nes-sies-stuff

[nes-sies-stuff]

Take It Off...

🖋️ A/N:

This one-shot was born the moment I heard “Cry” by Lee Brice—yeah, that song ripped me open, and out came Beau Arlen, bruised knuckles and broken heart. The prompt that lit the fire? "Do I have to take it off again?" from @jacklesversebingo Beau just wouldn't shut up after that. This is my love letter to regret, to stubborn men who break late, and to the kind of love that lingers in the quiet. As always, reblogs and comments keep the muse fed 💌

—Nesca / LadybugBooklover 🐞

⚠️ Content Warnings:

Mature emotional themes (regret, heartbreak, male vulnerability)

Alcohol use (mentions of beer as a coping mechanism)

Adult language (soft cussing & emotionally charged dialogue)

Suggested sexual imagery (not explicit, but references intimacy)

Mentions of past relationship conflict/divorce Not suitable for readers who dislike angst or emotional vulnerability in male characters.

📜 Copyright Notice:

This work is 100% original fan fiction based on the character Beau Arlen (no copyright infringement intended). Do not repost, translate, or copy this work without permission. Tumblr reblogs = LOVE. Copy/paste or reposting = don’t be that gremlin.

© 2025 Nesca / LadybugBooklover 🐞 All rights reserved.

🔢 Word Count: ~960 words of raw, poetic heartbreak…

🐞❤️Tags: @jackles010378 @winchesterwild78 @cutedisneygirl @angelbabyyy99

The curtains were drawn tight, but the shadows didn’t care. They slipped through anyway, dancing across the jagged lines of his face—the face of a man who once wore charm like a second skin. Beau Arlen. Sheriff. Symbol of strength in a town that clung to tradition like gospel.

But that strength? It cracked the moment he saw you again.

He sat there, fists clenched, jaw tight with the kind of grief that don’t come from bullets or bloodshed, but from love gone wrong—twice. You’d think a second divorce would sting less. Hell, you'd think he'd be numb by now. But no. This one gutted him.

And deep down, beneath all that badge-and-gun bravado, he knew it—he knew it was his fault. But damn it, he’s always been a stubborn mule. The kind of man who'd rather break than bend.

He stared down at his phone, thumb hovering, twitching—like so many damn times before. Just one call. One more chance to say what he never could.

His jaw clenched, teeth grinding with regret. He could still see her—the way she looked today, standing there like a memory he didn’t deserve. Hair dancing in the breeze, that familiar smile teasing her lips like the past hadn’t burned everything down.

But her eyes… Hell, those eyes. They gave her away. They always did. Beneath the soft glow, they held the weight of a wrecked marriage her first, his second, shattered by his hands. His silence. His pride.

It felt like it all shattered just yesterday—the yelling, the tears, the final blow. But it’d been six months. Six freaking months, and still, the memory burned bright, fresh as blood on snow.

He could still see her face—twisted in pain, lips trembling as she begged him to fight for them, to choose them. Her voice, cracked and desperate, haunted him worse than any ghost. He remembered every damn tear, every choked word.

And worst of all? He remembered how he didn’t say a single thing.

He’d always been a proud man—too proud, if you asked her. But now? Sitting in the dark, in the house they once called home, there was nothing left of that pride. Just misery. Just a broken man with shaking hands, twisting the golden band on his finger like it could somehow rewind time.

“Do I have to take it off again?” he muttered, same as he had six months ago when she walked out the door. Still couldn’t do it. Not then. Not now.

His emerald eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and in the silence, his father’s voice cut through like a blade. “Man up, boy.”

He clicked his tongue, scoffing. “Yeah? Who says men don’t cry?” he whispered to the empty room. “They do… when they lose the only good thing they ever had.”

A dry, bitter chuckle scraped from his throat as he stared down at the bottle in his hand. Cryin’ into his beer again. Or was it the pillow on her side of the bed last night? Shit. Didn’t matter.

Either way, he was drowning. And damn if he didn’t feel pathetic.

He still couldn’t look at taillights the same. Not since she drove away, tears cutting down her soft porcelain cheeks, headlights fading into heartbreak.

There was no denying it—he was a man undone. A man hurting.

Before he knew it, his thumb hovered over her name. Then, dialed. Just like that. And when she answered, it felt like the world stopped.

“Sweetheart?” Her voice—soft, brittle, angelic.

“You don’t get to call me that no more, Beau.”

“Well, shit,” he murmured, “at least I know I’m functioning then.”

He sighed, already wounded.

“S… Sorry. I know. How’re you doing?”

She cleared her throat, but he heard the tears anyway.

“Good, I guess. If you count out the heartbreak, the lonely nights, and the empty mornings.”

He let out a shaky breath.

“Oh? That’s what good is nowadays?”

She giggled, a sound that twisted the knife in his chest.

“For the last six months, it has been.”

Her sarcasm was raw, sharp-edged.

A pause.

Silence.

Then her voice cracked.

“Why can’t you just say what you really feel? Dammit, Beau—I wish you would.”

Then he breathed out the truth like a confession:

“You wanna know how I feel? Fine.”

The only response was the quiet sound of sniffles.

“I miss you. I love you. And I hate myself.”

“I hate my pride. I hate that I let you go. I hate waking up in that cold-ass bed without you beside me.”

“I miss your sleepy smile, your dancing in the kitchen with my damn t-shirt barely covering your thighs—Dammit, I miss everything about you.”

His voice broke.

“I love you… but mostly, I’m sorry.”

Then—the line went dead.

He stared at his phone like it had betrayed him. She hung up. After all that. After finally bleeding the truth, she ended the call.

“Damn,” he whispered.

He left the half-drunk beer sweating on the table, dragged himself toward the bedroom like a man twice his age. Crawled into bed, sinking into another sleepless night—

Ding-dong.

“What the hell,” he muttered, pulling himself up, bare-chested, worn grey joggers hanging low on his hips. No shirt. No energy to fake it.

He yanked the door open—then froze.

There she stood.

Beautiful. Real. There.

He barked out a surprised laugh. And without a word, he swept her into his arms, spun her around, and kissed her like a dying man clinging to oxygen.

She smiled, eyes shining.

“Hello there, Sheriff.”

