#when my desk is 6ft from the door and i have nowhere else to go for lunch

[quilleth]

Boss makes several dollars, I make a dime, that's why I scroll Tumblr on company time

[deanwanddamons]

All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You - Part 2

Summary: You were driving alone after getting into a huge fight with your now ex-boyfriend. You had spotted a guy standing on the side of the road in the rain, hitching a ride, so you gave him a lift. That guy happened to be Dean Winchester and you had an unforgettable one night stand with him. Part 2 continues the story and there’s a surprise in store for both you and Dean.

Find part one here: All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, You, Sophie (OC)

Pairing: Dean x You (kinda)

Word Count: 2.6k

Warning: Pregnancy, mentions of suicide, angst

Song inspiration - https://youtu.be/OAfxs0IDeMs

Heart - All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You

A/N: So, this started as a one shot, but lots of you have asked for a second part so here it is! I found this one a challenge as I have never written angst before. I hope you like it! Once again I have had so much help with this and can’t thank you all enough for your advice, love, support and for being my beta’s @mummybear @negans-lucille-tblr @winchest09 @princessmisery666 @deans-baby-momma love you girls ❤️

Three Months Later

“Shit, shit, shit,” you groan, tears filling your eyes as you stare down at the positive pregnancy test in your hand.

How could this have happened? Nothing had gone right for a few weeks. You’d had to change your job to avoid your ex, office romances weren’t ever a good idea. You had to move home since said ex boyfriend had moved the woman he had an affair with into the home you’d once shared and now this.

Maybe it had been a mistake to pick up a hitchhiker and screw him in a motel room. But you’d needed the comfort, the small escape. Besides, Dean had been the best sex of your life. One night stands were supposed to be forgotten, but any girl would have trouble forgetting Dean.

Everything about the night was as vivid as reality, even the look of shock on his face when you’d bolted from the room, guilt and shame not allowing you to stick around.

Shaking your head, you refuse to believe that the first test was right. They were not always accurate so you had bought two, just in case. Looking to the side of you, you focus on the second test inside the box. You rip the plastic open and sit on the toilet. Maybe you should have drank some more water.

You had expected to hear from Paul, your scumbag ex. Maybe a text or phone call. Especially when he would’ve returned home to find all your belongings gone. But you’d heard nothing. Your best friend had offered you her spare room but you hadn’t wanted to be a burden so a few weeks later you found a small apartment to rent in town. Thank god she wasn’t here now because she’d have been the first to tell you how much of a mess you are in.

The second test would need a couple of minutes to develop so you place it on the countertop and wash your hands. As if landing the only job in town as a maid for the motel you’d spent the incredible night with Dean in hadn’t made it hard enough to forget him, the two little blue lines have now made it impossible.

“Fuck!” you yell into the mirror.

It had been a stressful couple of months, it was understandable you’d miss a period. You’d thought nothing of it, brushed it off as stress and the shitty diet you’d been keeping of late.  

Then you missed a second period and the second test has confirmed what you’d wanted it to deny.

Pregnant.

It’s Dean’s. The timing fits perfectly and you hadn’t slept with your ex for months before the split. Dean had worn a condom, but it had obviously failed.

“Fuck!” you scream again, punching the countertop, bringing your hand to your mouth when you notice a trickle of blood on your knuckles. Panic and fear are washing over your body like a tidal wave.

Sitting heavily back down on the toilet, you bury your head in your hands, and start to cry.

A Year Later

Working at the motel still reminds you of Dean, but thankfully the room your tryst had taken place in isn’t on your rota. But you’d have traded that to not have to clean room 237. Approaching the door you take a deep breath and enter your card key into the reader. Green Light.

Opening the door slowly, you enter. As usual, you feel the noticeable temperature difference from the corridor. Looking around you shiver. This room always gives you the creeps, the sense of foreboding heavy and thick. As the rumour goes, a young maid - having an affair with the motel Manager, Tony - had committed suicide after he ended the relationship. She chose to slit her wrists in the bathtub of room 237, where they used to meet. Three months later, Tony had done the exact same thing.

Pulling your cart through the door, you move quickly to the bed to change the sheets. A scratching sound from the bathroom takes you by surprise. Even though your heart rate quickens, you decide to ignore it. Gathering up the dirty linen, you dump them in the cart. There it is again. What the hell is it? There’s no one else in or near the room. The atmosphere is getting heavier, the pressure getting stronger. The need to flee is becoming overwhelming.

Again; louder now. Walking towards the bathroom, palms sweating, hands shaking, you reach for the handle and pull the door open.

