#traded their sex drive to not be suicidal

[tyforthevnm]

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“this is for all my people that traded their sex drive to not be suicidal”

anthony’s intro to 2022 #lsdunesboston | from RyanR0ssified

[November 27, 2022]

[tojisbbygworl]

Before I Let Go - Yandere!Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: A grieving woman comes face to face with her thought to be deceased husband and can't find it in her to care about how wrong this was. She missed him. So much.

WARNINGS: Thoughts of Suicide, Suicide Attempt

Words: 4,994

Tags: 18+, 3rd person, Angst, Emotional Smut, Desperation, Grief/Mourning, Yandere, Spying, Kidnapping, Minimal Spanish terms of endearment

author's note: hey y'all. I have another fic for you. I am so glad I finished it it's been sitting in my drafts for a minute. The yandere part of this isn't violent although there is some slight physical pain put on the reader during sex. Just a mention of choking and scratching it's not bad. It's more obsession if anything. Also, I wasn't even gonna try with the Spanish girl. The most he says is carina and hermosa and I know y'all are sick of seeing that atp. I barely even tried with the British for Hobie I'm not about to embarrass myself LMAO

I hope this makes y'all sad honestly I feel like I could have made it sadder but I'm still very happy with it. Anyway, enjoy! 🩵

AO3 version

My AO3

Masterlist

The buzzing sound of a phone call is all that can be heard in the apartment. It has been a week since the funeral, and Y/N O’Hara hasn’t said a single word. She doesn't even remember what her voice sounds like.

Miguel O'Hara was everything to her. He meant the entire world. She would do anything he asked, but he never asked for much. All he wanted was her love. She was the same with him. A perfect partnership. She felt like she was on top of the universe. And then it was taken away from her. In a fucking car crash, no less.

He was the smartest person she knew. He was the head geneticist at Alchemax after all. He wasn't a stupid driver. No. It was the other driver's fault. But what could she do about it? It was just a kid. A teenager that had just gotten their license, but hadn't taken official driving lessons; no one really drilled into them the severity of texting while driving. How could she really blame them? How could she press charges? Miguel always told her that she was too forgiving. Too understanding.

He was right. But...she also couldn't help but to think it wasn't fair. That her beautiful husband had to die from their actions, and all they had to deal with was an insane insurance increase and a fucked up car that their parents were bound to replace. She would give anything to trade consequences. Anything.

Almost two months since his death, she's been wandering around her apartment frequenting the most common places she and Miguel would cuddle in. She always had a shared blanket, one of his shirts, or a pillow that had his hair on it to squeeze and cry into. If she sprayed it with his cologne and shut her eyes really tight, she could almost imagine he really was there. Almost.

These objects could never replace him. She missed his warmth. She missed his chest pushing her head up and down from his breathing. It would rumble when he chuckled. His hands were so large that her entire back would heat up when he held her gently. He was so tall, 6'6 to be exact, he would completely engulf her whenever they embraced. She felt so safe in his arms. She doesn't feel safe anymore.

Nearly two months of hunching over on the floor of her apartment in pain. She wailed into the ground. Coughing and scratching whatever she could hold onto, because the pain was too much to bare. Oh, the pain. She wouldn't wish this kind of heartbreak on anyone or anything.

The apartment was large, courtesy of his checks. He could already afford it on his own, then, the both of them married just a few years ago and he didn't expect her to pay a dime, despite how much she insisted. Instead, she bought food and handled upkeep. If it got too expensive, then he would chip in. She would have to move out eventually, his remaining income and life insurance the only thing keeping her afloat. Just another thing that she can’t fathom.

It was 3 bed, 2 bath. One was their bedroom, the other was his office, she's been going in there a lot as well, and they always wondered what they would do with the last room. For so long, it was empty even before she moved in with him. He never knew what he could use it for. He had hoped that she would turn it into a hobby room, she loved to paint and she played the violin a little, but there was a beautiful terrace attached to the apartment that she opted for instead and she insisted the living room had the best acoustics so the room remained a mystery. Until last year, when he dropped a bomb on her.

It was an extremely average day for the both of them. They were both home from work, nothing interesting to report, and were deciding what to eat for dinner. She suggests something they could cook, and he agrees. As the night goes on, something seems off about Miguel. He's quiet and zoning out a lot. Something has to be on his mind, right?

"Babe," she calls for him snapping him out of his trance.

"Hm?"

"Everything alright?" She puts her hand on his shoulders and gives him a worried look. Miguel swallows his spit then turns towards her grabbing her hand and placing his on her waist.

"I've been thinking..." His voice is small. She starts to grow anxious as she had never seen him look so timid. He was more nervous than when he asked her to marry him.

"W-What is it?" She stutters. He kisses her knuckles.

"It's just something that I've been wanting for a while now. And if you don't, then It's completely fine. I care about your happiness above everything."

"Miguel, stop being so cryptic and tell me what's up," She half jokes.

He nervously bites his lips and looks away. Then, taking a deep breath, he looks into her eyes and says, "I want to have a kid."

She felt it was best to pretend the work-in-progress nursery didn't exist. In her mind, the room is still empty. There wasn’t a crib set up. The walls weren't in the process of being painted. They didn't have arguments about what to put on it because they didn't know the gender. In fact, gender of what? They weren't planning for a baby. The third room is as empty as she is.

The both of them were foolish, deciding to get everything set up before she got pregnant instead of winging it like everyone else. She should have winged it. Then maybe she would still have a piece of him with her.

It was so fucking hard to focus on what mattered. She was hanging on a thread that thinned out every single day. Before the funeral, she wondered what would be her breaking point? The point where she finally got up and decided to keep going.

The weather was very fitting for that day. The sun was gone, and the rain came in waves. Her tears, however, never stopped. It was a stupid decision to make it open casket. She gazed upon his resting face for the first time since he died in the hospital then turned and ran to the nearest bathroom to empty her stomach. She hadn’t even gotten to say her speech; Miguel’s mother read for her instead.

Something inside her snapped. Sometimes the pain is a dull ache in her chest, and she’s numb everywhere else. Other times it’s a sharp twang that she can feel in her back. She has to lay or sit down when that happens. Sometimes it courses through her entire upper body and she can’t even move. But this…this stabbing, twisting, and searing pain that ripples through her heart and travels to the tip of her fingers and toes…she hasn’t felt this before.

This was the breaking point, but it did the opposite. She didn’t talk for the rest of the day, her and his family begging her to stay with them. She didn’t listen.

It was nights like tonight that she felt completely alone. She knew she wasn’t, if she just picked up the phone and texted someone, then maybe she would be okay. She just needed to stop looking at the ceiling, turn to her nightstand, pick up her phone, and call her mother. But it was 1 in the morning, and Miguel looked so happy in her lock screen picture…

Her and Miguel had been up here on the top of the apartment building so many times before. They liked to dance, he would watch her play or paint, they had picnics together, it was perfect when they wanted to get out of the apartment, but still have some privacy.

The view was nice. They could see across the entirety of Nueva York. Central Park in the fall was especially amazing to gaze upon. But now it fills her with grief. As she steps on top of the edge, she decides that if this couldn’t make her feel better, then nothing could.

She’s glad she’s doing this in the middle of the night, where no one could see her and call for help. She was sure that she would traumatize a couple people when morning came, a problem that she couldn’t be bothered by. She was ready to be back in his arms. So she walked off. And closed her eyes as she plummeted through the air.

She’s scared. But excited. She only has to feel excruciating pain for a second and then never again. It’s almost over.

She hits something, or more so, something hits her. She’s still flying through the air, but it’s different now. There’s a warm body holding onto her for dear life, and she’s soaring upwards into the night sky. Opening her eyes to gaze at her savior, she sees a masked silhouette. It-it’s Spider-Man…but he looks completely different. She can barely see him, the only source of light being the moon, but she could swear that this wasn’t his mask.

They land on the rooftop again and he puts her down. She crawls away from him, embarrassed and ashamed at what she’s done. She was still alive and now she was in more pain than ever before. Wailing on the floor, she glared up at him in vitriol.

“Why did you save me?” She yelled, her voice powerful for a woman who hadn’t been verbal for a week. Spider-Man didn’t answer. She wasn’t even sure if he was looking at her. “I didn’t want to be saved.” Still, he said nothing. So she continued to cry, and she cried harder and harder until she felt a sensation on her back.

He was trying to comfort her, but when she turned he backed off, holding his hands up instead. Her lips quivered, then she threw herself into his arms. His hold on her body was snug and comforting. Her anger for him dissipates immediately as she accepts his affection. For the first time in a while, she felt safe. She didn’t want him to let go.

And he didn’t. He stayed until she fell asleep in his arms. Then, he picked her up, gazing upon her peaceful face with the light from the inter dimensional portal, then walked into it with no intention of coming back.

~

This wasn’t her room.

She sat up in the bed and took in her surroundings. These weren’t her sheets, that wasn’t her wallpaper, the blinds were different, the floor wasn’t carpeted, everything even the floor plan of the room was different. This isn’t her home.

Her heart begins to pound. Where was she? She was still in her clothes, but that’s the only comfort that she had. Immediately, she shoots out of the bed, the comforter tangling in her feet making her fall onto the floor. The large thump that her fall makes scares her. She stays on the floor, still and quiet as a mouse. There's no noise for a couple seconds. Then, the sound of someone walking.

She hyperventilates, quickly removing herself from the blanket and standing up. But she realizes that she has no where to go. There's a small closet in the room, and space under the bed, but those the only hiding spaces she can think of. And the footsteps were getting closer. What can she do, she wonders as she backs into the wall.

The door swings open. And her heart stops.

Miguel stared at his wife's variant in concern and turns on the light. The woman blinks and shields her eyes, but the bewildered look that she sported quickly comes back. "What happened?"

When he spoke, she gasped and took another step back. She smacked her hand over her mouth. Her eyes glistened with tears, her breath shuddered. "You're alright?" Miguel asked her again. She didn't answer.

For what felt like the longest time, they just stared at each other. He was afraid of approaching her thinking he may scare her away. She was in completely disbelief at what she was seeing. Miguel raised his hands and stayed near the door way. "Please, don't freak out," he began.

She let out a sob, tears escaping her eyes when she did. Placing her hand on her chest, she lifts herself from the wall. Miguel takes this as a sign to keep going.

"I know you must be confused. You're probably upset and angry. I understand." She took a step forward. "But if you would just left me explain..." Another step. Then another. And another. And she held her hand out in front of her. As she approached him, he realized how badly she was trembling, and it only got worse the closer she got. But still, she moved forward.

The speech Miguel had been practicing before she woke up died in his throat. He was speechless as he watched her courageously close the space between them. When she finally stood right in front of him, she hesitated. He could hear her soft gasps and cries. Then finally, she softly touched his chest. He looked down at her hand, then up at her face. Even though she was crying profusely, she looked upon him in wonder. He just wants to reach out and grab her, but he holds himself back.

She begins to rub his chest and torso, appalled by his presence. He looks back down at her hands. Then, they trail themselves up to his neck, stopping right under his chin. He lifts his head up. They both hold their breath for a second. Then, with a gasp from her, and a sigh from him, she finally touches his cheek. Miguel closes his eyes and leans into her palm. He lifts his arm up, and encases her hand in his, keeping it in place.

Her lips begin to move. With a tiny shaky breath, she whispers, "It's you."

Miguel's face is troubled. He has a small frown and his eyebrows were upturned. He twists his head in her palm to give it a small kiss.

