” Marcus was stocking the register as he spoke to her. “You’re doing a great job with the cart, too.” Both Miranda and Marcus smiled at Cate. 

“Thank you, I really appreciate that.” Cate put her apron over her head and adjusted her nametag and was ready to get to work. She went to the back to put her things away and grab the cart. Saying her farewells to Marta’s parents and Marta, she was off for the morning on the cart.

Setting up in the usual spot, Cate set out the chalk menu and positioned her baked goods on the counter. A few customers lined up, and Cate was so busy serving them, she didn’t notice Spencer get in line. When he approached the counter, to say it was awkward was an understatement.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“I’m not good at-” They both spoke at the same time. Spencer and Cate let out nervous laughter. “You first.” Spencer told Cate. She nodded and took a breath.

“Um, sorry if I was a little harsh with the whole Kate and Cate thing.” Spencer’s eyes widened.

“Oh, god, no! Not harsh at all. I, um. I’m terrible with texting. And I felt like I had already messed up, so I didn’t answer for the rest of the day, which I’m realizing sounds so stupid right now.” As his ramble went on, he trailed off. Cate gave him a soft smile.

“I should start making your coffee.” Cate noticed the growing line of impatient business men and interns. 

“What time do you get out of work today?” Spencer asked as she turned her back. Cate turned back around after a few with his large hot cup filled three-quarters of the way in one hand and her sugar pourer in the other. 

“The cart shift ends at 4 today but after I help finish cleaning up the shop I’ll be officially done at 5.” 

“Would you mind if I come by?” Spencer looked at Cate nervously. Cate felt her stomach do flips.

“Yeah, that would be totally fine!” Cate mentally facepalmed for being so eager. 

“Great, I’ll see you then.” He smiled at her and Cate smiled back. She watched him walk off, glancing at him up and down. 

Cate noticed Brooke a few people away in line. She briskly made her way through the next few customers. In between orders, she prepped Brooke’s usual order for her graphics design team. 

“Long time no see.” Brooke greeted with a smile. “Been busy?” She quickly texted on her phone while waiting for her order.

“Yeah, this cart has been keeping me busy. What about you? Haven’t seen you in a while. New projects?” Cate handed her a cardboard tray with her team’s orders. 

“Tons. I’ll try and catch you on my break!” Brooke shouted over her shoulder. Cate shook her head at the busy girl and got ready for the next customer. 

Cate’s entire shift seemed to go in slow motion. The hours dragged and it felt like the line of customers never dwindled, only grew. Cate was excited yet anxious about seeing Spencer tonight. Her apartment wasn’t clean, but that was assuming they’d go back to her apartment. Was he going to just visit after hours at the shop again? Cate let her mind wander of the night’s possibilities. 

Her mind reeled with different scenarios she envisioned. Did he expect to try her baking again? Did he want to have another after-hour coffee? Maybe he planned something? She didn’t have clothes to go out after work. As Cate was thinking ahead of herself, she realized that it was nearing 4. She walked around her cart, grabbed the chalk menu and was getting ready to close up the cart and head back to the shop. As she gathered her items on the counter, the baked goods, cardboard cup sleeves, and jar of stirrers, she saw Spencer approaching. 

“Hey,” Cate straightened up. “right on time.” She wiped her sweaty palms on her apron, hoping it was discreet to the agent.

“Yeah I uh, snuck out a little early.” He smiled, adjusting his brown leather satchel over his shoulder. Cate looked at him, probably a bit too long. She looked at his red cardigan, his patterned button up, and his black tie. 

“Well, everything is all packed up here.” Cate unlocked the wheels of the cart to allow them to roll. “Walk with me to the shop?” Cate grabbed the handles of the cart and began pushing it towards the shop. 

Spencer walked by her side, and tried to maintain the same gait, despite his long legs and her pushing the cart. He wondered if he should offer to help her push, but ultimately decided against it. 

“So,” Cate started, glancing at Spencer while she pushed the cart. “What do you do as an agent?” Out of the corner of her eye, she could barely see Spencer Look at her every so often.

“I work in the Behavior Analysis Unit at the Bureau. We study crime scenes and other forensics to create a profile of what the unsub is like. We present it to the police, and we help catch the serial killers.” He noticed he was talking with his hands, so he shoved them in his pants pockets.

“Wait, back up. What is unsub?” Cate asked, scrunching her face.

“Oh, that’s a shortened slang we use for Unidentified Subject. It’s like the suspect before we know who it is.” He tucked his long hair behind his ear. Cate nodded.

They arrived at the shop sooner than Cate realized. Spencer held the door open as she pushed the cart through and Cate maneuvered it to the back. Spencer took that time to look around the shop again, deciding which armchair to sit in. He spotted an old green one that was in front of a chess table. He decided he could pass the time waiting for Cate by playing himself. Cate came out of the back, and was assisting Marta clean the display shelf for the bakery items. 

“So I see Mr. Sweater vest is back.” Marta whispered to Cate without looking up. Cate let her gaze wander to him upon hearing his name. He was sitting in one of the armchairs, one hand holding his chin while the other was hovering above the shop’s chess board, deciding which piece to move.

“Yeah.” Cate smiled, not knowing what to say. Cate looked over to see Marta giving her a knowing look. “What?” Cate breathed out. “Can’t two single adults be friends?” Marta mimed zipping her lips and the girls continued cleaning. 

Once that was done and Marta said goodbye to Cate and made her way upstairs, Cate finally got to take the smarchair across from Spencers. Cate looked at the chess board, watching which pieces Spencer moved. Spencer was taking out of his trance of the game, and looked up at her.

“Do you play?” He asked. 

“A bit. I’m not good though.” Cate chuckled at how bad she was at chess. Spencer started to rearrange the pieces on the board. Cate went to help and they both reached for the same pawn. Their hands brushed together. They both flinched, but did not move their hands too far. Spencer took the initiative and moved the last piece. 

The pair barely spoke during their game. Spencer tried to make small talk, but Cate could barely focus on the rules of the pieces and talk at the same time, not to mention being sat across from an attractive man all the while. The game didn’t last too long. Spencer was always thinking three moves ahead and had Cate’s moves predicted to a tee. She fell for obvious traps and he could’ve checked her within the first five moves of the game, but wanted to play a little longer with her.

“I know what you’re doing.” Cate laughed as she purposefully lost one of her pawns. “Don’t let me win just because I’m a girl.” Spencer laughed.

“Trust me, I’m not letting you win.” Spencer moved one of his pieces. “Prolonging the game? Yes. Letting you win? Never.” He watched Cate’s face as her eyes darted around the chess board. He watched her move her rook. He picked up his bishop and took out her king.

“Alright, you got me.” Cate raised her hands up. She looked out the window, it was already dark out. “I still have to walk home.” Cate tried to excuse herself. Spencer stood up at the same time she did.

“Let me walk you home?” He saw her think to herself, “I’m a federal agent so I’m armed and trained to protect.” He saw her face change. He successfully persuaded her. 

“Okay, let me grab my things.” Cate went to the back, grabbing her bag and her earnings for the day. Spencer led the way out of the door, and stood watch as Cate locked up the outer door to the shop. 

They trailed down the sidewalk side by side. The usual crowds of the city had died down and the lamp posts lit up their way. It was a nice silence, comfortable, but Cate was the first to break it.

“So you’re not one for texting, huh?” Cate bit her lip. 

“No,” Spencer smiled. “I’m not one for texting. It’s easy to misread, or misinterpret messages and tones.” His walk led him closer to Cate’s side. 

“Have you ever tried the talk-to text?” Cate wondered. “Or the voice message feature?” Spencer shook his head.

“It’s not really the texting itself, I just prefer calling.” Cate pulled out her phone.

“Watch this, it’s kind of like a walkie talkie.” She pushed a little blue button over the keyboard and brought the phone closer to her face. “Hi.” She said to the phone. Spencer’s chimed. He opened it and pulled up their text messages, where a little blue text showed up, but instead of letters, it was an audio recording. He pressed it and out of his phone speaker was Cate’s voice message. 