It’s empty. Pulling back the shower curtain, you scream as the image of a figure materialises in the tub.

Bolting from the room, heart almost bursting out of your chest, you fall to your knees, sobbing. The need to be with your daughter, to hold her, to smell her is the only thought in your confused mind.

Grace was born on a bright, cold fall day in October. It had been a fairly easy pregnancy, but a difficult birth, so you were in the hospital for a week.

Luckily, she’s a pleasant and placid child, with the most intense green eyes, a smattering of freckles across her nose and her lips were plump and full. Every time you look at her you can see her father, which makes your heart ache, but you know you have to keep on going for her sake.

She is your world, your everything and you love her more than words could explain.

Your friend had not approved of you keeping the baby at first, as she had said it would ‘ruin your life’ but you knew there was no way you could get rid of it. Plenty of people managed to bring a child up alone, and you knew, with hard work and perseverance, you could do it too. Eventually, your friend came around to your way of thinking, even offering to babysit when you had shifts at the motel. As you didn’t get paid maternity you had to go back to work almost straight away.

The motel - you hate the place.

After the encounter in the bathroom, which had haunted you since it happened, you had done some research online, and discovered this was not the first time this had happened. Twenty years ago, the same scenario took place in the exact same room.

When the new manager started, you asked why the room was still being used. The answer was simply, “Money, honey,” so you never mentioned it again. Either the public were unaware of the history, or didn’t care, as it was almost always occupied.

Your day starts out the same as any other. Leaving Grace with your friend you drive the short distance to the motel.

Entering the reception area, you are surprised to find it empty. Sophie is usually behind the counter, but she is nowhere to be seen.

“Sophie?” you call out as you walk behind the desk to collect the key to the supply cupboard.

“Hey Y/N,” you hear from the back office, “come in here a second?”

Putting your bag on the floor, you open the door to the office to find she is not alone.

A very handsome man, with floppy brown hair wearing a smart suit is sitting at the desk. As he rises to shake your hand, you are amazed at how tall he is. He must be well over 6ft 4.

“Y/N, this is Agent Taylor from the FBI,” she introduces him as he shows you his badge.

“Hi Y/N,” he smiles, shaking your hand. “My partner, Agent May and I are here to discuss the death of Tony Phelps. He’s just getting a glass of water. He will be with us shortly. Please, take a seat.”

There are two doors in the office. One, which you just came through, leads from the reception. The other leads into a small kitchen area. You sit, with your back to the door to the kitchen.

“Why are the FBI investigating a suicide?” you politely ask Agent Taylor.

“We are not sure it was suicide,” he responds, “so we are talking to all the staff to find out if they saw or heard anything strange or unusual the night he died. Anything out of the ordinary. ”

As he is speaking, you hear the door behind you open, so turn in your seat. You realise who has just walked through the door. The man you hadn't forgotten since that night. How could you forget him?

Dean.

Your heart stops as the room suddenly loses all its oxygen. Your lungs cease to take in air, a weight on your chest pressing down on you like a vice.

Staring at him, eyes wide and glassy, a lump forms in your throat, and for a brief moment you lose the ability to form words.

What is he doing here?

He stares back at you, an expression of realisation slowly changing his features. He goes to speak, but you briefly shake your head and force your gaze from his, looking back to Sophie.

Agent Taylor clears his throat, so you turn your attention back to him.

“This is my partner, Agent May,” he explains.

Dean is frozen to the spot, hand still on the door, glass of water in the other.

“Yes..um…” he begins as he moves further into the room placing the glass on the desk. He fumbles with the inside pocket of his jacket, removing his badge, which he shows you. It’s upside down. Smirking, he flips it over. “Agent May,” he croaks. You notice his hands are shaking slightly.

“Hello,” you nod at him, glancing at him briefly, then turning away. Attempting to take in a full breath, you count to 10 silently, hoping this will slow down your increasing heart rate. That smirk has brought all the memories of your night together crashing back. The way his hands touched you, the way those lips kissed you, the way he made love to you.

“So Y/N,” Agent Taylor continues as Dean sits down next to him. He gives him a confused, side eyed glance, “were you here the night Mr Phelps took his own life?” he questions.

“No, I was not on shift,” you respond, trying hard not to look at Dean who is fidgeting in his seat. He has a pen in his hand, and he keeps clicking the top.

Click, click, click.

Snatching it out of his hand and placing it on the table, Agent Taylor scowls at him. Dean's eyes meet yours with a questioning look. He shrugs his shoulders.

Holding his gaze for a second too long, you swallow. A wave of nausea washes over you, the gnawing in your stomach getting stronger.