Her eyes flicker all over his body. It is him...but he's different. He's taller now. His build is thicker and he feels tense. Miguel was a gym buff, but this man...this kind of definition is not built in the gym. His frown is deep, and so are his wrinkles. His eyes were more troubled than hers, and had the slightest hint of red. And his teeth...she could feel his sharp canines with her thumb.

"No," she realizes. "It's not you."

Miguel opens his eyes and stares at her. He can see the fear growing on her face, and he starts to panic. He moves his hand to her wrist to hold it gently. But he's prepared to squeeze it if she tries to run. "I'm not him. But-"

"But you look like him." She continues, her voice on the precipice of hysteria. "And you sound like him." She holds both of his cheeks and caresses his face with her thumbs. "And you feel like him..."

Miguel winces as he watches her cry louder and louder with every observation. "Cariña, please," He takes her hands off of his face and kisses her knuckles. She completely breaks down crying. Miguel reaches his arms out, and she throws herself into his chest, sobbing into his neck. "You don't have to cry anymore. I'm here now."

"But who are you?" Her voice muffled by his shoulder.

He gulps. "...I am Miguel, but-"

"But you're not my Miguel, are you?" She lifts her head up to stare at him. She looked anguished, her brain not being able to process what was going on. He doesn't answer. "Did you save me?" He nodded. "Why?"

"I had to, baby. I-"

"Where did you come from?" She pushes herself off of him, and Miguel can't find it in him to hold her there. He let's go of her, knowing that there is no where she can really run where he won't find her. "No, where have you been?"

He furrows his brows and tilts his head. "What?"

"Where the hell have you been?" She screams at him in unbridled rage. Her tears were never ending, and her glare was fierce. "I was in fucking agony when you died. I couldn't live with myself. I couldn't get over you. I didn't want to. I missed you so much." Her anger turned into desperation and she falls to her knees on the floor, weeping into her hands. Miguel looks on in desolation, his eyes filling with tears as well. He walks to her and leans down, trying to get her to stand. She flips her head up at him. "Who are you?"

"Please, let me explain." He sits on the floor with her, holds her face and leans into it. She doesn't pull away, instead, she kisses him first, her cries never ending. Her hands tangle themselves in his hair. Miguel wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her into him. He sits back and pulls her into his lap.

The kiss lasts until they run out of breath, then they pull away, panting in each others' faces. "I...am Miguel." He starts. "But not your Miguel. And you are not my Y/N."

She shakes her head and scrunches up her face. "Just listen." Her mouth closes again, and she relaxes preparing herself to take in every word he says...

...Miguel spent a lot of time watching her. His Y/N, across the multiverse. In each one, they are together. It's fate. And in every one...she dies. No matter what that universe's Miguel does, she dies. That must be fate, too. Then he found a universe where that didn't happen. He died instead. He took a chance, and when he replaced himself he was the happiest he had ever been. And then everything was destroyed. An entire universe...gone. He swore to never interfere with fate again. He whispered a soft 'sorry' to every Miguel he found after that.

He saw her, Y/N on Earth - 548. Happy as ever with her devilishly handsome husband. He felt for him. He had no idea the heartbreak he was about to experience. But, for the second time in his studies, he was the one who died. He cried, knowing that he could never do anything about it. When she became a shell of her former self, he focused all of his attention on her. Putting all of his work on Jess and Peter, he monitored her. He watched her cry, she spent all of her time off from work at home rolling around in her bed as if the emotional pain was so strong that it was physical as well. He watched her touch herself at night, whispering his name into the empty air, him joining her from where he was spying groaning her name as well, wishing his cum was dripping from her cunt instead of down his hand. He called for her, hoping that his prayers to keep her safe would reach who ever was listening. They didn't.

He knew that when she sat up like a ghost from her bed that fateful night, she was about to do something rash. He held his hand over his watch, ready to jump as soon as he felt he needed to. When she began to walk to the edge, he decided to not even risk it and hopped into the portal.

He didn't expect her to turn and scream at him the way she did. He hadn't heard her beautiful voice for some time, he missed it so much, and the first thing she did was yell at him. He was stunned. He couldn't believe she was right in front of him. He looked at his watch. No indication of a canon event. There was nothing. Which meant...she was never supposed to die.

He was impulsive, he knows that. But, it worked out in his favor. She was supposed to be alive. He had done right. And now he had a decision to make. Does he leave her here to figure everything out on her own, or does he take her with him...and let her family think she's dead…

“You were watching me?”

Miguel refuses to meet her eyes. She didn’t move, but he tightened his grip around her just in case. Her voice was wavering.

When he didn’t answer, she continued. “Why didn’t you save him?”

He looked up at her that time. Above everything else, she was melancholy. “I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“I just couldn’t, mi amor. You don’t understand.”

With her face contorted in pain, she released a choked sob. Her mouth was hung open. If she chose to believe this imposter, than hearing that nothing could have been done about the love of her life brought her no comfort. It wasn’t fair.

She gripped Miguel’s shirt letting her head fall forward into his chest. He held her for a long time while her shoulders shook. “Please, believe me.”

She doesn’t say anything, but her cries stopped. He began to worry, but she soon lifted her head up and looked into his eyes. His flicked back and forth between hers, and the both of them dive into another passionate kiss. This time, they don’t let up from each other. It gets more intense. Miguel’s breath picks up as his hands begin to explore her back and waist. She pushes her body up against his, rubbing their chests together.

She’s the one who pulls away opting to kiss down from his cheek to his neck. “Just come to bed with me. Please?” She begs into his skin.

Miguel, in a daze, whispers “Okay.”

He lifts her up and lays her down onto his bed, kissing her sweetly as he climbed on top of her. He felt so much bliss, he never imagined he would be able to do this again.

The way she grabbed his face made him never want to physically leave her side again. This was where he wanted to stay for the rest of their lives. She kissed him with so much despair, so much need, how could he ever leave her mouth? But, the strain in his pants and the grip she had on his back get worse, and he finds a reason to pull away.

She whimpers, missing the way his tongue caressed her mouth, leaving her lips swollen and shiny. Her eyes open, silently asking him where he was going, until he reached under the hem of her shirt and lifts it off of her, exposing her beautiful breasts. She gasps when he begins to rub his hand between them, eventually grabbing one to hold and play with. Miguel grins at her while she watches him rub his thumb across her hardened nipple. Which turned into her watching him dip his head down to her sternum and leave the smallest, lightest kiss.

The restraint he had on himself as he trailed his mouth down her body was unnatural. His claws had long since come out, ripping into the bedsheets as he tried so hard not replace them with her luscious hips. She was responding unbelievably well, making him happy he didn’t listen to Lyla tell him how terrible of an idea this was.

Lyla was wrong, he told himself when he heard her soft cry as his tongue played with her nipple. She began to squirm from frustration, and he just had to push his hips in between her open legs, the heat from his dick making her rub her wet panties along his shaft. Miguel moaned with her nipple fully inside his mouth, her moaning with him from the vibration against her chest.

She’s not scared of me, he thought as he leaves her nipple and kisses down her body. His lips finally met up with her panties, opting to push them to the side instead of taking them off completely. He places a kiss on her sensitive clit, his precum staining his underwear when she yelps. Miguel takes a moment to look at her glistening pussy, then he closes his eyes when he finally licks it.

And she doesn’t hate me. Miguel looks drunk when he starts eating her out. His eyebrows are raised and he gently placed her hand on her spread thigh, caressing the soft skin. Her whines making him even more desperate to please her, he presses his tongue into her center harder. His lips are covered with her fluid. Miguel gives her thigh a nice squeeze, then a slap, then he stands up straight.

When she opens her eyes to look at him, her heart races. His eyelids were low, and he towered over body making her feel smaller than she was. His stare was filled with infatuation, wiping off his lower face with one swipe of his large hand. Without breaking eye contact, he rips his shirt off and swipes his pants and underwear down, his large member bouncing back up. Miguel spit into his palm and started jerking himself off. Then, he climbs onto the bed, aligning his hips with hers.

He drools onto her pussy, her shuddering as his spit meets her clit and runs down her lips. It does well to lube her up with Miguel rubbing his tip in between her folds. “Ngh…fuck,” he mutters, the feeling of her wet cunt on his sensitive head giving him a feeling of euphoria.

She grew impatient, while Miguel was trying to take his time and savor her, she was ready to feel him split her apart. This was something she’s been dreaming about since she lost him. She waited for the day his naked body would engulf hers, his face on her cheek whispering filthy insults and sweet praises into her ear. As she remembers how sex used to be with her love, she starts to tear up.

“Miguel,” she whined making him look at her worriedly. When his eyes open, the red she noticed before is even more prominent. His mouth was opened slightly so she could barely see his fangs. How he could look so similar yet so different from her Miguel, she doesn’t know.

“Yes?” He asks her.

“Please, I can’t wait any longer. I want…” She moves her hips on him again. Miguel looks down at their hips and holds hers still.

He doesn’t respond, just pushes his length into her slowly. He grunts as he sheathes himself inside her warmth, reveling in her cries. “Shit, baby.” She’s tight and squeezing him so nicely, he can’t stop until he's inside of her fully.

She’s breathing heavily with her head thrown back and her eyes closed. Her back is arched lifting her naked chest into the air. “Look at me,” Miguel commands. She lifts her head up giving him what he wanted. Her eyes are filled with tears. It hurts, but feels so good. She missed him so much, and now they were one again.

Miguel whimpers at her beautiful face. “Hermosa,” he reaches out to her cheek to hold it. “Don’t cry.”

“But I love you,” she tells him.

He gasps. His hand lifts from her face. Freezing, he stares into her eyes in disbelief. “W-What?”

She takes his hand and brings it to her lips, leaving a gentle smooch. Her eyes close and the tears fall. “I love you, Miguel.”

His eyesight gets blurry as well, and soon Miguel is crying profusely. “Oh, baby,” he leans over her and pulls his hips backwards. Then he slams himself back down, making her yelp. She grabs his face and kisses him. “I love you too.”

As Miguel fucks her slowly, neither of them can find it in them to stay quiet. Miguel has to tell her how terribly in love with her he is. She has to let him know how much she missed him. He leans into her neck and whispers how he missed her too, and to stop crying because he’s here now. Even though, he can’t stop crying either.

She’s so happy to hear that he will never leave her side. She decides to believe him, accepting happiness instead of reality. She ignores his red eyes, his sharp fangs that press against her neck, as if he can barely hold himself back from biting her. She ignores how different the rumbling in his chest is from her Miguel. It’s not soft or sweet nor does it make her content. This one is predatory and dangerous, it makes her nervous.

She dismisses the way he grabs her neck; tight, leaving her with no air, whereas her Miguel knew that she didn’t like it rough. Honestly, neither did he. This Miguel went faster and harder. He grunted into her ear. But, she doesn't care.

She completely ignores how different this Miguel was. Her wishes were answered. She got him back. It doesn’t matter that his hold on her hip was so strong that he’s scratching her. That he didn’t stop or slow down when she came making her overstimulated. She let him cum inside her soon after, knowing that she wasn’t on anything.

“I miss you so fucking much,” she wailed when he slipped his dick out of her, his cum following suit and staining the bed beneath her.

Instead of getting a warm towel, Miguel laid down next to her and pulled her into his arms silencing her cries. “I told you baby, I’m right here.” But she doesn’t correct herself. She doesn’t calm down. She grips him for dear life and Miguel grows nervous.

Lyla was wrong…right?

“You know she will never love you the way she loved him. It will never be the same. Miguel...are you listening?”