Cate showed him again the buttons to press to send an audio message. She didn’t realize someone so young could be so technologically inept. The two were huddled over her phone, Spencer was observing carefully, so his memory could help him remember how to do the voice message. Their feet inched them closer and closer together until their hands brushed for the second time that night. Just as the walk to the shop had been quick, the walk to Cate’s apartment went by fast. 

Spencer walked her into the building, and up the stairs, all the way to her door. Cate leaned against it, searching her bag for her keys. Spencer stood next to the wall. He could hear a cat’s meow coming from inside her apartment. 

“Thanks for walking me home, it was really sweet.” Cate smiled up at the tall agent. 

“Oh, no problem.” Spencer said. “I’m glad you got home safe.” Cate couldn’t wipe her smile off her face, and neither could Spencer. Keys in hand, Cate opened her door. To Shrimp’s surprise, there was a new person outside of the door, and he ran and hid deep inside Cate’s apartment. 

“I’ll see you around?” Cate sounded hopeful.

“Of course. The Empty Mug is the best coffee we’ve had at the bureau.” Spencer played with the watch on his wrist. He’s missed the bus back to his apartment. He watched as Cate entered her apartment, softly shutting the door behind her. 

Cate rested her back against the door, feeling like she could finally breathe again. Her mind was spinning, thinking of everything that had happened that night. Shrimp hadn’t heard anyone else enter the apartment, so he came out of his hiding to rub against Cate’s legs. She bent to pet him. He mewed, signaling his bowl was empty. Just as Cate had reached the kitchen and filled Shrimp's bowl, her phone chimed. A new voice message from Spencer. She smiled and pressed play to listen to it. 

“Uh hi Cate, it’s Spencer. I just wanted to say goodnight. So uh, goodnight” Cate held the phone to her chest, smiling. 

Goodnight :) 

She typed back.

[throwaway-sinfulwriter]

The Same - Chapter 5 - Martin (1/2)

From 9:00 AM to 5:00 PM patients were allowed to have phone time.

Martin didn't use this privilege before, as he had stopped trying to call Malcolm after his transfer from the prison.

But now.. now he could talk to his son! Whenever he wanted. From 9 to 5, of course. A bit of sweet talk, nentioning his son worked with the NYPD, and a compliment had Martin everything he could want.

Because he was such a "high risk patient", they brought the phone to him.

He didn't even have to move! Martin could read and write while being on the phone all he wanted. From the comfort of his own cell.

He had planned on calling Malcolm that morning, to speak and cherish his boy's voice.

However, his thoughts became much more interesting, much less perverted when the morning paper was delivered.

Dr. Whitly glances up from the paper, at the guard sitting in the corner. David, his nametag said. He smiles, pointing with his free hand to the television poised above the phone.

"Do you mind turning it to the news, David? I do believe my daughter is on at the moment."

Martin sits back as his guard does as asked, raising his eyebrows as his daughter was indeed reporting. A quadruple homicide, huh. How intriguing.

Malcolm was probably already on the case.

Just a bit longer until he could call Malcolm, ask him about this quadruple murder. How exciting, killing four people at once.

It had always been much too risky for Martin himself, but he silently applauded the person who pulled off such an act.

Of course, when he talked to his son, he would act indifferent. Horrified, even. Martin smirks, setting the paper to the side.

Picking up the Peter Pan book and running his fingers over the cover idly as he watched Ainsley speak with another person on the news channel.

"Ring my son, please, David." The doctor requests, smiling politely as the guard dials for him.

"Hello?" His son answered quickly. He must already be doing work for the case.

"Malcolm, my boy, it's dad!" The book rested on top of his crossed legs, his finger intertwined with each other and moving as he spoke. A grin on his face.

"What? How the hell do you have a phone?" His son sounded baffled at the concept, and it was hard not to beam like the cat who caught the canary. He was so very proud of his manipulations of the staff here.

Really, it was almost too easy.

"Oh, I don't, I have "phone time." A critical distinction. My calls had been exclusively reserved for my medical consultations, but I was able to pull a few strings to help the NYPD and their newest profiler.." He teased lightly, like it was a private joke. Both proud and resentful of his son's occupation.

Martin placed his feet on the floor and moved the rolling chair side to side without disturbing the base.

"Sooo, I heard about this quadruple homicide." He crooned, sounding entirely too smug and comfortable.. Martin whistles, tapping the side of his left leg as he spoke.

"That's quite a story." He says conversationally, trying to get more information on the case. Figure out where he was, what he was doing.

A silence follows, and then his son asked him very meek voice, "How do you even know I'm here?"

To the outside eye, Martin would look very surprised at this question. But the devil inside of him was roaring with triumph, proud at successfully manipulating his son into telling him his whereabouts.

"Oh- my, you're actually on the scene?!" He rocked forward, sitting up higher in his chair. Pointing to the television. "Oh, that's great! Go, go stand behind your sister- go on, I bet I'll be able to spot you." Martin grins at the concept, wishing he could see Malcolm.

Yes, he had his picture. But it wasn't the same as seeing him move, seeing his eyes dart around and his brilliant mind work.

"No." His son shuts him down, sounding dark and irritated now.

Perhaps he got too excited.

"No, oh, you're busy. Of course. I get it." He sat back, hands folding neatly in his lap. Getting quieter.

Closing his eyes for a brief moment.

"So, tell me about the bodies." Martin says, trying to sound casual. But sounding all too excited. It had been so long since he saw a corpse, a crime scene. He so craved the art of it.

"Every killer leaves their.. own unique signature." His face scrunched for a moment, a tick he had developed. Martin dearly missed placing his signature. It was always his favorite part of the murder process.

"Now, I want to hear all the details." He inhales sharply, his hands coming up to fold at his stomach. Scrunching his eyes shut and unfolding them, holding them up.

"I want to really," Martin sniffles, mind coming up with thousands of possibilities, each one messier than the last. "Be able to see it in my head."

"I don't need your help." His son said slowly, enunciating each syllable. Martin couldn't help but inwardly preen. Oh, Malcolm. How wrong he was..

His eyes opened, smile turning into a slight frown. "Oh, don't be a killjoy. I have so much to offer." Martin changes his relaxed stance, sitting forward. As if to get closer to the phone, let his words sink in deeper.

Like knives, corrupting Malcolm's thoughts.

"We're both obsessed with murder; like father like son."

He expects a response, but all he gets is a dial tone.

His smile falls immediately.

"Call back, David." He orders, voice cold as he brings his fingers up to his chin. Resting them there. Glaring at the phone.

The calls go on all day. From 9 to 5, without any breaks. David is becoming irritated with him, but Martin doesn't care. He wants to speak to his son.

"Hello, Malcolm, it's dad-"

"Hey, kiddo, it's your father again-"

"Hello, Malcolm, it's your dad. I heard more about the case. Ooh. Gruesome stuff. Anyways, if you want to bounce around some ideas, give me a call."

"Dad here. I have thoughts on the case."

"I respect that you're conflicted about picking up, but as Oscar Wilde said, "The only way to fight temptation is to yield to it."

"Remember Bradford Bishop? Killed five members of his family in '76 and was never caught? I've always wondered.."

"Dad again. It's almost 4:30."

"Hey, kiddo, it's your father. Sun's beginning to set."

"Dad here. I really would like to speak with you."

His irritation grows and grows, slowly building up after every failed call.

"Sir, I really think-" David tries to tell him, and Martin turns his withering gaze onto the guard.

"I do not care what you think, David. This is between my son and I. No one else. Call again. Now."

He tightens his fist, knuckles cracking and David calls and the voicemail ("Bright here.") rings once more.

"I really would like to speak with you. You sounded tired on the phone. You know, maybe I can help with that."

"I don't know. Help with anything. I JUST WANT TO HELP, DAMN IT!" Martin started off sounding calm, but he quickly descended into screaming, standing up and going towards the phone, his tether pulling him back at the last moment.