“Can I just get a glass of water?” you hear yourself say as you rise from your seat. With shaking legs you drop back down as beads of sweat form on the back of your neck and your vision blurs.

Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you hear Sophie ask, “are you ok Y/N?”

As your vision clears, you see that Dean has also risen from his seat.

“Yes, yes,” you responded quietly, “I just need some air.”

“I’ll help you outside,” Dean says as he walks around the desk.

“No it’s fine,” you protest, but he is already by your side, taking your arm. His touch sends a bolt of lighting across your skin. Gently helping you up, he slips his arm around your waist, and leads you through the door into reception.

The silence between you is palpable as you head to the courtyard out front.

Inhaling deeply, you breathe in the cold spring air as Dean turns you to face him.

“What was that about in there Y/N?,” Dean asks “why didn’t you want anyone to know we have met before?”

“Hi Dean,” you respond sarcastically. You don’t know why you are feeling so hostile towards him as you were the one who walked away after you had slept together, not the other way around, but a feeling of anger rises inexplicably in your throat.  

“What are you doing here Dean or should I say Agent May? You’re not from the FBI.”

“Never mind that, I’ll explain later. I want to know why you left so suddenly that night?”

“It was a long time ago, Dean. I didn’t expect to see you again, so just leave it,” you say as you turn to walk away.

“No Y/N, I want to know what I did wrong? I thought we had a good time, and then you just upped and left with no explanation. Were you married or something?” he protests.

“No. Everything I told you about my ex was the truth. We did have a good time, but it should never have happened,” you admit. “I was in a bad place, and not acting like myself.”

“Okay,” he agrees, “But an explanation would have been nice.”

“Oh, so you have never slept with someone then left them hanging have you?” you snap.

He stares at you with an indignant scowl.

Your cell rings. Pulling it out of your pocket you look at the display and see it’s your friend who is with your daughter. She only calls while you're at work when there is something wrong with Grace.

“I’ve got to take this,” you tell him, bringing the phone to your ear.

“Y/N, sorry to bother you but Grace is running a temperature,” she says, “she’s really cranky and I’m not sure what to do.”

Shit. Perfect timing.

“Okay, F/N. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” you tell her as you hang up the phone.

“I have to go Dean. My daughter isn’t very well and the sitter just rang.”

“Your daughter?” he asks, surprised, “How old is she?”

“Six months,” you tell him quickly, not thinking as your focus is now on getting back to your daughter as quickly as possible.

“S-six months?!” Dean stammers. Your eyes go wide as you realise your mistake, the panic rising in your stomach when you look up at the green eyed Winchester. You could see the cogs whirring in his brain, working it all out. You should have lied about her age.

“I need to go,” you say quickly, turning around to begin to walk away from him and this situation.

“Is she mine?” His question made you slow down slightly but your mouth was unable to form the answer. You swallowed hard but before you could make your next move, Dean was behind you, grabbing your arm as he whirls you around to face him.

“Let go of me, Dean!” you demand, attempting to pull away but he keeps a firm grip on you.

“Y/N, is she mine?! I have a right to know,” he pleaded. With a bone dry mouth, your heart almost beating out of your chest, you look up at him as his green eyes search yours for his answer. This was it, you couldn’t hide it from him so you slowly begin to nod your head.

“Yes.”

Part 3

Tags - @sherlock44 @adoptdontshoppets  @for-a-brothers-love @ilovetoread44 @supraveng @jawritter @sandlee44 @prettydeaneyes @moonlessnight126 @maddiepants @in-deans-arms @magssteenkamp @zpandaqueen @thevelvetseries @sonofabringmesomepie​ @fandom-princess-forevermore @cleighwrites ​ @linki-locks11​ @dancingalone21​ @chocolateheart​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @shademered​ @jensensjaredsandmishaslover​ @onethirstyunicorn​

[theganjadigest]

Here's a story about running in with the cops and getting pursued. What are yours?

Seeing as I'm a long time lurker here and it's self-post Sunday, here's a story I've been wanting to post for a while.

A friend of mine once told me that getting high is half the drug's doing, and half the environment's doing. In the case of the group of friends I regularly get high with, this is very true. As my friends and I live in a fairly conservative town and started smoking during school, we never became accustomed to smoking weed in the day, at somebody's house, chilling out etc. Instead, we were limited to smoking at a little jetty on the outskirts of town, right next to a forest, usually during the dead of night. Very quickly, this became a popular spot and we began smoking with more people. It often seemed like a place for people to binge on weed seeing as it was so difficult to smoke elsewhere.