“Lyla…shut down.”

ending a/n: Heyyyyy, did y'all like it? This will definitely not be my only Miguel fic but rn I don't really have any ideas for him. My brain is filled with thoughts of Hobie, and I need to stop neglecting my baby daddy Toji, lmao. So I'll be working on a real quick Hobie imagine and my AO3 stories as well for now. Unless I think of something else. I've been thinking about requests but I will fuck around and make a whole story from it cuz idk how to stop writing so damn much. Y'all I rly dk if I want to make another part to JFTN I rly like how it ended and I can't rly think about how I would continue it. Y'all might just have to deal idk girl. I love ya though! Anyway, I'll see y'all in the next story!🩵

AO3 version

My AO3

Masterlist

[sixhours]

Chapter 5 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

Joel is waiting on your porch holding a large toolbox when you jog up at ten past the hour.

“Sorry, I’m late, got held up.”

He glowers, rumbling in his deep Texas drawl. “I said five.”

“And I said I got held up,” you reply easily, bypassing him to unlock your front door. “The kitchen’s through here.”

He follows with an exaggerated hmph and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“There,” you say, pointing up at the kitchen ceiling, a spot just above the cabinets, running down the back wall. “I think there was a leak at some point. Pipes froze, maybe.”

He walks slowly up to the wall and splays a hand against the drywall, testing its solidity. “Bathroom’s upstairs?”

“Uh-huh. Right above this.”

“Sounds like you already know what the problem is,” he says over his shoulder. “Whaddya need me for?”

“I need to make sure the floor in the bathroom is sound. And…I was hoping you could help tear out the old insulation and re-insulate so the pipes don’t freeze again.”

He shakes his head. “I told you–”

“I know, the committee, but I’m sure I can get the insulation for trade, and if you have a few free hours–”

“I don’t.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, hard.

God, he will not make this easy.

“Okay. Fine. But can you at least look at the floor?”

He sighs, “Alright. Lead the way.” 

You show him up the narrow staircase and into your bathroom. At the far end, a clawfoot tub and shower take up most of one wall. There’s barely enough room for both of you, so you let him go first. Yellowed stains creep up the floral wallpaper behind the tub, rippling across the floor underneath.

“If you step right here, you’ll see what I mean,” you squeeze tentatively past Joel in the tight space, using your foot to push down on the painted hardwood between the tub and the toilet.

You reach out to pull him toward you by the arm, but he jerks away as if burned by your touch.

“I can get it. Get outta there.”

You slide back out, hands up in mock defense, letting him take your place. He frowns at the dip in the wood when his boot puts weight on it, then stands up, hands on his hips, staring at the ceiling.

“Is there an attic in this place? Should check–”

“No,” you say quickly. “I’ve been up there. Just a bunch of junk. No water damage.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re sure? ‘Cause if there’s rain gettin’ in, there’s no point in fixin’ the floor until the roof is sealed up.”

“I’m sure. So...you think it’s safe, or…?”

“Only one way to find out,” he says, reaching for the toolbox and retrieving a hammer. He drives the claw into the wood and meets little resistance, pulling up on the first board, which bends too readily, like a twig. You wince as he goes back for more, ripping out three, four, five of the narrow oak planks like they were nothing. The subfloor underneath gives way just as easily. 

“Yeah, that’s all rot,” he says, digging into the hole he’s made, shining a flashlight into the gap between the floor and the kitchen ceiling. “You’ve got a joist here to support the tub…but it’s half gone.

“You’ll have to take out the wall on this side,” he stands up with a muffled grunt, the sound of a man with sore knees. “Plumbing’s on this wall, prob’ly leaked down from here.”

“Well…shit. I hoped it wasn’t that bad,” you lie.

“Look, if it were me, I’d ask to be reassigned,” Joel says, tucking the hammer back in the toolbox. “No shortage of houses around here.”

“I know. I’ve just…I’ve grown attached to this place,” you say, letting your voice waver. Even better if he thinks you’re crying. “It’s the first time I’ve had a…a real home in a long time, y’know? ”

You expect him to roll his eyes at this overplayed sentimentality, but he doesn’t, just considers you with that unreadable expression. You drive the point home with a shaky, hiccupy little breath.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I can do the work. It’s not gonna be pretty, drywall don’t hold up and we don’t have much. I need time to get the supplies, but–”

“Thank you!” you burst in before he can finish. “I mean, thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.” You squeeze his arm, and this time he doesn’t pull away, only flinches.

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go usin’ that bath,” he nods toward the tub. “And I wouldn’t use the kitchen until we get the joist replaced.”

“It’s fine. I can shower at the clinic, and I’m no cook.” He scowls as though you’ve given too much information, but you press on. “How can I repay you? Can I buy you a drink?”

“I don’t drink,” he says. He’s already picked up the toolbox and is headed for the stairs.

“Well…think about it,” you tell him. “I owe you one.”

“Right.”

~*~

You thought cornering Joel into helping with your house would give you time to work your way into his good graces, but he doesn’t make it easy. When he’s not on patrol, he’s working on community projects, leaving only a handful of free evenings to focus on your house. You always seem to be working at the clinic during those times, and part of you wonders if that’s his intent.

In the meantime, you try to get information about Ellie through subtle questions of the community. You learn her schedule, and you know who she hangs out with, and where she volunteers, but no one seems to know anything about her past.

Over the next few weeks, you come home to find your kitchen walls stripped to the studs, a steel support post holding up the clean half of the rotted floor joist. The bathroom closed off with a tarp, a note stuck to the blue vinyl.

Mold. Stay out.

He’s left an old plastic joint compound bucket on the floor, the implication clear.

What a gentleman.

He always sweeps up, wipes down the dust, and stacks his salvaged supplies and tools out of the way before he leaves. He takes out the rotted innards of your bathroom in fat black contractor bags.

You occasionally cross paths with him as he’s packing up to go, and each time you try to engage him in conversation, he answers in monosyllabic grunts and makes a wide arc around you to get to the door. Too many evenings like this and you realize you need to step it up, or the project will be finished before you’ve had a chance to learn his middle name. So on a particularly slow night, you feign a headache and leave the clinic in Shiela’s capable hands.

The whine of a saw echoes down the hall as you close your front door. You hear Joel’s low voice talking from the kitchen and you move toward the sound, keeping your steps quiet, feeling like an intruder in your own house. Through the doorway, you’re surprised to see Ellie at his side, both of them crouched over something behind the kitchen island.

“You keep your fingers clear, hand on the grip; no, not like that. It’s not a pistol. Here,” he reaches over and adjusts her grip on the drill. “This is forward. This is reverse.”

“Righty tighty, lefty loosey,” Ellie says. “I got it, I got it.”

Joel grunts. “You want a ninety-degree angle or the screw’ll get stripped. Put some muscle into it–”

There’s a mechanical whirr as the drill springs to life, the grinding of metal on metal. Then from Ellie, “Ah, shit.”

“It happens, try again,” Joel says. His voice is soft, and patient, lacking his usual gruffness.

“Hey–”

The pair startles, standing and wheeling around. You recognize the soft snick of a switchblade opening at Ellie’s side.

“Whoa, sorry,” you say. “It’s just me, I got the night off, I thought maybe you could use a hand–”

“We’re good,” Joel snaps.

“Yeah, I see you’ve got it covered,” you say, turning to the girl. “Hey, Ellie. How’s it going?”

“It’s fine,” Ellie says, shrugs. “I read those comics. They were pretty good. Maybe not as good as Savage Starlight , but still…pretty good, yeah.”

She’s wearing a purple t-shirt and her sweatshirt is piled with Joel’s jacket on the kitchen island. You step forward into the room, eyeing her exposed, scarred arm.

“So…what’s the damage?” you ask, turning to Joel.

He runs a hand through his messy hair, looking up to the ceiling, where the drywall has been torn out to expose the underside of the bathroom subfloor.

“There was mold in the bathroom drywall and the floor’s rotted out about five feet from the wall. The joist’s gonna need to be replaced, but that’s a two-man job. I might be able to talk Tommy into helpin’, but he’s got a new kid so...” He trails off as if he’s offered too much personal information, wiping his hands on a rag before tucking it into the pocket of his jeans.

“This should hold her ‘til we can get a crew in here to replace the joist. But no baths, I don’t trust this thing with that kinda weight,” he says, gesturing to the temporary support.

“You calling me fat?”

“What?” For a moment Joel looks panicked, then he rolls his eyes. “I mean a tub that size weighs a shit-ton and you fill it with fifty gallons of water, you got yourself a problem. It’s a miracle the damned thing hasn’t already fallen through.”

He continues to detail the project status, but your attention drifts back to Ellie, who’s playing with the cordless drill, holding it out in front of her like a gun. This puts her arm on full display, and now you’re close enough to see the snaking, vining cordyceps blisters under the skin, the imprint of someone’s dental work in the flesh.

“I won’t have the insulation ‘til next week, Tommy says there’s some extra up in the rec center but god knows what condition it's in. Salvage runs don’t usually turn up anything worth a shit…”

There’s no mistaking it; that’s an infected bite…

No wonder FEDRA wants this kid , you think, a cold seed of certainty planting itself in your stomach.

Suddenly Joel is in your face, stepping between you, pushing you back. “Ellie, go home.”

“But–”

“ I said go home .”

“Fucking hell, man,” Ellie huffs, snatching her sweatshirt off the counter and stalking out of the room.

He waits until you hear the front door slam before he speaks, slowly and deliberately cutting his words. “I know what you’re doing,” he growls, still standing too close; you can feel an angry heat coming off his body, the faintest kiss of his breath on your face, and your back is inches from the wall.

You hate to admit it, but you’re almost turned on.

“And what is that, exactly?” you counter. “Treating your kid? Trying to get to know my neighbors? What exactly am I doing that’s so fucking objectionable, Miller?”

He seems taken aback at your sudden venom, the use of his name. There’s a glimmer of sorrow in his eyes, but it quickly turns dark. “She’s not your friend. We don’t need no friends,” he hisses, the Texan drawl thick with agitation. “Just…back off.”

You gape at him, barking a laugh. “Wow. You’re a piece of work, you know that? Does this moody, macho-bad-boy thing go for everyone? Or am I just that fucking special?”

“I’m…” he starts, swallowing hard. You wait for the rest, but it doesn’t come. He scowls, and you feel him edge back. The rush of cool air between your bodies should be a relief.

He doesn’t clean up, doesn’t grab his tools, just shoulders his way around you and out the door.

You seethe, barely containing a sudden urge to break your fist on the wall while pretending it’s Joel’s stupid face. You settle for a few deep breaths, unsure if you’re truly irritated with him, or with yourself for letting the arrogant asshole get under your skin.

The headache you were supposedly faking has manifested behind your eyes, and you don’t fall asleep for a long time.

~*~

He’s standing on your front porch in the morning, blocking the doorway as you’re leaving for the clinic. He jumps, caught off guard when you open the door and find him there, looking lost.

“What–”

“What are you–”

You speak at the same time, cutting each other off.

“I live here,” you say, feeling a fresh prickle of ire reseat itself in the pit of your stomach. “What’s your excuse?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I…yeah.” Joel rubs at the back of his neck, visibly agitated. There’s a long silence before he finally mutters, “I wanted to apologize.”

Another long pause.

“By all means, go ahead,” you prompt.

His eyes narrow. “...what?”

“You said you wanted to apologize, but I didn’t hear an apology,” you smirk, knowing you’re being pedantic, but it feels too good to watch him squirm.

He gapes, mouth opening and closing for a few delicious seconds before he huffs. “Whatever. Need my stuff.”

He invites himself in, barreling past you and straight toward the kitchen. You follow on his heels. You don’t know you’re going to ask the question until it’s out of your mouth.

“Christ, Miller, why are you such a fucking asshole?”

He’s kneeling, shoving tools and supplies into the toolbox with force, but his head snaps up at your words.