He knew they had shit to work through. Wounds that hadn’t healed. Words that still needed saying. But one thing was certain—

Because he was.

And she was.

That wedding band?

It stays.

He’s never taking it off.

[nes-sies-stuff]

Love Ain't Pretty - #4 Through The Blue

A/N: Awww my loves, Y'all know how I feel about this book - it's so close to my heart like for real and honestly in this Chapter we learn a little more about Clay and Kacie and just ahhhhh it's so - ya know what just read it and find out... Xo

Warnings: Some light swearing, mentions of people dying, betrayal, and alcohol consumption.

Please Note: This is a work of fiction, but it is MY work, so please don't go stealing like some lil evil gremlin okay?... Mwaaahz thanks.

Cover/Pics/etc: Pinterest, and Pinterest.

Tags: @jackles010378 @winchesterwild78 @cutedisneygirl @cutedisneygirls-blog @angelbabyyy99 tags are open so if ya want to be ya know tagged ... let me know, DM, comment shout it from the rooftops... Xo...

Kacie’s fingers curled around her coffee mug. It had been a month—thirty damn days—since she came back to Memaw’s farm. She still hadn’t spoken to her mother. Tried calling once. No answer. Honestly? A blessing in disguise.

Clay helped on the ranch here and there, but let’s be real—Kacie didn’t know jack about running the place. One look at the bank statements told her everything: the ranch was drowning. Fast. And she didn’t know how to swim.

She was an artist. A broke one. With zero business sense and nothing but dried-up paint tubes and regret. Maybe her parents were right. Maybe she should’ve gone to college. But hell—sitting in a classroom never felt right.

Now here she was. Middle of nowhere. No plan. No money. No clue.

The only thing she knew? She had to save the ranch. Memaw would’ve wanted that.

Her eyes drifted out the window, landing on the herb garden. The scent of rosemary, the dirt under her fingernails—it always grounded her.

Then it hit.

“That’s it,” she gasped, nearly knocking over her mug.

Grabbing a notepad, she scribbled fast:

Candles

Tea

What else?

Maybe she could sell her herbal goods at the weekend markets. Maybe make something of this mess.

She sighed, chewing the end of her pencil.

“Darrn-it,  this is probably the dumbest idea ever…”

But maybe—just maybe—it was worth a shot.

She ran outside barefoot, twirling through the sunlight, laughing breathlessly as the wind caught her hair. That was just Kacie—wild, impulsive, jumping from one idea to the next like a skipping stone on water.

It wasn’t a choice. It was just... who she was.

She collapsed to her knees in the herb garden, dirt clinging to her skin, rosemary brushing against her palms. The sun warmed her face, but her chest ached—tight, like it always did when the grief crept in.

Her eyes shut. Tears spilled.

She cried for Memaw.

She cried for the ranch, for the mess it had become.

She cried because something about the herbs, the sunlight, the moment, made her feel again—and that scared the hell out of her.

That familiar darkness whispered at the edges. Depression never really left. It just curled up quiet sometimes, waiting for her to slow down.

She used to call her friends when it got bad.

But they were gone now.

She used to paint. But the muse had packed her bags months ago.

So she just sat there.

Soft sobs.

The scent of lavender and sage.

Birds singing like the world wasn’t falling apart.

And somehow... that was enough.

For now.

Just to be.

The rugged man stepped out of the barn, cowboy hat drawn low, a bundle of hay in his hands. He didn’t mind helping Kacie—he’d made a promise to her grandmother, Aunt Cathy, and Franklin Clay didn’t break promises.

But damn, she wasn’t what he was used to. Not around here. Not in his life.

As he stacked hay in the back of his old pickup, something caught his eye.

Kacie.

On her knees in the herb garden, head tilted toward the sky like she was praying—or something..

He froze.

Shit.

She was beautiful. Not the kind of beauty you find in magazines—something wild, aching, real. It knocked the breath right outta his chest.

Get a grip, Clay.

He scowled, dragging a hand down his face.

“She’s thirty-something,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re pushing fifty. Shit, pull yourself together.”

Irritated, he stormed back into the barn. Caught a glimpse of himself in a rusted hubcap hanging on the wall. Crow’s feet around his eyes. Gray threading through dark hair. The years hadn’t been kind.

Once, he’d been a man who had his pick—of women, danger, whatever he damn well pleased.

That life? Gone.

Clay had worked black ops for the CIA for over two decades. No strings, no home, no one to miss. There’d been a woman once—one who almost cracked through the armor. But she played him. Set him and his team up.

Men died because of her.

His jaw clenched. Fists curled tight.

He’d buried that version of himself. Along with every body and every secret from that life.

That’s why he bought this land. A quiet patch of dirt and sky. Some livestock. A barn that smelled like his childhood. And Cooper—his dog, his shadow, the only living soul he trusted.

This life was supposed to be simple.

He scoffed at himself, irritated, barely noticing he was denting the tin canister in his grip—knuckles white, jaw locked—

Until her voice broke through.

“Morning. How’s Mr. Grumpy doing?”

He spun toward her.

“Dammit, woman,” he growled, eyes flashing. “Stop sneaking up on people.”

Her face—so open, so damn soft—fell.

And he hated himself for it.

She looked away, voice barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t mean to… I just wanted to tell you about my—”

A sigh. A shift.

“Never mind.”

She turned to go.

And he stood there, heart thudding, fists clenched, watching the one good thing left in his life walk away because he couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut.

She kept walking.

Then she stopped.

Spun around, eyes blazing.

“You know what, Clay? You’re an ass. And I don’t mean the donkey kind.”

She didn’t wait for a reaction. Didn’t need one.

She walked out—head high, heart cracked, disappointment written in the slouch of her shoulders.

Always the fixer. Even for people like him. People who didn’t want saving.

But damn it, she tried.

The wind caught her hair as she disappeared into the open sky.

Clay stood there, fists clenched, the silence roaring in his ears.

He kicked the nearest thing—an old toolbox—sent it skidding across the barn floor.

“Damn it!” he bellowed, throat raw.

Rage clawed its way up his spine.

Then it hit him.

The date.

Of course.

Today.

The anniversary.

The teammates he lost.

The blood. The betrayal.

The guilt.

Always the guilt.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he was in his truck.