It's like a switch flipped, completely normal one moment and homicidal the next. The sign of a true psychopath.

David stood up, much taller than him. Glaring down at him. Martin falters, stepping back.

"Well, Malcolm, phone time is ending for the day. A total bust. Thanks for that." Martin sighs, squeezing the top of his nose, feeling a killer headache coming along.

"Well, hopefully we can speak tomorrow. Goodbye, my boy." The phone clicks off. Martin is left feeling jarringly empty. And angry. So, so very angry.

 

The doctor doesn't sleep well that night, worry and anger eating away at him. Why didn't Malcolm answer his calls? Sure, he had asked about the bodies, but his son knew him well enough to know his obsession with corpses.

So it couldn't be that.. What could it be?

Martin doesn't get an answer until the next day.

He rises with heavy bags under his eyes, feeling fatigued and having even less answers than before. No one could make him so exhilarated and bothered at the same time.

Malcolm was the only one.

After his outburst yesterday, the doctors are refusing to let him see Malcolm without handcuffs around his wrists. It's quite an unnecessary precaution.

He would never hurt his boy.

Well, with his hands, anyway..

As custom, Martin puts his back to the door as his son enters. Turning and smiling at his exhausted, pretty face.

"Malcolm! You got my messages. Come, let's solve a murder." He says eagerly, only to have his son hold up a hand, stopping him.

"There's only one thing I want from you, and that's the truth. Tell me what you did to me." Martin sighs, bringing his rolling chair over and sitting down in it.

"All right, take a seat. Ask me anything." His son complied, and while Martin was incredibly on edge, he felt calmed by his son following his orders.

"I've been remembering things about my childhood."

"Good things?"

"The girl in the box." Alarm ran through Martin, though he displayed an outward expression of indifference. Had he remembered?

"After I found her, did you drug me so I wouldn't call the police?"

The doctor deflected, twisting his expression into one of concern to hide his alarm. "Malcolm, when was the last time you slept through the night?"

"You used chloroform, didn't you? On a ten year old."

Martin swallowed heavily, scratching at his arm nervously.

They make it look so easy in the movies, but it's tricky stuff, you know? The wrong dose can easily kill you," Malcolm opened his mouth with a defiant expression, but his father continued on. "Which is a long way of saying, "No, of course I didn't drug you."

"The girl that I saw-" His son began, and Martin once again shut him down.

"Wasn't real." He says firmly, unwilling to change his stance.

"I may have done some.. bad things, but I never did that."

A silence followed. Malcolm was glaring at him with a resentful expression. It made his stomach turn. He never wanted his son to look at him like that.

Malcolm would understand, once Martin was able to break him down and make him see things from his point of view. The doctor had no choice, he couldn't simply allow Malcolm to go crawling to the police so soon.

For now, he would deny the accusation until he was blue in the face, if he had to.

"Well, don't take my word for it." Martin continued on. "Ask the police, ask your mom. We all agreed there was no girl in the box."

Malcolm stood, stalking to the door. Martin could barely restrain himself from standing and going after him.

"They're wrong and you're lying. Goodbye, Dr. Whitly."

Martin reached out to him. "Wait! Your case." His son turned back to him, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

"You're, uh, after a family annihalator?"

"What?" Malcolm asked him coldly, almost not willing to follow his father's train of thought.

"Your suspect, this, uh, Liam character on the cover of The Daily News.." Martin grabbed a folder off of his desk, holding it up. "Isn't this your profile?"

"My profile is constantly evolving." His son said snarkily, and Martin couldn't help but smile fondly.

"And your method is a mix of psychology and on-the-fly improvisation. I love it." The doctor looked down at the folder for a second, looking up at his son through his eyelashes.

He prides himself in the deep flush that blooms on Malcolm's face.

"Oh, I've always been fascinated by familicide. To.. love one's family that much." Malcolm flinches, barely noticeable to the outside eye. But his father knows all of his little signs.

Signs of attraction, that is. And signs of deep rooted shame.

"Perverted? Yes." Incredibly perverted, the two of them. Playing this little game of cat and mouse. Martin pushing his son until he broke.

"Narcissistic? Sure." Malcolm had developed narcissistic tendencies at a young age, a by-product of his father's methods of caring for him.

Yes, Martin had been delighted when his son first showed signs of being a sociopath. It wasn't quite what he had planned, but it would do.

Afterall, there was only a single type of person who could understand, sympathize with psychopaths. Sociopaths themselves.

His plan, even after being put on hold for a decade, was still running smoothly. Malcolm was still exhibiting emotional responses; guilt, remorse, and sadness.

It would only be a few more years until Martin fully purged those needless emotions from his dear boy. Death was something beautiful, it wasn't something to feel guilt over.

"But it's most certainly love." He tells Malcolm, his tongue poking out to lick his lips.

He doesn't get quite the full reaction he was hoping from his son, only a small flush and a shifting of his feet. Averting his gaze.

"Love? What are you talking about? You didn't kill us."

"Well, I'm not an annihalator. Love didn't drive me to kill anyone. No, it drove me to have you." That was a blatant lie. Malcolm's conception wasn't formed out of love.

It was formed out of lust, and the anger at being trapped with the woman he married. Of course, he wouldn't tell Malcolm this. Yet.

The boy finding out his parents marriage was little more than an act on his father's part would only damage his psych more than it already was.

His son looked disturbed. "I'm leaving." He turns to the door again, and once more falters in his steps. "And you're wrong. It's not always about who they love. It's about who loves them."

Standing in front of him, Malcolm's (Now grown) little boy looked so beaten, so broken down. His eyes staring into his father's soul.

Martin wanted to heal him. Wrap him in his arms and tell him how much he loved him. That he could never not love him.

While he thought this, Malcolm seemed to have a breakthrough. "This annihilator was consumed by his hatred for Aristos, but but Aristos didn't love them back..."

"What's that now?" Martin asks, eyebrows furrowing together as his son went on.

"Liam didn't care enough about his family to kill them. He wanted out. He-he even changed his name! Our killer wanted in." His face lights up, and even though he was doing police work at the moment, Martin was just as excited as him.

Invigorated at the passion in Malcolm's expression.

"Oh, that's good." He says, standing nodding as his boy went on, figuring out the case.

"That's why he made Aristos watch the others die! He was punishing him, taking the one thing that Aristos never gave him, a family."

Malcolm was practically bouncing in place, and Martin wanted to grab him by the shoulders and kiss the living daylights out of him.

"Oh, my goodness, are we solving the crime right now?" The doctor asks, unbelievably excited at the process he got to watch just barely 5 feet away from him.

[ladywinchester1967]

Hot For Teacher: Part 3

Pairing: Professor Dean Winchester x Kelly Frazier

Characters: Dean Winchester, Kelly Fraizer, Kevin Tran, Grandmom (Kelly’s grandmother) and John Winchester.

Warnings: Age gap (Kelly is 26, Dean is 35), Jealous!Dean, John Winchester being a douche, language, angst, arguing, SMUT (I need Jesus after all this smut), Daddy/ Baby Girl Kink, praise!kink, oral (female receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (use protection folks), spanking, feels/ fluff. 

A/N: Here we are, part 3!! I know I’m posting this kind of out of the blue; but I wanted to give you guys a little something while I’m working on other projects for ya’ll. This part is a LONG one, so grab a snack and your favorite beverage! Per usual, unbeta’d, all mistakes belong to me, but the pictures do not. I found them on Pinterest and tumblr.

Seeing this for the first time? Think you missed something?

Catch up!!

Part 1

Part 2

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I knocked on the solid oak door with a brass number 2145 shining back at me as I adjusted my sweater. The door swung open and my grandmother beamed back at me.

“Oh hello darling!” She greeted me with a hug.

“Hi GrandMom,” I said and hugged her back “been a good week?”

“Oh honey, you know it’s same old, same old around here.” She said.