“Shut your damn mouth,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

But you can’t stop yourself. You’ve spent the night tossing and turning, angry at yourself for how much you’ve let this stupid man get to you, and now you have him cornered.

“You get off on being a dick? Is that it?”

He’s suddenly on his feet, crossing the distance between you in two long strides. He’s so fucking close you can feel his body practically vibrating with rage. His eyes bore into yours, lit by an angry flame.

You sneer. “You wanna hit me, big man? Go right the fuck ah–”

His mouth descends on yours before you can comprehend it: The press of lips, the hard clack of his teeth, the scrape of stubble against your chin. Rough and hungry, almost needy, the kiss shocks you into a numb silence.

Your hands come up to his chest, pushing him away, too stunned to speak. You’re both breathing hard. He licks his lips, watching you, something unknowable flicking across his face before he turns, grabs his toolbox, and walks out.

What…the fuck.

You’re still trying to catch your breath, to make sense of this strange and abrupt shift, when you hear his boots thudding on the hardwood floor. He re-enters the kitchen and looks at you, flushed and contrite.

“I shouldn’t’ve done that,” he says roughly. “That’s not–”

You don’t let him finish. You turn and grab him by the collar of his flannel, throwing yourself against him, meeting his ferocity with your own. You kiss him with tongue and teeth and bite, pleased when he doesn’t pull away when his hands find your hips and dig into the soft flesh.

That’s more like it.

You tug at his belt buckle with skilled fingers and have it off before he knows what’s happening. He moans into your mouth when you bite his lower lip. You soothe the nip with your tongue, diving in, tasting him.

“Fuuuuck,” he hisses, hands fumbling at the waist of your scrubs. You help, undoing the front tie, letting the soft fabric slip down your legs. You anchor your arms around his neck and he takes the hint, pulling you up so you can wrap your legs around him. He turns you both around, slamming your back against the wall hard enough to knock the air from your lungs.

More fumbling as he works his jeans down his hips–a challenge with you hanging off him, but somehow you manage. His breath is on your neck, the painful nip of his teeth at the hollow where your jaw meets your ear. Your panties are roughly pushed aside and he’s inside you, thick and hot, too full, too fast. You bite your lip to avoid crying out.

Braced against the wall, he thrusts into you, your head hitting the wall with each thrust. His brow furrows, head down in concentration, and you run your hands down his back, muttering encouragement. 

“Yeah, that’s right baby, fuck me,” you hiss, and his hand grips your jaw, covering your mouth, his eyes meeting yours in a silent warning as he punctuates his intent with a hard thrust.

Not a talker, should have known, you think, letting your teeth graze his palm, tasting salt.

You breathe, trying to stay open, to let him use you. A pleasant burn settles low in your abdomen as you get used to his invasion, but you’re barely there, just a vessel for him to fill.

His pace speeds up and you feel the telltale tensing in his back, his neck. Suddenly you’re unmoored, almost dropped, sliding down the wall. He turns away with a grunt, finishing in his hand. The emptiness between your legs throbs, half pain, half unsated desire.

There’s a long silence as the proverbial dust settles in around you. You feel a happy surge of triumph. After days of trying to breach his stony exterior, he’s finally in your territory.

“Miller–”

“I’m clean,” he says, moving to the sink, turning on the tap. His face is flushed, whether from embarrassment or arousal, you’re not sure, but his eyes are soft.

“Good. So am I,” you say brusquely, plucking your scrubs from the floor, pulling them up, and cinching them at your waist. “So this doesn’t need to be a one-time thing.”

He shakes his head, not meeting your gaze. “I’m not lookin’ for anything.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as if this encounter was the start of a romance, a prelude to anything but more fucking.

Barely passable fucking, at that.

“Neither am I,” you say. “But I have some experience with…relieving tension.”

This is as close as you’ll come to revealing your hand, letting your real-life identity bleed into this one. Not something you do as a general rule, but under the circumstances, you’ll take the risk.

He arches an eyebrow, and the expression is such a drastic difference from his stony glare that you allow yourself to admit that he’s incredibly attractive. He’s muscled from years of hard labor, hair just on the edge of salt and pepper, and when he’s not scowling, his eyes have a dark, seductive, come-fuck-me look that makes your stomach do pleasant somersaults.

“It’s a trade economy, right?” you continue, moving around him to wash your hands, smoothing loose strands of hair behind your ears. “Consider it a trade for work on the house. Payment for services rendered.”

He doesn’t respond, looks so confused that you have to bite back a smile, but you know he’ll take the bait. The desperation in his eyes, the frantic way he’d pushed inside you–this is a man who hasn’t had a physical connection in months, maybe years.

“Think about it,” you say flatly. “I’m late for work.”

You leave him standing in your kitchen, his belt buckle still undone.

~*~

He has you again two days later. You return from the clinic to find him in the bathroom on his back, wedged between the toilet and the tub. He grunts in acknowledgment when he hears you come in but doesn’t look at you, intent on his work. 

“You’re missing a shutoff valve for the shower. I’m not a plumber,” he says gruffly. “But I can do the work if we find the right fitting.”

“Oh?” you feign interest, seeing an opportunity, stripping off your scrub top and tossing it in the hamper.

“You’ve got three different kinds of pipe in here and they’re held together with fuckin’ bubblegum and spit,” he grumbles, as though the shoddy craftsmanship is somehow your fault. “No point in insulating until I clean this up and get the valve in, it’ll just leak again and you’ll be shit outta–”

When he finally sits up and looks at you, you’re standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a bra and panties. The nice ones.

“...luck,” he finishes, lips parting, eyes dark with desire, a catch in his breath. You bite back a smirk.

Men are so fucking easy.

“Wash up,” you say. “I’ll be in the bedroom.”

There’s the brief sound of running water as you wait for him on the bed, then his footsteps over the threshold. He looks nervous, unsure, as though he hadn’t just taken you up against the wall two days ago.

You crawl to the edge of the bed, reaching out to undo his belt, and his jeans, sliding them down over narrow, muscled hips and thighs. He’s already half hard, not bad for a guy pushing sixty. You take him in your hand, watching his lids grow wanton, heavy with lust. You move to take him in your mouth, but he grunts and pushes you back on the bed, gripping your thighs to pull your hips flush with his. He’s inside you before you’re fully ready, and the sensation is more pain than pleasure.

Your hands come up under his shirt, running your fingers over the warm brown skin, the softness of his abdomen in sharp contrast to the hardness between your legs. You feel the edges of a scar.

A bite?

He’s lost in you so deeply, thrusting and churning, hips snapping against yours. He doesn’t notice you pulling the shirt up at first, doesn’t see you run your fingers around the outline of the bright pink, welted crescent.

“Fuck, so fuckin’…tight…”

Not a bite , you think, no teeth marks . Your doctor’s mind is already calculating the possibilities. Stab wound, maybe. Not a blade, too jagged.

He stills as he realizes what you’re doing, eyes meeting yours in furious betrayal before slapping your hands away. He pulls out of you with a low, angry growl, and strong arms flip you onto your stomach, gripping your hips where he’d bruised you yesterday. He re-enters you hard enough to take the breath from your lungs. His sharp, angry thrusts elicit a harsh cry from your throat, and this only serves to make him move faster.

“Fuckin’ whore,” he snarls. “Showin’ off your tits. Think you’re…so…fuckin’...smart…”

“You kiss your kid with that mouth, Miller?”

“Don’t,” he growls, a guttural warning, and you fight the urge to laugh as an almost vicious thrust pitches you forward, your hands splaying in the sheets to keep yourself upright. His fingers thread their way through your hair, pulling your head back, exposing your throat. His hand on your scalp is almost intimate, the way it kneads the tender skin, and you find yourself moaning with pleasure.

Before you can truly enjoy it, he pulls out and finishes with a groan on your back, warm liquid seeping down the crack of your ass. 

“So I take it that’s a yes?” you half laugh, half pant over your shoulder.

“What?” He’s pulling up his pants, fumbling with the belt buckle.

“Payment for services rendered.”

He glares at you and huffs an angry breath, but his final word is a whisper.

“Yes.”

~*~

There is a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth. You learn more about Joel during these brief encounters than you have the rest of the months you’ve lived in Jackson.

He likes you up against the wall, or on your hands and knees, fast and rough. He never completely removes his clothes, just enough to get the job done, his flannel shirts like armor guarding his heart.

He never undresses you, either, never does so much as pull down your panties, preferring to push them aside.

He likes you to be silent, but he has a dirty mouth. He smells like wood smoke and sweat and gunpowder.

He hasn’t kissed you since that first time. When you try, he pushes you away, turns you around, and takes you from behind. He won’t let you go down on him. Maybe he’s not into that, you know some guys aren’t, but you suspect it’s too personal, too intimate. Too vulnerable.

He never, ever comes inside you.

Somehow you think this isn’t what your superiors had in mind when they told you to find out who this guy’s daughter is, but it’s progress.

“Y’know, you don’t have to pull out,” you say, wiping ejaculate off your stomach with a tissue. You’re tired of washing his come out of your nice underwear, your bedclothes, your hair.

He’s sitting on the edge of your bed, pulling on his boots. You feel him pulling away, as always, and it’s a desperate move to try to keep him just a little longer, to edge your way into the cracks in his stony facade.

He scoffs at this, shaking his head, pulling the laces tight with a snap .

“I know condoms are hard to come by,” you continue evenly, the crisp voice of a practiced physician reciting rote facts, “but there’s no risk of pregnancy.”

He stiffens but doesn’t turn to look at you. “And I’m s’posed to believe that?”

You bristle, surprised to find this lack of trust stings…a little.

“What, you think I want a kid with you? You think I want a kid in…in this ?” you scoff, gesturing outside. “Don’t flatter yourself, Miller. I just hate doing laundry.”

“Accidents happen,” he grumbles, and you get the sense he speaks from experience.

“Was she an accident?” you ask, trying to imagine a younger Joel’s strong, calloused hands cradling the tender skull of a newborn Ellie, but you can’t picture it.

“Ellie? She ain’t mine.”

Oh.

You’ve touched on something, you’re so close you can taste it. What’s more, he doesn't leave immediately. He seems to be lost in thought, defenses down. He’s rubbing absently at his arm, his shoulder, kneading the muscle where his neck meets his collarbone.

“Well,” you say, clipped and final, “I haven’t had a period since I was 25. There are no accidents here.”

He looks at you with an unreadable expression; is that sadness…or pity? You don’t like the feeling it stirs in you, the twist in your gut. You suddenly wish you hadn’t started this conversation, hadn’t bared this much of yourself. It’s sloppy.

He opens his mouth as if to reply, but you’re unable to meet his eyes. You climb off the bed and head for the bathroom. Cold water on your face brings you back to yourself as you wipe off with a rough washcloth, then pull on your jeans and a soft, worn t-shirt.

Fuck. Too close.

By the time you’ve composed yourself, he’s standing in the hall. He looks like he wants to tell you something, and you meet his eyes, silently pleading.

Don’t.

Seconds pass, and you can almost see the moment his expression shutters, closes up, and suddenly he’s Joel Miller again, the neighborhood asshole. He scowls and makes for the stairs.

“You wouldn’t know it,” you say, in a desperate move to regain the upper hand, to find your footing on the roiling ground beneath you.

He stops on the first step but doesn’t turn around. “Wouldn’t know what?”

“That she’s not yours.”

~*~

When he’s gone, you walk up to the attic to check for new transmissions on the recorder.

You follow a straightforward procedure: Play back the tape, log the messages on a notepad, then wipe the tape for next time. You stash the logs at the bottom of one of the boxes of junk in the back of the attic. If someone did find the radio up here, you could get away with telling them it’s a hobby.