Tires screamed against dirt.

Dust rose behind him.

Hay bales flew off the back.

And Clay?

Clay drove like he could outrun ghosts.

She stared at the dust trail he left behind, already regretting what she’d said.

So, she did the only thing that ever made her feel close to okay—

She baked.

Pecan pie, just like her memaw used to make.

As a little girl, she’d sit on the counter, big green eyes watching that wrinkled woman stir magic into sugar and butter. She’d steal more pecans than she prepped, and her memaw never minded.

That memory made her smile. Even now. Even with a heart sore as hell.

The pie came out golden, bubbling sweet. She packed it carefully into a basket, tossed on her jacket, and started the walk across the field between their homes.

Humming some old country song she couldn’t remember the words to, she let the wildflowers brush her legs, let the butterflies flutter past, let the world remind her that life still sings.

As she neared the porch, Cooper trotted up, tail wagging slow and low.

“Hey there, handsome,” she murmured, scratching behind his ear.

The door was open. That wasn’t like Clay.

“Clay?” she called softly. “Hello?”

Then she saw him.

Slouched in a chair. Bottle in hand. Glassy-eyed.

“What do you want?” he slurred. “Come to tell me I’m an ass again?”

Her throat tightened.

“A...are you okay?”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Peachy. Now leave.”

She set the basket on the table without a word.

“Nope,” she said. “I’m staying.”

She took a step toward him.

His eyes flashed.

“Touch this,” he growled, raising the bottle, “and I’ll snap you in two.”

She froze.

Then smiled.

“No, you won’t. ‘Cause Clay’s a good man.”

He laughed again—meaner this time.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me. So don’t feed me that shit.”

“Then show me,” she said gently. “Show me who you are.”

“Leave.”

She didn’t.

She walked to the kettle like she owned the place, flicked it on.

“You need black coffee... and a good long look in the mirror. But let’s start with the coffee.”

Her voice was soft, steady.

And somehow, it was more pleasant  than  the silence.

She handed him the coffee, voice low but firm.

“Drink this.”

She reached for the bottle.

He snatched it back, towering over her in a flash.

“Leave my damn stuff, you little brat!”

Her breath hitched. Fear flickered in her eyes.

And he saw it.

He saw it.

Instead of backing down, he spat out—

“Oh yeah, I’m such a good guy, huh?”

His voice was dripping with venomous sarcasm.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t run.

She walked over to the couch and sat.

Tucked her knees close. Curled in like a whisper.

“I’m not leaving,” she said softly.

Then, looking up at him, green eyes full of something that scared the hell out of him—

“Wanna talk about it?”

He stared.

She leaned in.

“Let me help you through the blue.”

He froze.

No one had ever said that before. Not like that.

Not let me in.

Not help you through the blue.

His knees gave out beneath the weight of her kindness.

He collapsed into the armchair, elbows on his thighs, hands in his hair.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

She didn’t say anything at first.

Just reached out, that tiny hand of hers resting soft on his shoulder.

“Let me in,” she whispered.

His voice broke.

“I don’t know how.”

She smiled—gentle, patient, like the sun waiting behind rainclouds.

“Start small. One word at a time.”

He looked at her like she was something holy and terrifying.

Then he whispered,

“Why? Why do you care?”

He was cracking. Crumbling. And still trying to fight it.

“I don’t deserve it.”

And her answer—damn, her answer—came without hesitation.

She reached for his hand, her voice like a promise,

“Everyone deserves kindness”

That shook him.

He scoffed, shaking his head like he was brushing off a compliment made of broken glass.

“Kindness? Hell no. Not someone like me.”

But she just smiled, that same soft, stubborn smile she always wore when she was standing her ground.

“Well,” she said, voice teasing but full of truth, “I believe you are kind. Even if you can be a real meanie sometimes.”

He blinked. Then snorted.

“A meanie? Girl, what are you, two?”

She burst out laughing, and for the first time in what felt like a hundred years—

He laughed too.

Just like that, the tension cracked and melted into pie and chuckles and banter that rolled on deep into the early hours.

Until Clay finally passed out—half-eaten slice of pecan pie still sitting on the armrest.

Kacie gently pulled off his boots, laid a blanket over him, then curled up on the couch with Cooper at her feet.

She watched him quietly.

This older man with storm-colored eyes and a past that scared the hell out of her.

But still—

Somehow—

He pulled her in.

She didn’t try to understand it.

Didn’t need to.

Because something inside her already knew:

This was only the beginning.

[nes-sies-stuff]

Bloodstained, Tear-Streaked, Knowing All Along

Author’s Note: Hey babes 💋—chapter six is a dark one. I warned y’all this fic wouldn’t be soft. Meredith’s spiraling, and certain shadows from her past just won’t die quiet. We're diving deep—trauma, twisted obsession, all that messed-up goodness.

⚠️ Warnings: Abuse (emotional/physical), toxic relationships, past SA (non-graphic), drugged, manipulation, emotional trauma, violence, PTSD themes, and a whole damn lotta pain. If you’re in a soft era, maybe hold off.

Bad Things Happen Bingo Prompt: Drugged (bold, just like the trauma 💅) @badthingshappenbingo

Copyright Note: This fanfic is mine. My words, my blood, my tears, my chaos. Characters may be borrowed, but the story? Pure me. Don’t repost, steal, or claim— Now go cry with Meredith. You know you want to. 💔

Early morning. Deathly quiet—except for sweet Meredith, sobbing because she’d shot her own brother. He knew he was still in her veins.

He watched. Silent. The man without a name. She knew it—oh, she knew—but never once spoke it out loud. Not even after he left her for dead.

He really thought she’d die. Drugged. Brutalized. Forced to fight the other girls he threw at her like wolves. But she didn’t break. She escaped.

Maybe that’s why he can’t let her go. Maybe that’s why she haunts him.

Maybe it’s obsession. Pure. Primal.

But hell—he knows the truth.

It’s been more than fifteen years. He searched for her—found her.

She was always the strong one. Never broke like her friend, Hope. Weakling. He keeps her around anyway—out of pity, maybe.

But Meredith? He could never do that to her.

He’s not an animal.

Now?

He’s something worse.

Maybe he's a real predator now.