Only a head taller than I was, my grandmother was dressed in a sky blue outfit with her pearls and a seasonal brooch on the collar of her shirt. Today it was one of my favorites; three flowers with various shades of pink and purple on them and matching jewels encrusting the flowers. GrandMom grabbed her purse and keys from just inside the door and asked

“Ready?”

“As always.” I said and smiled at her as she locked up.

My Grandmother and I had always been close; after my parents died when I was little, she and my grandfather took me and my brothers in and raised us. When my grandfather, who I called GrandDad, passed away, my brothers had long since moved out; two of them were married, so it was just GrandMom and I. After I started college, she moved into an apartment that was within an assisted living facility. GrandMom was still independent beyond belief, but if her mental or physical condition ever deteriorated, she would be able to move into a different area of the facility.

Each Sunday we had our routine. I’d take her to church, we’d get some brunch and the I’d take her to run errands if she needed to. If she didn’t have any errands to run, we would watch her soap operas, work on puzzles together or socialize with the friends she had made since living in the home.

The facility provided a shuttle bus to church for those who wanted to go off site to a church near by. GrandMom was one of those and insisted on going to HER church.

“I know everyone there,” she had told me “I like the priests, the bishops and the people there.”

I wasn’t a religious person myself, but this was my time to spend with her and if going to a certain church made her happy, I was all about it.

When we arrived at church, I stood up first and offered GrandMom my arm.

“Kelly, you seem different.” GrandMom said as she used my arm to steady herself.

“I do?” I asked as I she stood. GrandMom’s blue eyes scrutinized me only in a way a grandmother could and it not feel like I was being scolded.

“Happier it seems.” She said as she shifted her purse to her other arm and looped her free arm through mine. “You didn’t meet a boy did you?”

I laughed as we walked toward the steps off the shuttle. I went ahead of her and held my hand out for her, which she took.

“I wouldn’t say he’s a boy,” I told GrandMom as we walked toward the church doors “he’s a man.”

GrandMom looked intrigued; I didn’t have a lot of boyfriends when I was a teenager so she knew this was a big deal.

“What’s his name?” She asked me as we climbed the stairs.

“Dean,” I told her, just me saying his name made me blush “his name is Dean.”

“Is he a nice man?” She asked and I nodded as we reached the doors.

“Yes ma’am,” I answered “very nice.”

After church, GrandMom and I took the shuttle back to the facility and made our way to the supper hall for brunch. This weekend’s buffet included French toast which I stuffed into my face in a very unladylike manner.

“This Dean,” GrandMom said and I sighed

“GrandMom!” I exclaimed as I sipped on my orange juice.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full Kelly.” GrandMom chastised me.

I swallowed before answering

“GrandMom, it’s so new that I don’t know where it’s going or what we even are.” I informed her.

GrandMom raised an eyebrow at me

“I was going to ask what he looked like, but feel free to presume.” She said and I laughed.

I described Dean, feeling a blush rise on my cheeks and GrandMom smiled knowingly.

“Ooohhhhh, he sounds like a handsome one,” she said “do you have any pictures?”

I nodded; I pulled up my Instagram, found Dean’s profile and scrolled until I found a picture I liked. He was sitting in his car looking off into the sunset. I showed it to her and said

“He only grows a beard in the summer, but that’s him.” I flicked to the next picture and in it, he was smiling at the camera, wearing a hat and holding up a pint of beer.

“He IS handsome,” GrandMom said and I smiled “how old is he?”

I put my phone away and said

“I’m not sure, if I had to guess I’d say early thirties.”

We continued the rest of our brunch, catching up and her grilling me about school.

The next day, I walked into Dean’s class and took my usual spot near the middle of the room. He hadn’t come in yet so I made myself comfortable in my seat as other students started to filter in. At precisely ten; Dean walked in, wearing a light blue shirt, dark grey pants, brown dress shoes and a cobalt blue tie. I bit my lip; the colors brought out the blonde in his hair and the green in his eyes.

“Morning people,” he greeted us as he set his things down “open your books to page two twenty nine, section three A and we’ll get started.”

During the lecture that day, I realized I had bitten off more than I could chew. On the one hand, Dean’s class was difficult and on the other, all I could think about was jumping his bones in front of twenty other people. I struggled to keep up and by the end of class, I realized I’d missed over a quarter of the notes I needed.

“Fuck.” I swore under my breath and looked around. One of the other students I’d frequently partnered with caught my eye as Dean dismissed us. “Kevin!” I yelled.

Both Kevin Tran and Dean looked up as Kevin caught my gaze. He smiled and made his way over to me.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Kevin asked

“Good,” I said “I missed a bunch of notes today, would you mind emailing yours to me?”

“Not at all,” he said “I’ll get it to you now. How was your weekend?”

Kevin and I caught up for a few minutes as he emailed his notes to me. I could feel Dean staring at me, but I pushed that thought to the back of my head.

“Done and done,” Kevin said “you wanna grab coffee later?”

“Let me see what the rest of my afternoon is like,” I told him “I’ll text you. Thanks Kevin, you saved my life. Again.”

He laughed

“Any time.” He said and we hugged.

Kevin left class just as the rest of the students did, leaving me and Dean alone. Neither of us said anything as I packed up my stuff and slung my book bag over my shoulder. I walked up to his desk, he didn’t look pleased.

“Did you want me to finish grading those papers today?” I asked hesitantly.

He nodded

“Yeah, you’re almost finished right?” He asked

“Yes,” I said “just a few more in that second stack. How does now work?”

He nodded again.

“I have a free period,” he said as he picked up his things “plus I have some stuff to get organized.”

“Okay; cool.” I said

We walked to his office together and once the door was closed, I felt him behind me, his large frame towering over mine.

“You and Kevin?” He asked, snapping his hips into my butt, his hands over mine.

“It’s nothing,” I insisted as his teeth scraped over the cartilage on my ear, a chill running down my spine “he was just giving me his notes.”

“Were you distracted during the lesson today?” He asked, his hands squeezing mine.

“Yes.” I said desperately

“Yes what?” He asked

I panted before answering him, his growing erection pressing into my ass. I tilted my head back and said

“Yes Daddy.”

I felt his lips curl into a smile.

“Gotta admit,” he said as he bit down on my ear, making me whine “I didn’t like seeing some boy having his hands all over my baby girl.”

“Only so I can pass your class.” I told him as he flattened me against the door.

“You speak when spoken to young lady.” He said fiercely. He spun me around, pinning my wrists by my head, one of his legs between mine. His green eyes bored into mine, had I not known him better, I would’ve been intimidated under a gaze like that. “I didn’t like that,” He said “at all.”

“I’m sorry,” I said with a pout “I wasn’t trying to make you mad. I just want to pass. I want to please you.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward.

“Is that right?” He asked

I nodded

“My Daddy likes it when I do well in his class,” I said as I leaned forward and kissed his neck “it makes him happy.”

“Yes,” He said in a strangled voice as I innocently planted kisses on his neck “Yes it does.”

“I like making my Daddy happy.” I breathed as I left kitten licks over the areas I had kissed.

He let out a growl and I knew I had him in the palm of my hand.

“You want to make Daddy happy?” He asked. I pulled back and nodded eagerly, we kissed with burning passion. He pulled back, cupped my face in one of his hands, his thumb running over my bottom lip. “Tell me who you come for.” He said

“You,” I answered “and me.”

He grinned and kissed me again

“You naughty, naughty girl.” He said punctuating each word with a kiss. When it ended, he looked at me “What am I gonna do with you?”

He tugged me into his arms and walked me back to the chair at his desk. He sat down and pulled me into his lap as the phone on his desk went off.

“Be good while I answer this.” He told me, booping me on the nose as he picked up the phone. “This is Dean.” He said into the handset as I nuzzled into his shoulder, his fingers running up and down my arm. I could hear a deep, male voice on the other end but couldn’t make out exactly what was being said. I felt him tense up under me as he listened. “No,” Dean said firmly and looked down at me, giving me a fond smile “I’m in the middle of something.” The voice on the other end sounded meaner some how. “I said no.” Dean snapped and hung up.