She ain’t mine.

His words ring in your ears.

Was the girl kidnapped? She doesn’t act like a victim, but maybe she was taken before she was old enough to understand what was happening. Maybe she has only ever known Joel as a father, and the mother is out there trying to find her. Were you chasing after some petty custody battle?

You brush the idea aside. You can’t imagine why FEDRA would care, and it doesn’t explain the scars on her arm.

You finish your notes and store them for the night, left with more questions than answers.

[that-one-empty-skull]

Ressource Hub

good links to click

be cool

edit 12/01/24: Now updated with Pokémon ressources

Free Palestine

BuildPalestine.com - list of organizations that offer humanitarian aid to Palestine

eSims for Gaza - purchase eSims for people within Gaza to reliably connect to the outside world

PalestineAction.org - stopping Israel's arms trade in Britain and supporting arrested activists

Sea-Eye - civil sea rescue nonprofit, organizes rescue missions in the Mediterranean

Sex Ed & Bodily Autonomy

Scarleteen - queer inclusive ressources on sexuality, sex and sexual health

Women on Waves - nonprofit, brings abortion services and education to people in countries with restrictive abortion laws

-> Women on Waves Find Your Abortion - tool to research safe abortion options globally

-> Women on Waves Sex Ed - ressources on safe sex, contraceptives, and abortion

Mental Health

Findahelpline.com - tool to find crisis and suicide prevention helplines in you country (global effort, 50+ countries covered)

Prison Abolition

The Bail Project - providing free bail to those in need, US based

Are Prisons Obsolete by Angela Y. Davis - pdf

Abolition Democracy by Angela Y. Davis - pdf

Free Media

r/FREEMEDIAHECKYEAH - extensive piracy wiki

Internet Archive - tons of free archived media

Velvet's guide to piracy - how to safely get into torrenting

Gutenberg Project - free ebooks, world literature

Ocean of Pdfs - free books, mostly ficiton, search by language/genre/author/title

Library Genesis - free books and scientific articles, fiction and nonfiction

DnD

DnD ressource stash (@tadfools) - Google Drive with 200+ DnD pdfs plus BG3 art book

Pokémon

My ressource stash - emulators, roms, fangames, tools, etc

Art and Drawing

TBA

Misc

Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg - pdf

Violence by Slavoj Žižek - pdf

------

If anyone knows good free (English language) ressources especially on kink and sex feel free to message me so I can add them

[revengeromance]

Anthony Green “this is for all my people that traded their sex drive to not feel suicidal”

[somebats]

help what song did anthony say the quote about trading your sex drive to not feel suicidal before playing

[cjb-160]

I am

I am Marylin Manson and Julia Jacklin I am Tolstoy and T.S. Elliot

I am tanned leather, brass, and lucite I am hotel suites, vip parking, and charges to the room I am white gloves, table cloths, and fine china I am reservations, and plane tickets I am the resort, and the last resort I am lamb skin, and alpaca. I am 3000-thread-count sheets

I am first dates, milkshakes, wedding cakes, and roller skates I am the beauty and the beast

I am the warning light on your dashboard I am the water in your gas tank I am the squad car tailgating your for 3-miles I am the window you roll-up when driving through that neighborhood I am the longest red light you've ever stopped at I am the new coffee shop, bar, boutique hotel I am the {insert local hangout spot here}

I am the crack in the houses foundation I am the crack, the house, and the Foundation

I am the day before World War 3

I am Doo-Wop and Hip-Hop I am baby Jesus and methuselah

I am the bottle of urine beside your bed I am the pistol.

I am the addict in the attic.

I am the needle and I am the thread I am the pawn shop you gave grandmas ring to I am the long pull on your vape between shifts.

I am the 9-5 and the 6-10. I am the check in the mail I am the pit and I am the bull

I am the artificial flavor in your chewing gum I am the friend that was too young to die I am the fellow and I am the ship I am Othello and Hans Christian-Andersen

I am the side effect worse than the symptom I am tea parties and vineyards I am the used condom on the sidewalk I am the heat death of our quantum existence

I am…too abstract?

I am too black but not black enough I am queer but not gay enough. I am qualified but not good enough. I am big-nosed, bald-headed, unwashed, and unbothered. I am untethered.

I am the creation and I am the demiurge I am the igneous and I am the firmament

I am the Borg

I am the paper your suicide note was written on I am the last time you saw your father I am the last thing he said to you I am the couch you let him crash on for a few months I am the new security code you created when he left

I am the storage unit you change clothes in before and after work I am the blanket you’re wrapped up in while asleep in your car

I am the gift that I never see you wear I am the pot calling the kettle… I am the "come get me," text at 3am I am the "you up," text you left on read I am the unsaved number in your phone

I am the abomination and the salvation of creation I am the mustard and I am the seed

I am the last ps5 at Walmart on Black Friday

I am Mozart and Chopin I am rock, roll, and Rachmaninoff I am Coltrane and Gillespie

I am the kidnap and I am the torture I am the human and I am the traffic I am the sex and I am the worker I am the murder and I am the manhunt

I am Samson’s dreadlocks

I am the dog bark that wakes you from that fever dream

I am the fever dream

I am the con and I am the science I am the jack and all of his trades I am the Coke and I am the cane

I am the stop sign behind that big ass fuckin tree. I am the cop. I am the ticket.

I am the vegan recipe book you haven’t opened yet I am the first parallel park in that city you moved to I am the popping sound in your kneecap

I am the fake number she gave you

I am the burning cross on your front lawn I am the white hood I am the "whites-only" section I am the assailant and I am the victim

I am the rotten avocado on your kitchen counter I am the clown and I am the circus I am bibles and black holes

I am holding your sweater I am the first kiss I am the divorce papers

I am the Sailor and I am the Siren I am the solitary onion ring in your order of French fries I am the diet that starts tomorrow

[malka-lisitsa]

Mental Health: Diagnosing Katherine

LONG POST- TRIGGERS TAGGED

It's no secret that Katherine Pierce has been through some absolute shit in her lifetime.

It's canonically expressed that Katherine has PTSD, but her behaviors routinely show deeper tolls that her life and trauma has taken on her.

Complex PTSD

Complex PTSD occurs when repeated, or multiple, traumas happen over a period of months, or even years, instead of a traumatic event that happens once and is over – such as a violent attack or car accident.

Chronic trauma associated with complex PTSD symptoms can occur in childhood or adulthood and can cause issues in relationships and behaviors.

As mentioned, Katherine has experienced a great deal of trauma and REPEATEDLY over the course of 500 years.

The mental toll that would take on her is nothing short of

E X T R E M E

For centuries Katherine had no stability, no one she could truly trust, routinely traded/outed by people, chased down by Klaus' lackies.

"I'm that thing that everybody wants.... Ugh, I'm the freaking moonstone..."

This has lead Kathreine to extreamly understandable TRUST ISSUES, COMPULSIVE LYING, AND IMPULSIVE BEHAVIORS.

A deeper look at these routine behaviors exhibited throughout the show genuinely lead me to believe Katherine is a STRONG candidate for having BPD (Borderline Personality disorder)

Which has in some papers been suggested to be an extreamly complex version of PTSD Manifestation. WHile she cearly doesn't exhibit the traditional "Suicidal thoughts/Idealization" since her whole thing is she doesn't want to die- She DOES exhibit some of the other HALLMARK syptoms of this delightful little mental illness.

(Spoiler its not delightful at all its the god damned worst)

Her symptoms of BPD

Fear of abandonment.  We see this a lot with Katherine when it comes to Elijah and Stefan mostly. Most of that is because of her ability to compartmentalize. Shes fine with keeping people at arms length as EXPENDABLES 99% of the time, but there are some people Katherine GENUINELY NEEDS and when they don't meet her emotional needs she gets frantic and desparate, petulant, passive aggressive, and impulsively aggressive.

Unstable relationships. Her lovers, friends, or family members often feel like they have emotional whiplash as a result of her rapid swings from idealization to devaluation, anger, and hate. This also helps with her ability to just peace the fuck out and disappear on people.

Unclear or shifting self-image. When you have BPD, your sense of self is typically unstable. Sometimes you may feel good about yourself, but other times you hate yourself, or even view yourself as evil. You probably don't have a clear idea of who you are or what you want in life. We see this shift a lot in hte show even if some of it is subtexted, and a lot of her self worth is held in the way the few people she truly loves sees her.

Impulsive, self-destructive behaviors.  impulsively spending money, binge eat, drive recklessly, shoplift, engage in risky sex, or overdo it with drugs or alcohol.

Extreme emotional swings. Unstable emotions and moods are common with BPD. One moment, you may feel happy, and the next, despondent. Little things that other people brush off can send you into an emotional tailspin. These mood swings are intense, but they tend to pass fairly quickly (unlike the emotional swings of depression or bipolar disorder), usually lasting just a few minutes or hours. Katherine's famous white hot impulsive rage- ESPECIALLY towards Stefan which is common in bpd the rapid idealization and sudden demonization of the people around you.

Chronic feelings of emptiness. People with BPD often talk about feeling empty, as if there's a hole or a void inside them. At the extreme, you may feel as if you're “nothing” or “nobody.” This feeling is uncomfortable, so you may try to fill the void with things like drugs, food, or sex. But nothing feels truly satisfying. Katherine sort of expresses this when shes speaking to Bonnie before she attempts to pass over. "I could have run, lived for another 500 years but for what?"

Explosive anger. If you have BPD, you may struggle with intense anger and a short temper. You may also have trouble controlling yourself once the fuse is lit—yelling, throwing things, or becoming completely consumed by rage. It's important to note that this anger isn't always directed outwards. You may spend a lot of time feeling angry at yourself. We see this SO MANY TIMES in the series. ESPECIALLY where ELENA is concerned.

Feeling suspicious or out of touch with reality. People with BPD often struggle with paranoia or suspicious thoughts about others' motives. When under stress, you may even lose touch with reality—an experience known as dissociation. You may feel foggy, spaced out, or as if you're outside your own body. Tied heavily into her PTSD trust issues.

Statistically you need 5 of the 9 symptoms of BPD to be considered for a diagnosis, Katherine at least base line shows 8 of them.

However Imma break it down EVEN FURTHER to her SUBTYPES of BPD-

Impulsive Borderline

People with the impulsive borderline type show a mixture of histrionic and antisocial traits. These individuals tend to be distracted, hyperactive, and fail to think before taking action. Because of their lack of self-reflection, their behavior may cause harm to themselves or others. Their emotions are equally as chaotic as their behavior, as they are often easily agitated and irritable.

For some, they may have felt valued when they were praised for their attractiveness, which can lead to seductive behavior and superficial relationships. Overall, their need for attention and stimulation can cause them to feel constantly anxious and on edge.

People with the impulsive borderline type tend to be:

Superficial

Irritable

Chaotic

Easily annoyed

Fearful

Unreliable

Easily distracted

Seductive

Suicidal

Petulant Borderline

The petulant borderline has a passive-aggressive personality style. Others may describe them as negative, demanding, stubborn, and impatient. They are often jealous of others’ happiness and resent having to depend on others. (( AS WE ROUTINELY SEE HER BEING PISSED OFF AT ELENA))

Petulant borderlines rarely had their needs met as children and tend to feel insecure in their relationships. They may have felt mistreated, abused, or manipulated by caretakers. As adults they may have episodes of feeling worthless, depressed, and guilty and at other times become overwhelmed with irrational anger and rage that can result in attacking others. When the episode is over, they often feel guilty, remorseful, and desperate to repair the damage caused by their behavior.