The ambulance sirens claw at his ears— hell, they always have. Too damn  loud. He’s been sensitive to sound since he was a kid, since before anyone gave a shit 

He grits his teeth, watching them lift him into the back.

If Meredith only knew the truth about her brother, she’d understand why he made her pull that trigger. She’d thank him.

Her mother—what a damn hypocrite. Pretending to care about Meredith, all while shielding that bastard son.

No one cares for Meredith like he does.

His jaw clenches. Fist tight. Pupils blown. Rage simmering like acid in his veins.

They’re all worse than him.

At least Meredith knows he’s a monster.

The rest of them? They’re saints in masks.

He looks at her.

He’s always seen her—really seen her—for the woman she is.

She’s trembling, sobbing.

Hell, those tear-streaked cheeks… always made her porcelain skin glow.

But those eyes—those green damn eyes—

They pierced straight through him.

If he had a soul, she’d be the only one to touch it.

He slides into the cab, trailing the ambulance like a shadow.

She’s gonna need someone—and it sure as hell won’t be Spencer bloody Reid.

Every time he sees that scrawny, overgrown schoolboy, he wants to snap him like a twig.

What the hell does she even see in him?

Meredith hasn’t really responded to those pathetic puppy eyes, not yet…

But he’s seen it—the way she looks at Spencer.

She used to look at him like that.

Just once.

One quiet moment—back when he wasn’t so hardened, so ruined.

She looked up at him like he could save her.

And he did.

Just… not in a hero kind of way.

Following from a distance—he always had a way of blending in.

Even with his deep disdain for people, they never seemed to notice.

They found him polite. Handsome, in that rugged, dangerous sort of way—those dark eyes, the jagged jawline, the beard thick and coarse, hiding more than just his chin.

But the scars? Those were souvenirs from the house he’d once called home.

That woman—meant to be his mother—nothing more than a drunk.

And his father? Ha.

A lunatic. Deranged in a way that made even demons uneasy.

His childhood wasn’t like these soft brats whining online about their feelings.

There was no gentle discipline. No timeouts.

Just screaming.

Shouting.

Fists flying.

Doors slamming.

And closets.

Damn, the closet.

They locked him in there like trash.

At first, it was terrifying—what four-year-old wouldn’t cry, claw at the walls, beg to be let out?

But the older he got, the quieter he became.

Until one day… he stopped being afraid.

The darkness stopped feeling like punishment.

It felt like home.

And the isolation?

It was peace.

He watched her.

Meredith.

Standing there, shaking—bloodstained hands trembling like fragile leaves in the wind.

Trying to explain. Trying to apologize to her mother through broken sobs.

He clenched his fists, jaw tight enough to crack.

She shouldn't be apologizing. Her mother should.

If only Meredith knew the truth.

That the woman crying crocodile tears had known.

She knew it was her precious son who sold Meredith and Hope like cattle.

What no one expected?

He’d be the one to buy them.

Fate's sick joke, maybe.

He hadn’t known then—just how special Meredith would be.

Not at first.

But later… oh, he tried to tell her.

Back when she was still with him, chained in the dark, too drugged to see the light.

He tried.

Tried to explain it all—how it wasn’t his fault. How he saved her from something worse.

But she didn’t believe him.

She looked at him like he was filth. A monster. A liar.

But he’d never lie to Meredith.

Never.

Not her.

He watched as her mother screamed at her.

“Just get out of my way! I can’t even look at you! How could you shoot your brother? My son!”

His blood boiled.

He could shatter every single bone in that woman’s body for yelling at Meredith like that. His Meredith.

She didn’t fight back.

Didn’t scream. Didn’t cry.

She just stood there.

Then turned.

Dragging her feet, each step like it weighed a hundred pounds. Like she was made of ash.

He followed.

Onto the balcony—

Where the cold met her like an old friend.

She clutched the railing with white-knuckled hands, knuckles stiff, fingers trembling.

“Meredith?”

His voice was gravel—rough, low, like heavy smoke curling in the dark.

She froze.

Turned.

Those green eyes. Wide. Red-rimmed. Wet.

Damn, her eyes…

Her voice was a whisper, raw and breathless.

“Y-you’re… you’re here?”

He smiled—

Not the sweet kind.

The dangerous kind.

A smirk sharp enough to cut.

A warning.

“I’m always here,” he said.

“In the distance.”

She shook her head, backing away an inch.

“Leave.”

But he didn’t. He never did.

Her voice cracked—worn and scared and already broken.

“I… I’ll call the cops. Someone. They’ll lock you up.”

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even blink.

“I’m serious,” she said, her voice higher now, trembling.

“You made me shoot my brother, dammit—I hate you.”

He stepped closer, just one step.

Voice low, steady.

“I know.”

She looked up at him, her whole body shaking.

Tears like glass on her lashes.

“W-why won’t you leave me alone?”

His eyes locked with hers—deep, dark, relentless.

“You know why.”

She shook her head, hard.

“No!”

Her eyes snapped up to him.

He towered over her—six foot four and made of shadows and nightmares.

The size difference was suffocating. But she didn’t step back.

Her voice was brittle, breaking.

“You’re not real…”

His gaze didn’t waver—dark and merciless, burning a hole straight through her.

“I’m the most real thing in your life, Meredith.”

He stepped in closer, voice low, cold fire.

“Not your parents.

Not your job.

Sure as hell not Spencer Reid.

Me.”

Shaking her head, “Stop it, Silas. Just stop it.”

The tears were streaming down now, unchecked. He looked at her—voice low, eyes wide.

“You remembered.”

She flinched. The memories hit her all at once. He saw it flicker across her face like lightning.

“Meredith…” he murmured, almost pleading. “Why do you act like I don’t exist? I fed you. Cared for you. Gave you a place to stay—”

“A cage ain’t a home,” she snapped, cutting him off. “And you only fed me when I obeyed.”

He scoffed, darkly amused. “You barely did that.”

Then, softer. Regretful, almost.

“I ain’t perfect, Meredith. But at least I don’t pretend. Not like them.”

Her voice rose, cracked with fury. “Leave my family out of this.”

He stepped forward, growling under his breath.

“Fine. Believe whatever the hell you want. But remember—I never lied to you. Never will.”