But we gradually started to test our boundaries. We'd usually be there between 11pm-2am (often going after trips to the pub; our parents used to occasionally question why our shoes were so muddy) and to begin with, we were respectful, made sure to not trash the place, keep it quiet; but as more of our friends joined us over time, this became completely unsustainable.

It had been creeping up on us for a while, so I wasn't surprised when the cops came the first time. One of my friends, who is always on high-alert when we're making a lot of noise, spotted the blue lights and bolted it. When he went, everyone knew it was time to go. Lesson learnt? Nope. The following week we go to our favourite spot again, and I'm also on high-alert now, at around an [8], looking out from the forest, onto the houses about twenty to thirty meters away. We are already shouting our heads off, with at least three people playing different songs on their phones at full volume. As this is going on, I notice the security lights of a house over the other side of the hill turn on. My friend, who I hadn't realised was next to me, turns to me and says, 'yep, here we go'. We quickly got distracted, though, as out of nowhere, one of my friends who had gone for a 'wizz' comes back with an office chair he found in the forest. Everyone began to argue over who took the chair until another of my friends (there's about ten of us), who is quite demanding and a bit of a Grinch when he's stoned, grabs the chair and sits on it, failing to realise it's on a muddy slope. He slides down the slope and ends up in the pond, and suddenly there's a group of 20 year olds laughing at a 6ft tall kid in a pond. In a fit of rage, he climbs himself out and grabs the chair back and lifts it above his head. We are all shouting at him to put the chair down, dissuading him for what felt like an eternity, and when it seemed as if we had convinced him, he tenses up and lets out this bellowing roar, throwing the chair into the pond. For some of us, especially knowing that we had already made a racket, that was enough - and once two people were running away, the rest instinctively followed suit. This is where it goes from 0-100, so to speak. At the jetty, there are only two ways out - a simple set of stairs up and a grassy slope down a hill, back to the road, or the 'escape tunnels', which constitutes guiding yourself through the forest and coming out at a random road and navigating your way home from there (0/10, would not recommend). As the escape tunnels really are the last resort, we ran up the stairs out of the jetty and came out at the top of the hill, where you can see the road. We began to run down the hill until all of a sudden, a police car pulls out, behind the hedges around ten meters in front of us and onto the road where we can see it. The two officers in the car were looking at all of us as we stopped dead in our tracks. At this point, I swear most of us returned to our primitive state and it became a survival of the fittest situation. We all turned 180 degrees in swift unison and legged it back up the hill, slipping and sliding everywhere. I didn't look behind as I ran back to the jetty, but I didn't hear a car door open, so I hoped they weren't going to pursue us. My friend and I stopped once we reached the top of the hill, while everyone else continued to run into the forest. We lingered there for what must have been a minute, behind some trees, hoping they'd just leave it. I thought we were safe as I didn't hear any police radio or unknown voices. Then, we notice light passing through the branches and see the police car driving up the hill, struggling as the wheels spun and the rear slid left and right on the grass. I remember my friend and I just having a synchronised intake of breath in astonishment, thinking 'what the actual fuck?' before running into the forest. These cops must have thought they were after something more than a bit of weed. All ten of us are running through the forest now, past the jetty and into the escape routes. Some of my friends were foolishly using their phone torch lights which ended up helping my friend and I, as the cops were able to follow them. We hid behind some hedges for around fifteen minutes, talking to the others, who were scattered across the forest, on WhatsApp. One of my friends said later on that the cops had come straight towards him but somehow didn't see him. After fifteen minutes, we deemed it OK to return to the jetty and try to regroup but on walking out of the forest, the two cops were still there! They saw us but weren't close enough to get us in time. We ran off yet again, back into the forest, this time even deeper. Convinced we were finally going to get caught, I told the friend I was with to hide the weed and grinder somewhere where we could remember.

We waited another twenty or so minutes, at which point we couldn't wait around any longer. To our joy, the cops had thankfully left, or at least they weren't at the jetty. As we were waiting for one other friend (the rest had resorted to using the forest), we hear a noise coming from a bush. Turns out it's one of our friends who had been there the whole time, throwing up on himself. How the cops didn't see or hear him I have no idea. He said he saw them walk straight past him. Got home, made a cup of tea, fell asleep watching Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares.

10/10, would do again.

TL;DR: cops come once, shrug it off, desk chair dies, a lot of noise, cops come again, get pursued for 45 minutes.

Submitted August 06, 2017 at 03:21PM by teddy-c via reddit http://ift.tt/2fkEOWO