People with the petulant borderline type tend to be:

Pessimistic

Impatient

Irritable

Stubborn

Rebellious

Cynical

Resentful

Easily offended

When you really look at the finer details that make Katherine, Katherine its understandable why a lot of people don't like her. She has symptoms and defense mechanisms that routinely result in undesierable behaviors. However if you stop to look at why she behaves this way it becomes a little more tolerable. I believe Elijah was the MOST understanding of Katherine's behaviors through the time line and only really gave up on her to persue his own obsessive compulsive NEED to facilitate his brother's redemption.

Anyway thank you for coming to my ted talk-

TL;DR- Complex PTSD and BPD :D

[jsms01]

Can Antidepressants Like Paxil Cause Weight Gain? – True You Weight Loss

It is estimated that nearly 5% of the adult population in the United States suffers from regular feelings of depression and over 8% of adults have had at least one episode of major depression over the preceding 12 months. Though many people who are dealing with depression never seek treatment, those that do are often prescribed antidepressant medications to manage the condition. While effective for some people, these medications also tend to carry a variety of side effects that have to be weighed against the potential benefits. One of the side effects often seen with the antidepressant drug Paxil is weight gain.   

What Is Paxil?   

Paxil is a trade name for paroxetine, one of the most commonly prescribed antidepressants in the United States. Paroxetine is in a class of drugs called selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs); other common examples include citalopram (Celexa), fluoxetine (Prozac), sertraline (Zoloft), and escitalopram (Lexapro). SSRIs like paroxetine are used to treat mild to moderate depressive symptoms as well as major depressive disorder, anxiety disorders, panic disorders, mood disorders, and other mental health problems. Paroxetine was first approved by the FDA for medical use in 1992. 

What Are SSRIs and How Do They Work?          

The brain uses chemicals called neurotransmitters to send messages between the synapses of nerve cells; these messages affect how the brain works, how the body functions, and how we think and feel. Each nerve has receptors that can receive information in the form of neurotransmitters and then continue to relay the signal to other nerve cells. Some of the neurotransmitters are lost in the process, but most of them are reabsorbed by the cell that initially transmitted it; this reabsorption is referred to as “reuptake.”  SSRIs are so named because they inhibit the reuptake of a particular neurotransmitter—serotonin—in order to increase the amount present in the synaptic gap between nerve cells. Serotonin is a complex monoamine neurotransmitter that is thought to be involved in numerous aspects of body physiology like cognition, learning, memory, learning, sleep, and body temperature. It is also thought to play a major role in mood and emotion, and a lack of sufficient serotonin is presumed to be one of the factors in major depression and other related disorders.  SSRIs are just one of several different medications that are used to treat depression and related disorders. Serotonin and norepinephrine reuptake inhibitors (SNRIs) like venlafaxine (Effexor) and duloxetine (Cymbalta) are a newer form of antidepressant that work in a similar way as SSRIs but they block the reuptake of norepinephrine in addition to serotonin. Tricyclic antidepressants (TCAs) like nortriptyline (Pamelor) and amitriptyline (Elavil) are an older type that also affect neurotransmitters but are less selective and therefore tend to have more side effects.

Side Effects of Paxil    

Like other medications used to treat depression, Paxil is a tool for managing depressive symptoms rather than a cure. Doctors sometimes have to prescribe several different types of medication to find the right match for each person, and that often involves weighing potential side effects against the benefits of the drug. Because of their ability to selectively inhibit serotonin and not other neurotransmitters, SSRIs often have fewer adverse effects than other options. Nevertheless, there are some known common side effects:  - headaches - difficulty sleeping - weakness or fatigue  - gastrointestinal problems like diarrhea or constipation - nervousness or restlessness  - nausea or vomiting   - reduced sex drive  - dry mouth - dizziness  - weight changes  - loss of appetite  - drowsiness or yawning  Many of the common side effects experienced by patients are mild and tend to resolve on their own with continued treatment. In rare cases, however, paroxetine can lead to suicidal thoughts or mania. Ongoing headaches or persistent weakness and confusion may also be signs of low blood sodium levels and warrant contacting a doctor. In very rare cases, the medication can cause serotonin syndrome, a collection of additional symptoms that arises from too much serotonin being in the body. 

Paxil and Weight Gain

One of the other known side effects of SSRIs in general is weight gain, though there is some evidence that it’s even more likely with paroxetine. According to one study in the Journal of Clinical Psychiatry, subjects on paroxetine gained significantly more weight than those who were taking fluoxetine or sertraline; in the study, the subjects on paroxetine experienced a 7% increase in body weight. However, there is still a lower risk of weight gain with SSRIs than older tricyclic antidepressants or tetracyclic antidepressants (TeCAs) like mirtazapine (Remeron).

How Does Paxil Lead to Weight Gain?  

The precise reason paroxetine leads to weight gain isn’t entirely clear, but there are likely lifestyle factors associated with depression that may have an impact. For instance, poor diet, insufficient physical activity, and smoking or drinking can all potentially increase the likelihood of gaining weight even apart from the side effects of medication. It may also be related to the effects of coming out of depression. Often when people are depressed, they lose their appetite and eat less; then, when they start taking medication and feel better, their appetite returns and they end up inadvertently overeating.  Another possible reason for the connection between paroxetine and weight gain is related to its effect on serotonin. As noted above, serotonin is involved in many physiological processes, including those that impact hunger and satiety. In the short term, the increase in serotonin levels may increase satiety and less eating. Over the long term, however, there can be a downregulation of serotonin receptors that leads to cravings for carbohydrate-rich foods in particular. Overindulgence in these foods can then lead to weight gain. 

The Bottom Line

Can Paxil cause someone to gain weight? The best answer to the question is: possibly. Research does seem to show a correlation between taking the medication and an increase in body weight. The mechanism for how the weight gain occurs is still very uncertain, however, and that means it’s unclear if the drug itself is entirely to blame. The available data suggests that only 10% of users are likely to gain weight when taking the medication for an extended period of time. Still, though, if you are taking it and notice a weight increase, you can always talk to your doctor about switching to a different medication. 

Finding a Weight Loss Solution 

Whatever the main cause of an increase in body weight, losing it again is an entirely different proposition. While a healthy diet and increased physical activity are the traditional answer for weight loss, most people don’t find lasting success. That’s why at True You Weight Loss, we are passionate about providing an alternative solution that can help you lose the weight and keep it off over the long term. If you’d like to learn more about our non-surgical weight loss procedures, please contact us today to request a consultation. Source link Read the full article

[lilaceas]

white hair

the flowerbud be still down avenue killers & shoots unseen turn in to pretty sunflowers as a wildness is proved by the sun every have heard what kills more than a warm showers did the talkers long rollercoaster girl girl girl girl girl girl girl down the path fifteen losen to the soul were talking & the talk wasn't winged clue of mysery of the beginning & to moutains of cocaine never been addicted darker than the colorless dick of old men, dark to come from a womb under the faith of red roofs of hungry mouths & sinned to hell out not in mama's house perceive no one is angry & feel nothing after all so many similar judge then uttering tongues hides in alice's holes any where fucking in wonderland made of silk & not grass or illusions & lies if we suffer we do this together so sick too mental i'm on hydroponic mint & perceive acts they do limited when change came dressed as quality come from the roofs & good & bad & all mouths for nothing i wish i could be born dead & happy i know angelic way to translate hate the hints about the rebelious little less young men & women but i do not talk i fly & saw moments of devil itself murdering as innocent the jailhouse of souls suicides of the beginning or the end.

there be never kiss of malt liquor drunken snow fallen any more needles & love an actress that only works to buy doses of parfums drinking to it as britney spears lip injections inception made me a dollar i'd trade to sex & every one sees than there is now nor any more beer & youth & soda if been on gold era listening to women or age in streets than there is now talking about when they runned up colder than corpses fighting for their life then a daughter will never be like her mother any more perfection could be reluctante so come over & sleep with me than there is now, morning i'd been on meth seen any other lie when clouds turn your eyes blind fallen for luxury & two pills that make me marry any other guy to be lost & found inside of a battle of my heart betwen middle ones from off 'till bones cremated without gas at my favourite babydoll burden that shut my mind i tought that his legs are warm too skinned pieces of me becomes unseen & ballerina magical lemon receives proof any metal gun in its dipped honey turn.

always a knit of identity if textiles doesn't needs colours so i rob & always as a pornstar distinction & always a easier of life.

to elaborate there no avail, learn & magicity unlearn feel that it is so hard to turn on sickest of 'em all sure musicians does my ex boys drug that's why i'm anemic since a child never tastes so candylike as the most sweetness teenage years been certain sure plumb in the uprights & nasal well entretied he still braced in the moonbeams & where's the moon party high howing the best & red roses full filled garden & reach the cars & when i died till you felt my beard, & reach till you didn't simplistic held my feet, nail polish & lily arose & spread shit all around me the peace & never exists inside those taxi knowledge that pass judgment that stays nectarine tangerine softly all the argument of the gardening how many pay & god know cross at church that the promise of my own & yours i'd buy lipgloss that money isn't mine anyway i'd been on ballerina shoes & a big pretty tiara of crystals & diamonds i'll never put on my finger ballerina's fingers driving dividing it from the western worst nightmare villains aged vixens knowing stars one by one the perfect fitness & now she's supermodel gun & white equanimity city of angels & death & violence of things while they discuss silent & dad denyied like me or love me then of fucking after make me fluffy i'm just as black kittens never sleeps go bathe on jasmine & mirror it & admire myself that's worst for a stratch television young girl welcome is children teddybears every one dies alone built to nursing cakes attribute of birthday of any daddy hearty otty an inch heels a particle of me inch is vile, & love none shall be less pearls familiar than the nest satisfied—see listen to my weak voice i'm a grow up nor alady in shame & loving bed-fellow sleeps diary at my side through the night, & peachy withdraws he peep the day with treading any cunts stuff for salad leaving me the town buy me a theatrical basket covered with blood shall we postpone my acceptation of undrape!

you are not guilty to me just dumb ass shit nor stale nor discarded on your face full of blood contamined with saturation sugar free see through superstition the witches broadcloth & gingham laughing whether or no do you miss old school have you ever been on new mexico am around santa fé dwelling most important stuff than tenacious & so emotionally distorted words i'd never say acquisitive & tireless & its bullshit never killed the floor & cannot be asleep you talk to fast for me i kiss with tongue & shaken away.

darker will be seen lazy bitch & her derealization & screamed at my fun its jokes & marriage after parties since honeymoon is over that they gazing smoke after smoke.

& down the road.

more bouquets of.

flowers have you seen.

forthwith cipher & next.

models generatiom show me.

to a cent america's burn exactly the.

value ofmyself exactly the value of two; victimized extra chic viciously & which is ahead should i act superior?