She pounded her fists into his chest—small, shaking, but relentless.

“I hate you,” she choked. “I hate you.”

Over and over.

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

Then—just like before—he wrapped her in his arms.

And this time? She didn’t fight it.

She broke.

Crying, trembling, collapsing into him like a child. Like that night.

She whispered, fragile and desperate. “Tell me it’s not true…”

His voice was low. Steady. Cruel in its calm.

“What? That you’re finding comfort in my arms—or that your brother sold you, and your parents knew and did nothing?”

She didn’t answer.

Not at first.

Then, through broken sobs:

“Everything. Just… everything.”

Before he could answer, footsteps echoed down the hall.

A voice—Aaron Hotchner—calling her name.

He knew that name. Knew him.

He remembered watching—helpless, furious—as Aaron and Gideon picked her up that day. The day he was going to take her back. Save her. His Meredith.

In some sick, twisted way… he figured Aaron saved her first.

She froze in his arms. Completely still. Like she was made of glass.

She didn’t want Aaron to see.

He felt it in her body—tight, trembling.

So he shielded her. Just enough to keep her hidden.

Aaron walked right past them. Oblivious.

But the second he disappeared—Meredith shrieked. Pushed him hard.

“Stay away from me! Just… just let me go!”

She ran.

Like a sinner from a church fire.

And Silas?

He just stood there.

Staring down the hallway she’d vanished into, like it was some holy place she’d just escaped from.

Feeling...

Was it power?

Or was it something else?

Because no matter how much control he thought he had…

It was her.

Only her.

The only one who could make him feel… So Damn….Human.

[nes-sies-stuff]

Someone I Used To Know ❣️

A/N: Awww my loves❤️ just a quick little 'one shot' I love this song but I did not know, I'd cry so much - cuz jinkies 🥹 it's a letter to Dean, so buckle up babes and grab a tissue - ❤️

Words: 898

Warnings: Besides a few tears, maybe a bit of swearing and dealing with grief, mention of death. 😱

Also: this is my work, please don't steal it, just like and comment and reblog...❣️❤️🐞

Tags: @jackles010378 @winchesterwild78 @k-slla @cutedisneygirl @angelbabyyy99 if anyone wants to be tagged in the future lemme know...❤️💕

The ink on this letter is spilling all over the page, just like my heart—again and again.

I’m in the middle of moving, and one of my friends found that old photo of you and me. You should see it by now—a few years will do that. It’s crumpled at the edges, and the color isn’t that good anymore, but oh, the memories it holds. They never leave.

My therapist said writing to you when I feel overwhelmed with missing you is good for my mental health. I don’t know—the verdict’s still out on that. But it helps. Sometimes, it even feels like you’re getting this. Like you’re reading it... watching over me.

Anyway, I couldn’t talk about it when Julie asked who you were to me. The words just tumbled out: “Just someone I used to know.”

And it crushed me.

Because I couldn’t tell them. Couldn’t say it was the man I was supposed to spend forever with.

The love of my life.

The Dean Winchester.

A man who loves pie, old motel rooms, and classic rock bands. Who prefers a greasy burger over a salad any day.

The man who wore his dad’s leather jacket like some kind of keepsake—some reminder of what not to be.

But for me? It was just another thing that made you you.

Damn, babe, I miss you a little more every day.

Oh—by the way, Sammy’s doing good. I still check in on him… them. Baby number two is on the way, and he’s over the moon about it.

But I can tell—he misses you.

When that Led Zeppelin track comes on the radio, or when he grabs two beers instead of one without thinking. I just take the extra one like it was meant for me. Like you’d want that.

Now, wait—before you cuss me out for drinking beer all of a sudden instead of my favorite red wine, let me explain.

I’ve gotten used to the bitter taste.

Like the bitterness buried deep in my damn bones.

Don’t worry—by now, I’ve gotten used to it.

But I’m still your sunshine baby.

Sorry about the teardrop smudging the ink… I still cry a little when I think back to the first time you called me that.

It was early morning.

I looked a little rough—hair all disheveled from the night before.

Our first time together… and damn, babe, it’s etched into my memory like it happened just now.

The sun was streaming through those cheap motel curtains, casting this soft glow over our tangled limbs.

Your calloused fingers brushed the hair from my face.

And then your voice—deep, rugged, like whiskey over gravel—murmured,

"Sweetheart… you’re my light in this dark world. My sunshine baby."

My heart melted. My stomach fluttered.

And even though I always loved your voice—Darnit, that morning?

It swept my feet out from under me.

It’s like I can hear your laughter right now—that famous Dean chuckle, cocky grin and all.

"I knew you’d miss me, sweetheart."

And right now, babe? I’m trying my damn best to smile…

But the tears won’t stop. They never do.

Hell, the other day, Julie set me up on a blind date.

And I went.

(I’m truly sorry. But don’t worry—I felt guilty for days.)

Anyway… I pulled out that dark blue top you liked so much. The one you said made me look like a lady, instead of the oversized shirts I always stole from you.

Damn it—teardrops on the ink again. Sorry.

Let’s go back. The date.

I threw on my jeans and favorite pair of boots, met the guy at a coffee shop.

(Couldn’t do a bar—they all remind me of you.)

The guy was nice. A gentleman.

But after coffee, when he walked me home… he tried to kiss me.

And it was reflex, okay?

I slapped him across the damn face.

He left with a bloody nose.

And me? I haven’t gone on another date since.

I’m fine growing old alone.

…Okay, that’s a lie.

I don’t want to grow old—not if it’s not with you.

Dean, I’m gonna shoot it to you straight.

I’m feeling that anger again. That deep, bitter, soul-splitting anger.

You left.

You died.

Why the hell didn’t you fight harder to stay?

For Sammy.

For me.

Dammit, I’m so mad at you. And I love you so much, it’s unbearable.

I can’t even look at a damn pie without crying.

I kind of hate you.

And don’t you dare look at me with those emerald eyes and say:

“No you don’t, sweetheart. You just miss me.”

This pen won’t stop trembling in my hand.

This heart won’t stop shaking in my chest.

I miss you, babe.

And it’s not getting better.

Anyway… I should try to sleep.

It’s 3 a.m. by the way.

Yeah, I’m sleeping on the couch again.