“You okay?” I asked and he nodded, giving me a fake smile.

“I’m fine,” he said and gathered me up into his arms “I just want my baby girl close.”

“I’m about as close as I can get.” I joked, my arms were wrapped around his neck and and legs were across the arm of his chair. He smirked and kissed me deeply, his fingers digging into my skin. His tongue traced over my mouth and I opened up, letting him in. His strong muscle worked over mine, I could feel my mind fogging up from lack of oxygen. When we separated, a knock came at his office door.

“Office hours are over!” Dean shouted

“Dean Winchester!” I heard a male voice thunder, it sounded similar to the one on the phone.

“Shit,” Dean said “get up.” I got up and he walked over to the door, throwing it open. “What?!” He asked with a ferocity that I’d never heard out of him before.

“So NOW you can talk to me?” The male voice roared back.

“I told you I was busy.” Dean said through his teeth.

The door swung open further and I saw a man a little taller than Dean standing there. He had salt and pepper hair and the same build as Dean. With broad shoulders and narrow hips, the only difference between them was their eye and hair color. Where Dean’s eyes were a striking green, this man had intense hazel eyes. I shrunk under the man’s gaze, my eyes down cast.

“I can see that.” The man said.

Something in the back of my head tickled with familiarity when I saw the man, but I couldn’t place him.

“Kelly,” Dean said calmly and I looked up at him “we’ll talk later okay?”

I nodded and grabbed my bags

“Excuse me.” I said

“Wait,” the man said and then looked at Dean, who looked uneasy as the man’s eyes flicked from me to Dean and back again. Dean nodded and the man pushed past Dean. Now fully in my line of sight, I realized where I knew him from. There was a picture of this man, Dean and another guy on Dean’s bookshelf.

“You’re not going to introduce me to your friend?” The man asked, looking me up and down like he wanted to devour me.

“Kelly,” Dean said, looking annoyed “this is John, my Dad. Dad, this is Kelly, one of my undergraduate students.”

John licked his lips, oddly enough, he reminded me of Dean when he did this.

“Always did like them on the young side, right son?” He asked “How many girls have I caught you in here with?”

Dean looked furious as my heart hammered in my ears, I felt like I was going to puke.

“That’s okay sweetheart,” John said “so my son likes to sleep around? Big whoop. What do you say Dean, when you’re done with this one, give me her number?”

Now it was my turn to be furious. Finding my voice, I squared my shoulders, planted my feet and stared John directly in the eye.

“I’m NOT your sweetheart.” I snapped at him.

Both he and Dean looked taken aback.

“I’m sorry,” John said and stepped closer to me “What did you just say?”

“I didn’t stutter.” I said firmly as I shoved past both of them without looking back.

I stormed out of the building; hot, fat tears rolled down my face as I walked home and I shoved my sunglasses on my face to hide my eyes. When I arrived home, I let the tears flow, I threw my bags on the floor as my phone chimed in my bag. I ignored it as I crumbled to the floor, sobbing into my own arms. I’d never felt so cheap and disgusting in all my life. Is that all he saw me as? Just an easy hole to get off into? And like an idiot, I had fallen for it. He’d played me like a fiddle and I’d let him. The worst part was that I was starting to feel something for him, something deeper than I’d ever felt. I laid down and curled up into a ball as I continued to sob.

After a while, I peeled myself off the floor, feeling my crusted up mascara all over my cheeks. I went to the bathroom and saw I was right; I had black lines cutting through my foundation and powder.

“To hell with it.” I decided and washed off my makeup. When my face was clean, I changed into my pajamas and ambled to the kitchen. I opened a bottle of wine, pouring it into a glass and began to drink.

“To hell with that too.” I said and chugged the rest of the glass before setting it aside and drinking straight from the bottle. I could hear my phone buzzing and chiming every few seconds and I ran over to my bag. I fished my phone out and realized it was Dean blowing up my phone. I shut it off; I was too angry to deal with him, plus I knew he had class coming up so I’d have a while before I had to or could talk to him. I took another long pull from the bottle of wine and laid on the couch flipping through the channels on TV. I turned it to HGTV and zoned out while one episode of House Hunters rolled into another.

After a few minutes a loud knock came at my front door. I groaned and made my way to the door, opening it. Standing there was a frightened looking Dean.

“There you are!” He shouted and threw his arms around me, backing me into my apartment. I shoved him away, slammed the door and asked

“Don’t you have class?!”

“I canceled it, I’ve been calling you!” He yelled. In that second, he reminded me of my Dad and my brothers, who yelled at me when they were worried about me. I pushed that thought aside, my anger returning to the surface.

“What the HELL was that about with your Dad?!”

“Look, I know you’re upset-“ he started and I laughed humorlessly

“UPSET?!” I shouted at him “Upset doesn’t even fucking begin to cover it Dean!” He stood there quietly as I ranted on “Is that all I am?” I asked “just someone for you to like young? Someone for you to stick your cock in and get off into whenever you want?!

“No!” He shouted back “You stop right there!”

“Oh, THAT’S where it stops?!” I yelled “What were you gonna do? Pass me off to your Dad when you got bored? Well guess what? That’s not how this shit works. That’s not how I work! I’m not some whore you can pass around-“

He interrupted me by scooping me up and pushing me against the wall, his bulky arms and legs twisting with mine. I fought him hard trying to wriggle away from him.

“Would you fucking LISTEN to me?!” He shouted.

“Let go!” I shouted as I twisted in his limbs “You fucking let go of me right now!”

“Not until you listen to me.” He insisted. Any words I had coming up ceased in my throat, I could feel his green eyes practically drilling into me. “I’m not going to pass you around,” he said, I could feel an angry fire burning from deep inside him came out through his voice “I’m too selfish to share first of all.” He squeezed my wrists “second, my Dad isn’t any concern of yours. You made it clear he wasn’t going to talk to you like that.”

I squirmed, trying to get away from him. I didn’t want to look at him, I didn’t want to see the look on his face, nor did I want to hear what he had to say. “Thirdly,” He said, pressing his body into mine, his hand letting go of my wrist to push my face up to meet his eyes. I kept my eyes adverted, my mouth set in a defiant line. “Kelly.” He said, but I refused to acknowledge him “Kelly, look at me.” His voice was steady now, but I didn’t want to give in. Every cell in my body screamed at me to tell him to fuck off. To slap him, to do SOMETHING other than be pinned under him, completely at his mercy.

But my heart, my heart made my eyes meet his.

The expression on his face nearly brought me to my knees. It was a mix of hope and heartbreak all at the same time; in front of me was a severely hurt man that wanted, no NEEDED, me to listen to him.

I held his gaze steadily and he went on.

“You’re not some hole for me to get off into,” he said softly “you’re more than just sex to me.”

“What am I then?” I asked

He sighed, his fingers stroking my cheek.

“I don’t know,” he said “for the first time, I’m going into something without a plan. I do know that I like you, I want to be around you as much as possible and I can only hope you feel even a quarter of what I feel.”

I breathed, my heart pounding at a painful rate. I delayed answering him, rather, I let my hand slide up the back of his hand, his arm and then his shoulder. When I reached his face, he leaned into my touch, silently begging me for more. I let my fingers trace over the planes of his face; his cheek bones, the bridge of his nose and jaw line.

“Kelly,” he breathed “please say something.”

I couldn���t, I was at a loss for words. I pulled my wrist free of his grasp and let my  other hand wander around his waist. I stood on the balls of my feet and pressed light kisses into his neck. His breath hitched in his throat as I kept this up, kissing his throat and chin before reaching his mouth. When our lips met, it was like a rolling flame hit both of us. Our arms automatically locked around one another and our tongues fought for dominance.