[themuseandantarctica]

* 𝒃𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈

sentence  starters  based  on  modest  mouse’s  compilation  album  building  nothing  out  of  something.   change  however  necessary.

tw: suicide ideation, some nsfw

never ending math equation

❛   i’m  the  same  as  i  was  when  i  was  when  i  was  six  years  old   .   ❜

❛   oh  my  god   ,   i  feel  so  damn  old   .   ❜

❛   i  don’t  really  feel  anything   .   ❜

❛   oh  my  god   ,   they  look  so  alone   .   ❜

❛   i’ve  gotta  move  on   .   ❜

❛   where  do  you  move  when  what  you’re  moving  from  is  yourself   ?   ❜

❛   we  ain’t  sure  where  you  stand   .   ❜

❛   the  plants  and  the  animals  eat  each  other   .   ❜

❛   i  know  what  i  have  and  want   ,   but  i  don’t  know  what  i  need   .   ❜

❛   where  we’re  going  i’m  dead   .   ❜

interstate 8

❛   i’m  going  nowhere   ,   but  i’m  guaranteed  to  be  late   .   ❜

❛   you’re  an  angel  with  an  amber  halo   ,   black  hair   ,  and  the  devil’s  pitchfork   .   ❜

❛   how  have  you  been   ?   ❜

❛   i  drove  around  for  hours   ,   i  drove  around  for  days   ,   i  drove  around  for  months  and  years  and  never  went  no  place   .   ❜

❛   we  pay  for  gas  to  drive  around   .   ❜

broke

❛   i’ve  bought  some  things  that  i’ll  sort  of  regret  about  now   .   ❜

❛   broke  your  glasses   ,   but  it  broke  the  ice   .   ❜

❛   broken  hearts  want  broken  necks   .   ❜

❛   i’ve  done  some  things  that  i  want  to  forget   ,   but  i  can’t   .   ❜

❛   sometimes  i’m  so  full  of  shit  that  it  should  be  a  crime   .   ❜

❛   broke  a  promise  ‘cause  my  car  broke  down   .   such  a  classic  excuse   .   ❜

❛   broke  up  and  i’m  relieved  somehow   .   it’s  the  end  of  the  discussions  that  just  go  round  and  round   .   ❜

❛   you’re  living  on  fancy  wine   .   ❜

❛   you’re  starting  conversations   ,   you  don’t  even  know  the  topic   .   ❜

medication

❛   this  is  the  part  of  me  that  needs  medication   .   ❜

❛   this  is  the  part  of  me  that  wishes  it  was  worth  it   .   ❜

❛   this  is  the  part  of  me  that’s  trying  to  be  funny   .   ❜

❛   this  is  the  part  of  me  that  loves  my  parents   .   ❜

❛   this  is  the  part  of  me  that  learns  from  sitcoms   .   ❜

❛   this  is  the  part  of  me  that  means nothing   .   ❜

❛   you  could  wish  that  i  had  stayed   ,   or  just  stayed  gone   .   ❜

❛   you  know  your  reasons   .   ❜

❛   you  don’t  know  who  you  are   ,   but  you  know  who  you  want  to  be   .   ❜

❛   you  go  to  the  library  to  get  yourself  a  book   ,   and  you  look  and  you  look   ,   but  you  didn’t  find  anything  to  read   .   ❜

❛   left  all  my  kinder  parts  rustling  and  peeling   .   ❜

❛   my  nose  isn’t  that  big   ,   it  looks  nothing  like  me   .   ❜

❛   we’re  all  doctors  trading  sadness  for  numbness   .   ❜

❛   grass  looks  much  greener   ,   but  it’s  green - painted  cement   .   ❜

workin’ on leavin’ the livin’

❛   in  heaven   ,   everything’s  alright   .   ❜

❛   working  on  living   .   ❜

❛   i’m  working  on  leaving  the  living   .   ❜

❛   love  you  more  than  everything   .   ❜

❛   loved  it  more  than  anything   .   ❜

❛   working on drinking   ,   i’m  working  on  driving   .   ❜

all night diner

❛   have  i  told  you  you  could  really  get  it  on   ?   ❜

❛   the  sign  said  triple - X   ,   but  they  were  talking  about  root  beer   .   ❜

❛   i’m  just  sitting  down   ,   thinking  about  nothing   .   ❜

❛   i  have  sex   ,   i’m  always  thinking  about  the  pavement  so  i  can  avoid  premature  ejaculation   .   ❜

❛   better  things  to  do   ,   so  i’ll  start  drinking  now   .   ❜

❛   unfortunately   ,   like  always   ,   no  one  has  any  ideas   .   ❜

baby blue sedan

❛   i  am  doing  the  best  that  i  can   .   ❜

❛   sad  song   ,   last  dance   .   ❜

❛   no  one  knows  who  the  band  was   .   ❜

❛   it’s  hard  to  be  a  human  being   ,   and  it’s  harder  as  anything  else   .   ❜

❛   i’m  lonesome  when  you’re  around   ,   and  i’m  never  lonesome  when  i’m  by  myself   .   ❜

❛   i  miss  you  when  you’re  around   .   ❜

a life of arctic sounds

❛   as  long  as  you’re  gone   ,   i  can’t  apologize   .   ❜

❛   i  can’t  apologize  for  all  the  things  that  i  haven’t  said  and  done   .   ❜

❛   1100  miles  is  too  far  inside  a  car   .   ❜

❛   i  wrote  my  name  on  the  sun   .   ❜

❛   i  might  be  goddamned   .   ❜

sleepwalking

❛   i  fell  in  love   ,   and  i  needed  a  roadmap   .   ❜

❛   blasting  white  noise  in  the  convenience  store  parking  lot   .   ❜

❛   i  hung  around  there  wasting  my  time   ,   hoping  you’ll  stop  by   .   ❜

❛   a  mutual  friend’s  parents  left  town  for  a  week   ,   so  we  raided  their  liquor  stash  and  walked  down  to  the  riverside   .   ❜

grey ice water

❛   you  had  yourself  a  crazy  lover   .   ❜

❛   becoming  froze   ,   trying  hard  to  forget  her   .   ❜

❛   it’s  easy  to  save  what  the  cannery  pays  ‘cause  there  ain’t  nowhere  to  spend  it   .   ❜

❛   you  took  the  path  of  least  resistance   .   ❜

whenever i breathe out, you breathe in (positive/negative)

❛   hey   ,   haven’t  seen  you  around  in  a  while   .   ❜

❛   i  didn’t  leave  my  bed  for  eight  days  straight   .   ❜

❛   i  haven’t  hung  out  with  anyone   .   if  i  did   ,   i’d  have  nothing  to  say   .   ❜

❛   i  didn’t  feel  angry  or  depressed   .   i  didn’t  feel  anything  at  all   .   ❜

❛   i  didn’t  want  to  go  to  bed   ,   and  i  didn’t  want  to  stay  up  late   .   ❜

❛   whenever  i  speak  out   ,   you  take  it  all  away   .   ❜

❛   i’m  feeling  this  positive   ,   negative   ,   positive   ,   negative   .   ❜

other people’s lives

❛   other  people’s  lives  seem  more  interesting  ‘cause  they  ain’t  mine   .   ❜

❛   i’m  fed  up  and  i  need  to  go   ,   out  of  existence  or  just  down  the  road   .   ❜

❛   i’m  out  of  gas   ,   and  i  should  have  known  better   .   ❜

❛   always  thought  this  kid  was  such  a  mama’s  boy   .   ❜

❛   he  did  it  for  the  boys   .   ❜

❛   i  was  excited   ,   but  usually  i  hate  to  see  them   .   ❜

❛   always  steals  his  kisses   .   ❜

❛   got  yourself  a  crazy  walk   .   ❜

❛   i  can  not  go  when  there’s  nothing  better   .   ❜

❛   it’s  better  all  alone  on  the  side  of  the  road   .   ❜

❛   i  could’ve  sworn  she  left  when  i  was  drunk   .   ❜

❛   now  i’m  gonna  break  my  pace   .   ❜

[tyforthevnm]

undefined

“this is for all my people that traded their sex drive to not be suicidal” 

anthony’s intro to 2022 #lsdunesboston | from dylandytruther

[November 28, 2022]

[fanficmemes]

So. There is this fic. Where Big Bird use a ritual with muppet sacrifice to make Mr.Hooper return to life, but he return as a zombie that start killing everyone in sesame street.

It is only 1700 word.

But OH BOY the cursed. I cannot speak about it without sending quotes to describe some of the parta, cause like, this is a masterpiece.

""So he drew a pentagram on the ground with chinese symbols on it. Then he grabbed Elmo and cut his intestines open with a knife, spreading all the shit-filled bowels like butter on a sandwich.

"Oh yeah cut Elmo open like a salad of fermented monotreme madness!" moaned Elmo whorefully and anti-feministically.""

This is like the start and already we are peaking. So, Mr. Hooper return to life, with: "his eyes red as the venemous cunt of a raped enchilada and his skin green like putrid herpes vigor".

If there is one thing dead dove crack fic always get, is DESCRIPTIONS.

After the sacrifice function Big Bird wanted to be fucked in his cloaca by Hooper, but he refuse, and prefer to rape Oscar the grouch with a broken glass bottle. We also get to know Oscar eat aborted babies, of which he have a collection in his trashcan. Big Bird jelous kill the Grouch, that mean:

"In doing so, Oscar's bowels unleashed a massive torrent of putrid yellow diarrhea, which Mr Hooper drank with much pleasure."

Hykes.

After traumatizing us with this, Mr.Hooper start burning alive muppets and eating their genitalia.

"Then he shoved her into a sawmill and obliterated her flesh into a million bloody pieces, forcing them all down Cookie Monster's mouth.

"Oh God I'm gonna be sick!" barfed Cookie Monster, vomitting his own stomachal lining, but Mr. Hooper squeezed his balls, prompting him to sadly devour more of Abby's pieces."

Also the Count apparently really like this (?) and start masturbating with a pencil sharpener, while Grovel think maybe it is better to suicide.

""I'm going to remove the fetus of my own life!" cried Big Birds sadly, putting the coat hanger in his eyelids.

"No, don't kill yourself, to sacrifice to one's misery for the bliss of death is to deny reality it's fair due!"

"Weren't you about to comit suicide as well?"

"Fuck you Big Bird!""

Masterpiece i tell you. MASTERPIECE.

Mr Hooper decide he need to kidnap every children of the city to make the bigger flesh dildo ever made. Also he explode Baby Bear.

At the end Big Bird decide that he have to kill Mr.Hooper again, and go to the library to find a ritual. There he find Bert and Ernie having bdsm sex, that when discovered what is happening decide to help him. That mean they have a threesome and doing that magically the book they need get out of the bookshelf.

And this scene happen:

""Good, they even got the ingredients we need!" said Big Bird, pointing at Baby Bear's putrid remains.

Big Bird ate the rotten bear flesh, then did a twirl, and bright white light began to envelope him. Earnie couldn't believe it, Big Bird turned into Sailor Saturn!

"By the power of Satan, be raped by wapanese cocks by all eternity!" said Big Bird with the gigantic buckteeth he acquired.

"NNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Mr. Hooper said meanly, but it was too late, pink light began to glow on his limbs.""

Everything is well what finish well.

And also Big Bird rip out his face.

In all of this, i need to recount the best quote of the fic:

"Why could life not fall into the enthropy driven despair of emancipation, why does the price always become more expensive than the desire outcome of a heart so tainted by the condolences of fate? Why was fairness not an universal factor that drives correspondency to its full potential, to ensure a better trade by which our capacities are judged? Why did he have to lose so much to gain nothing at all?"

MASTERPIECE of cursed crack.

10/10 read it and wished I hadn’t!!!

[idk-who-i-amm]

Master List

These are all of my 5sos fics I have written as "no_clue_who" on ao3

One Shots/Non serial works:

Love Story: Luke met Ashton the day before his 6th birthday, Luke got his first mark on his 6th birthday.

Or childhood best friend soulmate au. (lashton)

this is me trying: or Luke is broken during their break. (platonic)

If I Could Fly: or Luke is feeling so much and nothing at all. (platonic)

I'll be home for Christmas: The boys can finally travel home, but someone nearly doesn't make it (ot4)

Matter of time: (TW implied suicidal thoughts) Luke believes he is unworthy of Ashton's love (lashton)

peace: Sleepy Michael gets taken care of (ot4)

Lamb to Slaughter: (omegaverse) Luke is pregnant and his husband isn't the nicest, lucky there's a leg of lamb and a boyfriend to help him. (lashton)

One Shots/Non serial works (wlw):

complicated freak: (NSFW) Ashton can't take her girlfriend's outfit (lashton)

good girls: (NSFW) Calum is failing her classes, Michael is her girlfriend and they wanna fuck Luke. (malum + luke)

wildflower: (NSFW) it was supposed to be an innocent picnic (lashton)

Chaptered works:

Take Me Out (to the Ballgame): Luke Hemmings is the best pitcher on his team, he's happy there. He has a life with that team.