The bed’s too big… too cold… too cruel.

'Til next time, babe.

Love—forever yours,

Dean Winchester’s girl.

[nes-sies-stuff]

Where’s the fanfic, Nes?

Ah, the question of the century. Right up there with “Did I leave the stove on?” and “How many cups of coffee is too many?” (Spoiler: there’s no such thing).

Listen, babes—your girl hasn’t stopped writing. I’ve just taken a little detour down the poetic backroads. Think late-night heartbreak, messy healing, wild love, and spiritual whispers all scribbled between sips of overly strong coffee and emotional breakdowns in aisle 7 of the grocery store. You know, the usual.

My fanfics aren’t gone. They’re napping. Probably dreaming of plot twists and forbidden kisses. But right now? I’m elbow-deep in my own words—my stories, my truth, wrapped in poetry that hits like a hug and a slap at the same time.

So if you’ve ever swooned over my fictional men, cried over a cliffhanger, or screamed “WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!” at your screen...

First of all, love that for us.

Second? Come along. I’m still writing, just wearing a different hat. (It’s floppy, artsy, and has ink stains on it. Obviously.)

Fanfic will return. But for now, I’m building something personal, raw, and painfully pretty.

Trust me. It’s worth the wait.

Catch the chaos:

@nescaveckwriter

Come yell at me anytime:

#nescaveckwriter #ladybuglover

Stay caffeinated & poetic,

Nes

[nes-sies-stuff]

Beneath The Broken Sky - Chapter One - Somewhere In Georgia 🐞❤️

She was too soft for this world.

He was too broken to feel again.

And yet... somehow, they collided.

Iris Lane survives by clinging to the fragile fragments of her soul—hope, kindness, and a heart that still dares to believe in light.

He doesn’t understand her softness—not here, not in this world. But he can’t look away.

There’s something about the ‘sunflower-girl’ that pulls him in, something more than meets the eye.

Is her innocence real—or is it a mask hiding cracks of her own?

As shadows close in and the sky begins to fall, the question remains:

Can two broken souls hold on to something real, or will the storm tear them apart?

A/N: Hey, loves🐞🥰 so this is it- Chapter One, this story's been living in my head and heart for a while now. Iris Lane, is soft, awkward, sensitive even, she's the pure definition of a woman, and then she meets our Darryl, things are bound to get a little interesting. I hope you'll like it, let me know in the comments, reblog etc to show your support or buy me a coffee or become a member and get some exclusive perks on my Patreon. 💕❣️💚 . It will mean the world to me. 🐞🥰

Word Count: 2091

Warnings: Horror, Violence anything else let me know

Copyright: Even though it's a work of fiction, - it's still mine, so be the cute little bugs that you are and don't steal my work - love you ❣️💕🐞🥰

The sky looked like it had forgotten how to be blue... Ash clung to the air, thick as dust on a forgotten bible. Trees stood like crooked men. Roads pilled with abandoned vehicles, some roads cracked and split , bleeding weeds through the pavement.

Iris Lane, walked down the middle of it, boots too big, soul too soft, a sunflower in a field of corpses. Her backpack bounced gently with every step, half-empty, except for some peanut butter packets - oh she always loves peanut butter, the smooth grainy taste, with the crunchy little bits of peanuts in it, it was pure bliss, it's probably because it reminded her how her mom would make her those sandwiches for school. And of course the one thing she'd always carried with her a cracked photo frame, oh and that damn rusted swiss army knife, she picked up somewhere along the road, she still hasn't figured out how to close it properly. As she walked over the blood stained streets she hummed one of those sad Patsy Cline songs, it was old and sweet - because the silence is what scared her more than the dead ever had.

She hadn't seen another in seven days. Not a soul. Not a grunt. Just her own shadow and the big open empty sky.

Then came the snap of a twig. Iris froze mid-step, her breath caught, her heart didn't.

Someone was watching. The sound came closer. Deliberate. Heavy.

Iris backed towards the trees, hands trembling, as they slid into her pockets. She didn't reach for the knife, she never did - afraid she'd might have to use it.

"Hey" barely louder than a whisper as she called out, "I'm not... I'm not here to hurt anyone, just passing through. Promise."

No answer, just the creak of a branch, the whisper of boots over fallen leaves.

With a quickened breath "If you're gonna kill me, could you maybe not be creepy about it?"

A shadow moved low, fast, slicing through the treeline.

He stepped out from the shadows, crossbow slung over his shoulder, hair wild like he hadn't seen a comb since the world went to hell. Dirty tank top, blood on his jeans, - Hopefully not his own, his eyes met hers with the kind of intensity that made her stomach twist. Cold. Calculating. Almost as if he was trying to figure out if she's even worth speaking to.

"Who the hell are you?" He rasped, voice like gravel soaked in whiskey.

Iris blinked "oh. Uh... Hi"

His brow twitched, just slightly.

Quickly adding "Iris" holding her hands up in the air, like some kind of peace offering . "Iris Lane" then quickly adding "I don't have a gun, group or... Anything really. Just me and some peanut butter"

He didn't smile, didn't move, just kept glaring at her like a hawk sizing up a songbird. He didn't raise his crossbows, that felt like a win.

"I talk a lot when I am nervous" she admitted, biting the inside of her cheek , almost shrugging her scrawny shoulders "sorry".

"Don't talk at all" he muttered, finally stepping towards her, like she was nothing more than a stump on the road.

Iris turned to follow him with her eyes, watching as he melted back toward the woods.

"Wait, seriously?" She called after him. "That's it? No robbing, no stabbing, I said I have peanut butter, no 'leave before I shoot you'? You're just gonna walk off like that?"

He came to a halt , "if I was gonna shoot you, you'd be on the ground already" he huffed.

"Comforting" she utters barely above a whisper, but she saw it, just for a second there was a glimpse of something in his eyes, plus he hadn't actually told her to leave - frankly in a world that's full of monsters, that hesitation was the closest thing to an invitation she's gotten in a long, long time. So like a fool, perhaps even a brave fighter she followed him further into the woods.