Dean pulled me away from the wall and backed me up into my bedroom. I tugged off his tie and threw it aside, practically ripping open his shirt. He shed both layers quickly as I yanked my T-shirt off and pitched it aside, my arms automatically surrounding him. He backed me up into the bed and I sat down as we both took off our pants and shirts. Dean flattened me against the mattress and I kissed him feverishly. I wondered if this was how an addict felt before they got their next hit. He slipped my panties down and off. Without much fanfare, he slid out of his underwear and hauled me up into his lap. While I couldn’t tell him exactly what I felt, I could show him. That was a language I knew we both spoke. He, however, had other plans. He laid me down against the pillows. His mouth and hands seemed to cover every inch of me all at once; he sucked my left nipple into his mouth as I ran my fingers through his hair and moaned. He repeated this motion on my right nipple, his tongue flicking over it and making it perk up as his fingers grasped my hips. He kissed me hot and heavy, then he plowed straight into me, making both of us cry out.

“I want you,” he moaned, his hand sliding from my hip to my clit and began to rub it in slow, languid circles as I sighed loudly “I want you all for myself.”

“Oh fuck!” I cried out, my nails sinking into the back of his neck and the small of his back at the same time.

“Say it, please.” He begged, his eyes nearly piercing through me.

“I’m-FUCK! Oh my god!” I cried out, it felt like he was fucking the sense out of me “I’m yours, fuck! I’m all yours!”

He kissed me hard again as he rubbed my clit in faster, shorter circles while he continued to pound into me.

“Dean, god, DEAN!” I cried out.

I hooked my leg around his waist and flipped him on to his back, pinning his arms above his head as I moved on top of him. He looked shocked, but said nothing when he saw the expression on my face. I was still fucking angry at him and had to show him I wasn’t messing around. “If you ever, EVER make me feel like a cheap whore again,” I yelled at him “you’re gonna walk out that door and never come back. Do you understand me?!”

He nodded furiously

“Yes!” He yelled “yes!”

“Yes what?!” I asked fiercely, slamming my hips into him.

“Yes ma’am!” He yelled back.

I released him and he popped up, his lips smashing into mine as we moved together, grunting, groaning, biting and clawing each other’s skin like wild animals in heat. It felt like every muscle in my body was burning, but I didn’t care, nothing mattered in that moment besides him.

“Oh fuck,” he cried out, gripping me tightly as his movements became erratic, his hand slipped between our bodies and he rubbed my clit harshly. “fuck, KELLY!” He yelled

I screamed his name as he came deep inside me, my nails scratching down his back, leaving angry, red welts behind as I came hard. I shook, the orgasm rocking me to my core. I slumped my head on to his shoulder, both of us breathing hard. He pulled out of me and we both laid on our backs, looking in silence at the ceiling for a long time.

Eventually, we curled under the sheet together, still not talking. I laid on my back while he laid on his side, his fingertips running over my belly. I closed my eyes and I felt him kiss my temple.

“So beautiful,” he murmured in my ear “such a beautiful girl.”

I smiled without opening my eyes.

“Dean?” I asked quietly

“Hmmm?” He asked, kissing my temple again.

“How many girls ARE you fucking?” I asked

“Just one, you.” He said and I felt him place a finger on my jaw. I opened my eyes as he used his finger to turn my head to his. “It isn’t exactly a secret, I’ve had my share of girls.”

“You get around? Shocker.” I said in a sarcastic tone and he smirked.

“I like what I like,” he said “and getting laid is one of those things. But I’m no predator. What has happened between me and another party has always been consensual. I’ve never pressured a student to do something she didn’t want to and vice versa.” I listened and he went on “If I’m in a relationship, I don’t screw around. If I’m one thing, I’m a man of my word; loyal to a fault as my brother would say.”

I smiled and spoke

“Then why would your Dad say stuff like that?” I asked

“Part of me thinks that he thinks he’s being funny and the other part thinks he genuinely wants to fuck you.” Dean said with an eye roll “my Dad and I don’t have the best relationship because of how he treated my Mom.”

“And how was that?” I asked

“He messed around on her, a lot, and it hurt her. One of the many reasons I DON’T mess around.” He said “Ever since my parents got divorced, my Dad’s been in and out of my life. Now that I’m stable on my own, he keeps trying to reach out and have something to do with me but I’ve made it clear I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“Why does he want something to do with you so badly?” I asked

Dean sighed

“Because he’s getting remarried and he wants me and my brother there.” He said “The woman he’s marrying is also the woman he knocked up while he was still married to my Mom.”

My eyes went wide

“So, you have a half sibling?” I asked and he nodded

“Yep, a brother named Adam.” He said “He did everything with Adam; took him to baseball games on his birthday, went to school programs, attended graduations, he’s even in Adam’s prom pictures.”

“And he didn’t do that with you and your brother?” I asked and Dean shook his head, no.

“Not at all.” He said “Also one of the many reasons I’m angry with him.”

I nodded and said

“That shouldn’t be a problem now, he’s not getting anywhere near me.”

“Nope,” Dean said “I think you made that clear. Gotta say, I’m not sure if I was shocked or turned on when I saw you stand up to him.”

“It’s not the first time a guy thinks he can call me pet names and I’ll drop my pants for him, won’t be the last. I have four older brothers remember?” I asked

“I’m surprised guys were allowed anywhere near you honestly.” He said and I laughed.

“My brothers had friends,” I said “they didn’t pay much attention to me until after puberty, in which case, all four of the boys made it clear that their friends weren’t supposed to touch me. That didn’t stop some of them though.”

Dean looked surprised

“Did they live to tell that tale?” He asked and I laughed.

“I learned to hold my own,” I said “they taught me to defend myself and to let me handle my own problems. However, if them getting the shit kicked out of them by a tiny girl didn’t make the message clear, they’d step in. I think one guy still has trouble holding his bladder when he laughs.”

This made him crack up as he gathered me into his arms, kissing my forehead.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side.” He said

“Noted.” I told him and looked up at him. When our eyes met, we kissed.

The heat started to rebuild between us as he tenderly stroked my hair and back. I moaned against his mouth, throwing my leg across his hips.

“Can’t be sated can you?” He teased.

“When my smoking hot Daddy is laying butt naked in my bed? No, I can’t.” I said and he laughed.

“It doesn’t help when my sexy girl is pressing her hot little body all over me.” He said with a grin.

“I’ll try to be uglier.” I told him as my tongue gently grazed his lips.

“You can’t,” he told me “you’re too beautiful inside and out.”

I grinned as his mouth parted, allowing my tongue inside. He tasted faintly of mint and coffee, I noted as our tongues twisted together. He hummed in appreciation, the vibration from his chest registering to mine, which only made me want him more. When my tongue returned to my mouth, I pulled back a little and let my fingers wander through his hair. Even though it was mussed from our earlier romp, it felt soft and thick in my hands. I gently gripped the longer locks on the top of his head and kissed him again, his hands sliding down my back and to my rear end. He gripped two handfuls of my ass as we kissed and gave it a firm smack, making me yelp in surprise.

“Oh, my baby likes to be spanked doesn’t she?” He asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

“What makes you say that?” I asked, even though I knew full well I did.

“You’re practically gushing on my thigh baby girl.” He pointed out and gave me another firm slap on the ass and I whined, tugging on his hair and feeling him harden against my leg.

“GOD!” I cried out

“Answer me,” he said “does my baby girl like to be spanked?”

“Yes Daddy!” I exclaimed as I twisted against him.

“You want me to spank you sweetheart?” He growled in my ear.

“Oh god, yes. Please spank me.” I begged him

“You’ll have to ask nicer than that.” He said

I bit my lip and then asked

“Daddy, will you please spank me?” in the most innocent tone I could manage. “I’ve been a very bad little girl.”

His mouth twitched up at the corner and he said

“Let me sit up.”

I crawled off of him as he did this and grabbed my wrist. He hauled me over his lap

“Say “red” if it hurts too much baby.” he told me

“Yes sir.” I answered

“Good,” He said “three spankings okay?”

“Yes Daddy.” I said, trying not to squirm in anticipation, I could feel my nipples hardening just from his words.