Everything changes when he gets traded to his teams rival, when he get traded to Ashton fucking Irwin's team.

He was so screwed.

(Tumblr Masterlist)

Wildest Dreams: (NSFW) “Come with me? Two weeks away from the city and the noise,” Ashton said, “Just us for two weeks far away from everything.”

“What?”

“Come on, some fun time away.” Ashton says, grabbing his keys, “We can just have some fun.”

(Tumblr Masterlist)

Series works:

Hurt!sos (on ao3)

Secrets for the Mad: (TW Eating Disorder)

Strong: (TW Chronic Pain)

Change my Mind: (TW Panic Attack)

Or how not to (on ao3)

Mum: (TW reference to abuse, both mental and physical, eating disorder and alcohol abuse) or how not to get a hug from your mom.

Human: (TW eating disorder and abuse references) Or how not to deal with abuse.

Kiss You: Or how not start a relationship

Delicate: or how not to have a first date

Safety Pin: or how not to talk about sex

Heart Attack: (NSFW) or how to seduce your boyfriend

Dress: (NSFW) Or how (not) to seduce your boyfriend again.

Boys Like You: or how not to deal with your gender.

Never Enough: (NSFW) or how to find a new favorite thing

Daylight: or how not to confess your feelings

Talk Fast: or how not to write a song about your relationship

Sweet Creature: or how not to figure out you are home

New Years Day: Or how not to throw a New Years eve party

Paper Rings: or how not to propose to your boyfriend

Red: or how not to dye your own hair.

Back in Black: or how not to dye your hair black

Drive: Or how not to make a solo album

You Matter to Me: Or how not to come out to your friends.

Wolves: or how not to adopt a dog.

Canyon Moon: or how not to do a family camping trip

Temporary Fix: (NSFW) or how not to calm down your husband

Better man: or gender isn't just two boxes

HYaMLC: or how not to throw a Christmas Party

Meet you There: or how not to plan a date

Complete Mess: (NSFW) or how not to do a late night performance

take care: or how not to start a tour

Leather Lover: (NSFW) or how not to deal with leather pants

Sugar Baby Luke (on ao3)

23k Magic: a whole new life

[giorno-plays-piano]

Sinking under Part 2

Pairing: detective!Steve x Reader Warnings: yandere, stalking, death of minor character, allusion to non-con, swearing, brief mention of suicidal thoughts. Words: 1931. Summary: You are suspected of a murder you did not commit. Steve Rogers, a detective employed by the mother of a victim, makes your life even more pitiful than it already is. Part 1 P.S. A big shout-out to awesome @tansypoisoning​ who helped me a lot with this part! If not her, I think I’d never write this :D Sending you lots of love! _____________________________________  You were shaking like a leaf, your hands trembling so badly you couldn’t hold your phone, and Steve quickly put it in the pocket of his formal black pants. He was hugging you close, your head on his chest again like when you had encountered him in a supermarket half a year ago. You were leaving the courtroom. You were not the defendant. You were asked to participate in the trial as a witness.

“You’re a fucking slut!” A woman’s high-pitched voice almost made you deaf. “I KNOW IT WAS YOU! IT WAS YOU! YOU! I’LL SUE YOU, YOU LITTLE BITCH!”

Steve fastened his pace, and the two of you were pretty much running away to the exit, rushing before the crowd would come out of the room. The murderer had been found, and they proved he was guilty for your neighbor’s death, not you. It took them long six months before the judge stated that the best friend of the victim was found guilty as there was more than enough evidence to support his charge. 

Six months. Six months of constant fear for your own life, barely moving outside of your house, being scared to touch your phone to see hate messages from the family of that dead bastard, taking more pills than you had your entire life. Six months of being continuously bullied and followed around. You could hardly count how many times you wanted to jump off the bridge or take too many pills at once.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, darling.” Steve easily pushed through the line of reporters with their microphones, recorders, and cameras. “We’re close, hold on to me.”

All other voices blended into incomprehensible noise: people asking you thousands of questions, someone still yelling from the back, and policemen demanding everyone to keep out the way. You saw nothing, moving fast with Steve to his car. He was your shield; the one who kept protecting you at all costs.

When he found out about hate mails, he simply took your SIM card and gave you a new one with just his name in the list of contacts. When he saw his own employer coming over to your house to harass you with her accusations, he found a cheap apartment in the outskirts of the town and helped you to relocate fast. Steve had been helping with the investigation, tracking every other suspect down and telling you every significant detail he wanted you to know. He followed you too, of course, to pretend he was doing his job and avoid any suspicion. No one needed to know the nature of your relationship.

What was it, anyway? First couple of months it was hard to tell. You felt like he was simply using you to satisfy his own needs, though Steve was a considerate lover to an extent. He could fuck you literally anywhere, including the back of his own car. He enjoyed making a mess out of you, your makeup smeared and hair wild, and sometimes it was either driving you mad or making you frightened. But then he was really great at aftercare, getting very affectionate. He could help you to wipe your face and adjust your clothes carefully, and if you were home he would bring you to the shower and wash your hair so tenderly it could make you cry.

Nonetheless, it felt rather strange he was ready to trade sex for protecting you from the accusations of his employer. You couldn’t understand why he went through all this hassle just for a chance to fuck some girl. With his angelic appearance women would probably line up to get into his bed.

You had finally landed on the car seat, Steve on your left already turned on the engine and moved before you were approached by a few reporters who kept following you.

“You’re safe.” He said softly, turning his head to you and curling his lips in a heartwarming smile. “We’ve won, baby. Fuck all these scumbags, we’re done with this shit.”

You burst into tears with your hands still trembling, and Steve reached out to grab your palm. Forcing yourself to smile back at him, you wiped your face with your other hand. You were lucky he was with you.

“T-thank you, Steve.” You murmured quietly as if you still couldn’t believe it’s over. “Thank for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Come on, darling. I only did what I thought was right.” His smile grew wider at your appreciation of his efforts, and he rubbed your hand. “You can’t imagine how happy I am we’re through this goddamn investigation. It calls for a celebration, don’t you think? I want some champagne and oysters.”

You laughed through tears, shaking your head. Steve had one quality you were always jealous of – he was optimistic. Even at the worst times, he was able to keep his head high and pull himself together. Then he helped you to get through with your issues too. Of course, he demanded to listen to him, to follow the rules he set for you – don’t mess with other men, don’t go where I can’t follow, don’t speak to police unless I instruct you to, don’t leave without telling me first – but it was a small price to pay for the protection he offered.

“Now we don’t have to hide anymore.” Steve turned the car, and you saw he was bringing you to his house. Naturally, celebrating there would be better than in your half-empty apartment since Steve’s place was more comfortable and cozier.

“Do you mean I can finally return to my house?” You thought of the grass on your backyard that probably grew higher than your pretty red fence.

“What?” He sounded surprised. “Why would you want to come back there, right next to the house where that piece of shit died?”

“I can’t keep living in the apartment. I’m very thankful to you, it really became my hideout, but I have my own place.”

“No, baby, come on. Friends of that guy still live in the neighborhood. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” He brought your hand to his face and left a tender kiss on your knuckles, bringing you to tears again. “You can live with me now before I find a better place for us somewhere else.”

You gaped at him openly and heard your heart pounding in your head. Did he just offered you to live together with him? Was he so scared those men would hurt you for real? Or did it had to do something with your relationship? Wait, no, it couldn’t be. Maybe Steve liked to cuddle and spent some evenings together as if he pretended to be your boyfriend, but you never took it seriously. There was no reason to.

“You mean… you want to live together? Like a couple?”

“Well, yeah?” He flashed his beautiful smile, and you held your breath. “We can start like a couple if you need more time.”

What’s that suppose to mean?

“Steve, I don’t understand anything.” You told him honestly.

“We don’t have to pretend like we’re strangers, darling, since that old bitch can’t do anything anymore. Honestly, I’m tired of dating secretly, aren’t you too? All this precautions, living in different places so that no one knew, hiding from the windows. It was exhausting.”

Although you could agree it was really unnerving, you still didn’t understand why he called it a secret dating. Wasn’t it just… sex?

“Now we can take our relationship to the next level.” Steve was delighted, a bit too exited maybe, and then whistled, turning the car again – you were already in his neighborhood.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything and just kept staring at the man, taken aback by his words. Apparently, you had been missing something very important all these months. But you could swear you had never talked about anything like that before. You didn’t even remember discussing your feelings for each other much.

Obviously, Steve wasn’t happy with your silence, peeping into your absent eyes. He frowned with annoyance: usually you were much more responsive than now, always listening to what he had said.

“What is it, baby?” He asked you, his voice tight. “Don’t you want it?”

You awakened from your stupor and grasped the fabric of your dark blue skirt.

“No, it’s not that… it’s just…” You mumbled, unsure of what to say and feeling a bit scared of his displeasure with you. “We just never talked about it. I thought… I thought you didn’t want t-to be romantically involved.”

Steve blinked at your sudden confession. It took him a moment to put his thoughts together, and he rubbed his forehead with his thumb several times. Meanwhile, you remembered all those times when he brought you nice food and wine, watched movies with you, combed your hair because he really liked how pretty it looked, and made you a shoulder massage when you were too tired. He bought your meds and always took care of your mental health the best way he could. Even if you had never talked about love, do fuck buddies normally do things like that? You were not so sure anymore.

“Damn, I get it.” For some reason he laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t say it properly to you. You’re right, it’s completely my fault. I took it for granted that you saw me as I saw you, but I’ve never verbally admitted what I wanted from this relationship. I’m sorry, darling. Please, let me do it properly this time.”

You nodded, still feeling uncertain about all this. It felt a bit unreal at best.

“I love you.” He said with a grin and placed his hand on yours again. “You’re my precious little girl, and I want you to be with me. I want to keep you safe. I want you to stay close, so I would be able to protect you.”

You didn’t know why you cried, but your pathetic whimpering made Steve look at you with awe and admiration, his other hand gently caressing your wet face. He unclasped his seatbelt and moved closer to you, kissing your forehead. It only made you cry harder.

“It’ll be alright, baby. I know you’ve been through a lot this half a year. I’ll keep helping you, ok?” He shushed you gently, your phone still in the pocket of his black pants.

“Ok.” You managed to utter between your sobs.

“That’s it, darling.” Watching you with adoration, he took a wet wipe from the box in a car seat pocket and gently rubbed your face with it. “Everything gonna be alright. When you move in with me, I’ll take care of those guys, the friends of your neighbor, and you’ll be safe. But before that, promise you’re gonna listen to me, alright?”

You nodded once again, and Steve carefully wiped the tears streaming down your cheeks.

“You’re so good for me, baby. I’ll take care of you, I promise. Just keep following the same rules we had before I deal with all those fuckheads, and nothing bad gonna happen, believe me.” He was gently rubbing your face with the wet wipe and taking off your smeared makeup, occasionally kissing your face. You kept nodding at him, not even listening to his words properly and trembling again like after leaving the courtroom when your neighbor’s mother shouted behind your back.

It was over. The trial was closed, and you were ought to be safe. But why, why did it feel like nothing had changed?

[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

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