At first he didn’t say anything when she followed him. He didn’t even look back, her steps ghosting behind his, like a stray pup too stubborn to get lost. They walked in silence, the sounds of the forest filling almost like they were on a quiet stroll, and there weren’t danger lurking behind every tree, every corner. Birds in the green big trees, twigs underfoot, every now and again you can hear the disturbing moans of the dead, but it was in the distance and Iris was just three steps behind him. Hands fidgeting in her sleeves, chewing her bottom lip raw.

After about twenty minutes or so, of some uphill trail, he finally spoke. “You always follow strangers?”

“Only the scary ones, keeps things interesting” she said brightly, “and besides your only a stranger because I don’t know your name”

His eyes cut over to her with a threatening scowl, but the moment he saw her little smile, something deep inside him stirred, it’s been awhile since he’s seen a genuine smile, the scowl faleterd a bit, even if it was just for a few seconds. “Got a death wish, or just stupid?”

“Not stupid” she said softly, “just tired of being alone, that’s all” then barely above a whisper “I’ll take dangerous and brooding over the silence anytime”

He stopped. Sharp, like the ground ahead dropped into nothing. She nearly ran into his back. “Look” he said, turning around to face her full on, voice low, serious. “I don’t know who you think I am, but this ain’t no damn slumber party. I’m not here to make friends. I don’t do babysittin’. I sure as shit don’t do tagalongs”

Iris shrank a little under his stare, but her eyes didn’t waver. Big, round, green as spring grass after a storm. Behind them- pain. Quiet, constant hurt. The kind that didn’t bleed but bruised in silence,

Softly, so soft it was barely audible, “I didn’t ask for any of that,”

A long moment stretched between them, wind rattled through the trees like ghosts of everything they’ve lost.

“You gonna cry?” he snapped, trying to tear through her kindness with cruelty.

Blinking, biting the inside of her cheek hard, so hard she could almost feel that metallic liquid, “No, just… wondering what kind of man growls at a girl who offered him peanut butter.”

His jaw twitched, just a little, an almost smirk, but it died before it reached the surface. “Don’t slow me down, if you do, I’ll leave you behind” He started walking again.

She smiled behind his back, “I won’t slow you down, I’m quite fast ya know, I mean not the fastest, my legs can only run so fast, something tells me you can run fast. Can you run fast? Uhm…” as if waiting for him to answer, to maybe say his name.

He growls a little, “Darryl… Darryl Dixon” then lower “Stop talking, your giving me a damn headache”

“Darryl” she whispers as if testing out his name, then she nods, not like he can see behind his back, but she did it anyway “Oki doki, I ain’t much of a talker anyway” fine that was an absolute lie. If her uncle-father-something she never quite knew what to call him, could hear her lie so openly, he’d tell her it’s a sin. A big sin - to spread lies, or say something that ain’t the truth, but she knows from experience that, even though he was a minister, you couldn’t trust everything he said, he lied too, to the people he ministered to, about her… about the things he's done.

Shaking her head asif she needed those memories out in an instant, then as a way to stop drowning in silence she starts rambling, about how nutritious peanut butter is. Oh and poor Darryl tried his best to not snap, but as a man who was used to silence he barked out his orders “Just shut up dammit” In an instant Iris lips stopped moving, with wide green eyes she kept following him, trying her best not to breathe harder than she should.

The silence was heavy, the woods swallowed them whole, branches tangled like claws above, dark and scary, leaves crunching soft beneath their boots.Daryl moved like a shadow- quiet, alert. Iris… not so much. Every snapped twig underfoot made her flinch like she’d stepped on a landmine.

Then she heard it.

A groan

Low. Guttural. Wrong

Her breath hitched. Daryl stopped in his tracks.

Another groan, closer now. Then a wet shuffle through the underbrush. The unmistakable drag of dead weight.

Iris’s voice trembled “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

Darryl didn’t answer. He just pulled the crossbow off his back in one slow, steady motion.

From the brush, they came- three of them. Rotten skin sloughing off bone, mouths slack with hunger. One was wearing a wedding dress- veil still tangled in brambles like the world had left her waiting at the altar. Another had no jaw, just a slick mess of blood gashing.

Iris whimpered, stepping back, nearly tripping over a root. “Stay behind me” Darryl snapped. No hesitation, no fear. Just the dark growl like thunder in his chest. With pure muscle memory, the first bolt flew, burying itself in the forehead of the bride. She crumpled like bad paper.

The second walker lunged, groaning, grunting, Darryl moved fast - but not fast enough, Iris yelped, she lunged forward, high on adrenaline she pushed the walker away from her, and turned to run away. As she tried to get away, she tumbled against the third walker, he groaned, she stared at him wide-eyed, she didn’t move, didn’t scream, didn’t breathe. She was stone, ice, a deer in the headlights of the world that no longer braked, the walker nearly on her, his wet blood-soaked fingers against her arm, then- a knife slid through its skull like butter. It dropped at her feet with a wet thud. Then with trained skill, he took the last one out with yet another arrow.

He turned to her then, face inches from hers, his voice was low and hard “You freeze like that again, and you’re dead.”

Iris blinked. Her lips moved but she couldn’t form words, her heart beating in her chest. Darryl’s eyes narrowed. “You ever killed one before?”

She shook her head, barely a twitch. He looked at her, like really looked at her, his voice low “How did hell did you survive this long.” it wasn’t really a question, more a statement, a thought. He growled at her, “stay close” She nodded and with trembling hands she fidgeted with her sleeves again.

They kept walking into the night. One minute they were suffocating under the branches and the dark sky the next - it opened. A clearing, quiet and overgrown like time forgot it existed. An old hunting cabin slouched in the middle, half-collapsed porch and ivy strangling what was left of the windows.

He didn’t say a single word, he just moved forward, checked the door, gave it a quick nudge with his boot. It creaked open like something out of a horror movie, but hell - it was shelter.

Iris followed like a ghost, she hadn’t said a single word since she froze.Inside the cabin was cold, empty. Dust thick enough you could choke on it. A table, a few broken chairs, a busted lantern. But it had four walls and a roof. It was enough for the night.

Darryl lit a match, set it to the stub of a nearly burned out candle, that was left on the windowsill. The soft light flickered over Iris’s face - that’s when he saw it.