“Count for me baby.” He said

“I will.” I told him, his erection poking me in the stomach. Without warning or preamble, he laid one firm smack on my ass and I cried out.

“AH! ONE!”

He kneaded my flesh in his hand before delivering another blow, the sound of his firm hand cracking over my butt sounded through the room.

“FUCK! TWO!” I cried, the delicious, painful sensation rocking my body.

“Such language.” He said “one more, you okay baby?”

“Yes Daddy!” I answered

He delivered the final slap and I cried out a strained

“THREE! Oh god, three!”

“Oh baby girl,” he growled as I sat up “you take your spankings so well.”

“Thank-thank you Daddy.” I said breathlessly, I could feel my core dripping.

He could tell I was wrecked and he gave me a devilish grin.

“You want Daddy to take care of you baby?” He asked

“Please?” I begged him “Please take care of me?”

“You took your spankings so well, you get to choose.” He told me as he sat up on his knees “What would you like baby?”

“Can you-?” I could barely concentrated, my nerves were buzzing so hard

“Words baby,” he said and tilted my chin up so that I was looking at him “tell me.”

“Will you go down on me?” I asked, even though it sounded more like I was begging him “and fuck me?”

He grinned, his thumb stroking over my chin.

“I can’t deny my baby when she took her spankings like a good girl.” He told me as we kissed, his warm lips over mine.

“You’re such a good girl for me you know that?” He said quietly as he tenderly touched my face.

“I try.” I told him, leaning into his touch.

“Since you’re so good for me, I want you to just relax and let Daddy take care of you.”

I nodded as he planted a gentle kiss on me as I nodded. He gave me a half grin and kissed me again, his tongue tracing over my lips. I opened my mouth and let him in and he seemed to lap over every inch of my mouth. He pulled back as I scraped my nails down his arms. He moaned as he kissed down my jaw and up to my ear. He took my earlobe in his teeth and bit down just hard enough to make me gasp and my back arch.

“Mh, I love those pretty sounds you make,” he murmured as he gently licked where he just bitten me “just for me.”

I nodded and he kissed down my body; licking, biting and sucking on my skin. He seemed to know which places to do each thing that made me cry out and my toes curl. He made his way to the apex of my thighs, hooking his arms under my thighs. He kissed my inner thighs and then started to suck. I propped up on my elbows, looked down and was mesmerized by what I saw. He sucked hard on my skin, his fingers digging into my thigh. I gasped and he looked up at me, a smirk forming on his lips.

“Something just for me.” He said

I bit my lip

“Do one for me too.” I told him

He pulled away, that devilish grin I’d come to love playing on his lips.

“I give my baby what she wants.” He said and went to my other thigh, sucking an identical mark in the same place. “One for you, and one for me.” He said

“Perfect.” I told him and laid back.

He spread my legs open and said

“I think you liked that more than I anticipated, you’re soaking wet baby.”

“You have that effect on me.” I told him as he licked a thick stripe up my slit making me cry out and grip the sheets.

“Do I?” He asked

“Yes.” I whined as he sucked my clit into his mouth. I arched my back, the sensation rolling over me like a wave. He licked through my folds, swirling and rolling his tongue into me as I cried out. I gripped his hair, the luscious locks tangling in my fingers.

“Deeeeeeeeeeannnnnn,” I moaned “oh my god, that feels so good!”

His fingers slid around and into me easily as I moaned louder. He lapped his tongue over my clit and his fingers scissored into me. I lost control, thrusting my hips into his mouth and fingers.

“Mhhhh, baby,” he said “be still for me.”

“Yes sir.” I said and laid back. I let him ravage me, he devoured me like a starving man, eating me out as if his life depended on it. I screamed like a woman possessed, my head rolling from side to side.

“That’s it,” he moaned “that’s it baby girl, come for me.”

With one crook of his fingers and I was done for. I came undone with a scream of his name, feeling a cold chill run up my spine. I collapsed on the bed, my legs fell open and my hand let go of his hair. I breathed hard as his adorable face came into my view, he was licking his shining lips as a stupid grin formed on my mouth.

“Feel good baby?” He asked me and then we kissed. I could taste myself in his mouth, which was strangely erotic.

“Yeah,” I breathed “better than good.”

“You sure you want me to fuck you?” He asked “I’m not opposed to it, but I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“You don’t have to fuck me,” I told him and kissed him “make love to me, like you did earlier.” My hands roamed up his back, his strong muscles dancing under my touch.

He grinned and we kissed again

“That I can do,” He said and easily slid inside me, making me cry out “your wish is my command baby.” He started to move and I threw my head back as I moved with him. His name fell from my lips like a prayer as he kissed me over and over again, his hips bucking up into mine. He sucked my lower lip into his mouth and bit down on it as I cried out for him.

“Dean, I’m gonna-GOD!” I yelled

“Let go baby,” he told me, gripping my hips hard “I’m right there, god you’re fucking tight for me!”

I cried out against his mouth as he fucked me through my orgasm, reaching his own as he sucked a dark mark on to my chest.

I didn’t remember falling asleep, but when I opened my eyes, I could smell food. I groaned and felt around for Dean, realizing his side of the bed was cold. I located my clothes and pulled them on, then walked out into my living room to find a sweet sight.

Dean has set up dinner at my kitchen table and was currently rummaging around in my kitchen for god only knew what.

I smiled and watched him as he moved; without a belt around his dress pants, they hung a little lower on his hips, his undershirt wasn’t tucked in and he was wearing his socks, his hair stuck up in all kinds of funny directions as he looked through my cabinets.

“Can I help you find something?” I asked and he turned, wearing a grin on his face.

“Hey sleepyhead.” He greeted me and turned to face me. I walked over to him and wrapped my arms around his waist as he kissed my forehead. “I was just about to come get you.” He said “where are your plates?”

“Dishwasher,” I told him “you don’t have to get fancy on me, we can eat off the take out plates.”

“I was trying to be sweet,” he said, giving me a playful pout “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Oh, I’m surprised.” I told him and gave him a kiss.

“In that case, we can dig in.” He said and we sat down to eat.

We ate in silence for a while, I glanced from my food up to him, toying with the fried rice on my plate at one point.

“What’re you thinking?” He asked

I sighed

“A lot of things.” I told him honestly

“I can tell,” he said “you’re doing that thing where you bite your lip when you’re concentrating really hard.”

I smiled

“You notice shit like that?” I asked, amused and he nodded.

“You pick at your fingers or your lip when you’re nervous,” he said “or you play with your hair and laugh.”

“What else?” I asked, intrigued

He thought for a second, a sweet, crooked smile forming on his face.

“When you’re really interested in something, your whole face lights up,” he said “first time I saw that face, I was hooked.”

“THAT’S what hooked you? Me geeking out?” I asked “You might want to get your eyes checked.”

He shook his head

“Not because of the context where you made the face,” he said “the way your eyes were sparkling and shining and that adorable smile that crosses your face. I knew I wanted to see that face more.”

I grinned as I looked down and pushed my food around my plate.

“Dean?” I asked

“Yes?” He answered

I looked up and he was holding a steady gaze at me.

“Would you want to,” I started “be my boyfriend? I know it’s kind of sudden, but I really like you and you’re the only one I want to be with.”

He gave me a half grin

“You’re a girl that knows what she wants huh?” He asked and I nodded.

“Yep.” I said

He sighed and asked

“Are you sure? Not any guys your own age you’d rather have?”

I shook my head

“I’ve done my fair share of dating,” I told him “nothing I’ve experienced comes close to what I feel when I’m with you, and that’s something I want to explore.”

He smiled and reached across the table, his hand covering mine.

“I’d like that. Very much.” He said

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

What did you guys think?! These two are driving me crazy because they’re SO CUTE!!! As always, kind feedback is welcome; feel free to like, share and drop a comment and if you want, Hulk smash that follow button to see more content from me. My boxes are always open; so if you have a suggestion, a request or would like to join The Squad or be tagged in this series, let me know!! See you guys for the next one!

The Squad:

@waywardbaby @waywardnerd67 @familybusinesswritingbro @ain-t-bovvered @mrswhozeewhatsis @girlborninstorms @dacleverfox@emoryhemsworth @bobasheebaby @salvachester@myinconnelly1 @mogaruke @imma-winchester-addict@theworldiscolorful @dean-winchesters-bacon @animerose96@l8nit-l0vr @drakelover78 @curly-haired-disaster

Hot For Teacher:

@wayward-gypsy

[jamessandersweb]

Mile 22 Set Visit With Peter Berg & Co. in Bogota, Colombia

BEGIN SLIDESHOW

Mile 22 set visit with Peter Berg & Co. in Bogota, Colombia

The Peter Berg-directed action film Mile 22 began principal photography on November 27, 2017 in Atlanta and filmed there through December before picking the shoot back up in early 2018 in Bogotá, the capital city of Colombia. When we arrive for our Mile 22 set visit on February 10 it is Day 40 of 43, with some of the production’s biggest stunts still ahead.

RELATED: Watch the Mile 22 Red Band Trailer Featuring Mark Wahlberg!

Mile 22 centers on Mark Wahlberg’s Jimmy Silva, the leader of a CIA special division called Ground Branch assigned to exfiltrate an important informant named Li (Iko Uwais of The Raid films) from a U.S. Embassy in a fictional South American country (jokingly referred to as “Bergestan”) to a cargo plane 22 miles away (hence the title). Of course, people try to kill them along the way.

“My character is Li Noor,” said Uwais. “He is one of the leads of this movie, siding with America trying to convince the audience that he’s a good guy. He might be a good guy or he might not, you never know, right?”

“A lot of this was inspired by when I saw The Raid,” Berg revealed. “Big fan of Iko’s and what Gareth Evans did in The Raid. I wanted to play around with Iko and his unique style of fighting. I really do think he’s heir apparent to Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee and Jet Lee. He’s up there.”

Today Berg is filming the first ambush in which men on motorcycles put chargers on the gas tanks of Silva’s motorcade to blow up their vehicles… but first we get a surprise. When Berg arrives on set he’s throwing punches to get himself pumped for the shooting day. After sizing up the crowd of journalists assembled for the set visit, he pulls me out of the crowd to block a fight scene with the legendary Iko Uwais, who has one arm handcuffed to the backseat of an SUV. I’m given a prop gun and aim it at Uwais as I approach the vehicle, and – in a moment of “car fu”- he immediately disarms me, slams my head into the door and then strangles me with a seat belt, killing me. It is AMAZING. Of course, after our bit of fun the real stunt men are brought in to do the scene the right way.

“Every fight scene I have handfcuffs,” Uwais explained. “There’s a scene in a hospital where I only have one hand and I’m handcuffed onto the bed. It’s a new experience for me as well because it’s a little bit difficult to create the choreography. I work with the stunt team, and it’s gonna be fun. It’s less free, so it’s challenging. Usually if I fight with two hands it’s more free. Fighting with one hand means less actions, so it’s more intense.”

All this intense action today is being shot in a high profile area of the city known as El Centro Internacional de Bogotá, which is described as the Times Square of Colombia.

“What we’ve been able to do in Bogotá we never would have had the space, the time, the support in America,” says the film’s co-star Lauren Cohan of The Walking Dead fame. “I’m sure it would have cost five million times more money. We have just been able to do really, really, really grand, cool things here. And I think we have like nine city blocks cordoned off, and this is maybe the fourth or the fifth day that we’ve used this location.”

“Never filmed here before, very under-filmed city, Bogotá,” Berg said of the city. “Every location is new and fresh. There’s a lot of beautiful texture in the buildings. It’s just very unique colors, the way the sun has hit the paint. It’s unique and I like that. Friendliest people I ever met.”

There are between 500 and 700 people working on the film in Bogotá, with most of the same staff from the production company Dynamo as the show Narcos, which also films in the area. The Dynamo crew is excited to be filming a big Hollywood action film in Colombia that doesn’t revolve around the area’s infamous drug trade.

This is day 4 out of 5 on this ambush scene. Berg is in a utility van reviewing aerial footage with his director of photography Jacques Jouffret. This special footage being shot by a drone team is for more than just style: It’s part of the in-world CIA branch called Overwatch headed by John Makovich’s Bishop, who are observing Silva’s team with drones while remaining in radio contact with him and ocassionally dropping a bomb or two to help him out. The drone team on set films everything Berg shoots simultaneously from the sky, getting a lot of beauty shots like Michael Bay-style aerial 360’s.

As for Wahlberg’s crew in the film, he assembled some heavy hitters, including Lauren Cohan and MMA  fighter turned actress Ronda Rousey (Furious 7).

Alice Curr is a CIA Ground Branch operative, and this group pretty early on in the movie discovers that they need to go a little further undercover on a very special mission with a very specific asset, and it takes them on a wild adventure, explained Cohan.

“I play Sam Snow,” says Rousey. “She’s the tactical shooting badass of the team. She’s a lot more skilled at tactical gun stuff and not so much hand-to-hand fighting, like I would be known for. It’s cool to not be leaning on my strengths so much.”

“I think the most fun part of it, in a lot of senses, is that people aren’t going to see what they’re expecting to see,” Cohan added. “Rhonda does barely any fighting in this movie, and we get a chance to see what an amazing actress she is. Yet all the things that I think make her incredibly lovable, which is her perseverance and her strength and the fact that she never gives up, so informs this character. But it’s also who she is.”

“Everyone has their different styles, but for me he’s the best director I’ve ever worked with,” Rousey said of working with Berg. “I’m not hating on anybody else. I’m just saying he’s been an actor before, so he understands what we need. He helps me through every scene and gives me the freedom to say things in my own words. But if he wants something in an exact phrase, he can shout it at me. So he gives me a lot of detail and direction. Instead of ‘That wasn’t so good, let’s do it again,’ he’ll give me the exact details of what he wants. As someone who’s been coached all their life, that’s what I need — I need coaching and direction. Tell me what you want and I’ll do it, but it’s hard to guess. Pete takes all the guesswork out of it. He’s really been a great mentor and guide throughout this whole process.”

This is stands as Berg’s fourth directorial outing with Wahlberg, whom he previously directed in Lone Survivor (2013), Deepwater Horizon (2016) and Patriots Day (2016). Although we didn’t get a chance to speak with Wahlberg on set, we did get to see the basic beats of this incredible action sequence.

In the plaza there are cars that have stopped, cars with broken windows, a yellow cab riddled with bullets, and a big Jeep with its axle blown off. Lots of debris and rubble. There are dead guys in motorcycle helmets with uzis lying on the ground. Berg directs through a loud “God Mic,” and the first take of the “real” Iko Uwais backseat fight scene is lightning fast and intense (moreso than mine).

“I did every action scene and my team choreographs every fight scene as well,” Uwais told us. “Sam Looc, Lateef Crowder and Ryan Watson, we all work on it with Rama Ramadhan from Indonesia. I want to thank STX because they really trusted me a lot because every style of fight they trusted me to create. We prepare before we shoot with the stunt team. We make the pre-viz as well for reference.”

We go into a building across the street to witness filming from a high vantage point. A gunshot blares out and a BMW drives backwards to pick up Lauren Cohan, who pulls Uwais out of the SUV and takes him to the BMW. Cut. Lunch.

After lunch they do a shot where the Beemer drives away and there is a HUGE explosion behind them. Dummies were carefully placed near the explosion to add to the realism. We see this same explosion again from street level… at a safe distance.

“It has all the real cool action beats and all those fun visual things, but it also has a lot more heart and depth,” Rousey says of Mile 22, which opens on August 3. “It goes into the grey area of what’s right and wrong. It makes you think a lot more than just a ‘let’s save the today.’ It’s a lot more complicated than a lot of these popcorn-crunching action movies. It has that in it, but it also will leave you thinking about who should you really be rooting for in the end.”

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