She was shaking. Not like she was cold. Like she’d just crawled out of her own grave. He tossed her his blanket, “Get some sleep” he muttered “We move at dawn”

She took it, wrapped it around her frail body, as if it could actually keep all the evil out, the silence lingered for quite a while, when her soft voice broke through it “W…What if I am not built for this world Darryl?” In that low rumble he said - “None of us were at first”

She didn’t answer him, she wrapped herself tighter in that blanket that smelled like smoke and old leather. As he turned his back and she curled into the corner, she finally let the tears fall - quiet, slow, full of heartache and fear of the past and the future.

[nes-sies-stuff]

> ✨ I tell stories that linger—and if you’ve felt something from my words, you’re already part of it.

I’m a writer, an artist, and a professional heart-tugger. Fanfiction, original works, art, poetry—I create to connect, to move, to make magic.

Want to support the chaos and love behind the scenes? Join me on Ko-fi and get access to exclusive content, sneak peeks, private posts, and more:

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Every little tip helps keep this journey alive—and trust me, it means the world.

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[nes-sies-stuff]

*I Do* - 🐞

"Before you do that, think what I’ll do without you."

—Prompt fill for @jackalsversebingo (square: ANGST)

Hey babes,🐞❤️

This one's soaked in longing, dipped in regret, and served raw. It's for the ones who choke on the words they never got to say. My heart was in my throat writing it—and I hope it hits yours the same. Feel free to scream in the tags, cry in the replies, or hit reblog if it broke you a little.

Word Count: 2,255😅

Warnings: Emotional heartbreak, canon x reader, no resolution, alcohol mention, soft breakdowns.

Copyright: Written with soul by Denesca van Eck / @nescavexkwritwr @ladybugbooklover. Do not repost, rewrite, or steal. You may reblog with credit like the respectful little angels I know you are.

Tags: @jackles010378 @winchesterwild78 @k-slla @cutedisneygirl @angelbabyyy99

The veil floated like butterflies. Her smile soft- glowing. Ivory lace clung to her curves, hand stitched with dreams , a future, a promise, the start of their lives forever.

Dean stood at the altar, hands shaking, he could hunt monsters without flinching, but this?

This was different.

This was you. Today "I do" meant forever with the only woman he's ever truly wanted.

The room held its breath. Church bells rang somewhere in the distance, but time stood still.

"You ready boy?" The old man asked low and gruff, but he couldn't answer Bobby, hell he couldn't even move. He only looked at you.

His girl.

The love of his life.

The woman he fought for. Bled for.

The one he lost...

The image cracked, the chapel with its wedding bells melted away into the dull, flickering light of a motel room. The only thing that stayed was silence, and the ache.

The motel room smells like cheap whiskey and cold lonely nights. He sat there, his emerald green eyes locked on the flickering TV, muted, forgotten as his calloused thumb brushes over a picture burned into his brain - the one where you smiled like you were his. Like you'd always be his.

He took another sip of whiskey, the lingering thoughts of the wedding - just a cruel fantasy, a beautiful lie.

Letting out a scoff, the aisle never came, the vows never said, the happy tears never spilled, the ring never left his pocket.

"I would've said it", whispering to no one. "If things were different... I would've said I do".

He closed his eyes, rubbed his temples. But even in the dark behind his eyelids, he saw you.

The tears.

The heartache.

The goodbye.

Folding the laundry like it matters, - like it means something, but it doesn't, everything lately is just noise, a blur... Ever since he left, you do stuff, but nothing, not a damn thing gets Dean out of your mind.

Seeing him in strangers, hearing him in your own heartbeat, like he's still there, his lips against yours, his fingers curling around your waist.

Folding the same shirt twice, then again and again. - hands moving but your mind, it's somewhere else ...

Back at the chapel that never existed, wearing the dress you never got to wear. Walking down the aisle you never stepped foot on.

Eyes locked on his. Damn those eyes, green like forest after rain, green like the only place you ever felt safe.

Today would have been your wedding, well not officially - more like this would've been the date if he ever asked. If the world just tilted just slightly different. If hearts weren't so stubborn and if love were enough, today would've been the day, you'd look at him and say "I do".

Tears threaten, but you've cried too many times over him. There's nothing left but the salt burned into your ribs.

The phone vibrates on the table. You ignore it, - because unless it's Dean calling to say "I'm sorry sweetheart, I'm coming home" you don't want to hear it.

Pouring yourself a glass of wine, the red liquid spilling into the glass, like it's your heart bleeding. Curling up on the couch, by the window looking out, the sky's doing that soft, grey thing - like it's mourning too. Wondering... Is he thinking of you? Is he sitting in some broken, lonely motel room, with that same haunted look in his eyes, remembering the dress you never wore?

Because you haven't moved on. Not really. Oh but you tried, dates, distractions, smiles that never reached your eyes.

But no one feels like Dean, an exhausted sigh leaving your body, no one ever will.

Your fingers finding their way to the necklace still hanging on your collarbone - the one he gave you that night underneath the stars, right after the hunt in Arizona, "Something to remember me by", he with a half-smile as if you could ever forget him.

Closing your eyes, and there it is again, that damn image. White lace, Church bells and I do's. A life never lived, a future that never began. But the love? It's still there, loud and aching. Maybe, just maybe, somewhere out there, he's whispering your name through the quiet, just like you're whispering his now.

He doesn't remember what started it, some hunt, some stupid mistake, a bottle too many, his mouth running before his brain could catch it. All he remembers is the look on your face. The way your voice cracked when you said it. "Before you do that... Think about what I'll do without you."

That stopped him cold, not because it was too dramatic, not because you were begging, - but because you meant it.

You stood there, trembling, breathing hard, tears hot on your eyes, but they weren't rolling down your cheeks. No you were done fighting, done pleading, but still holding onto hope like it was the only thing keeping you standing, keeping your heart beating, keeping you from crumbling to the floor.

And what did he do? He walked like a damn coward. Not because he didn't love, - no because he loved you too much to keep pulling you into the chaos that followed him everywhere. He really thought he was protecting you, like letting you go was mercy. But it was slaughter - for both of you.

He slams the half drank bottle whiskey down, pacing the motel floor like it'll change something.

It's been months now, time means shit now, it's just "before you left" and "after you were gone".

Picking up the phone again, thumb hovering over your name. You still haven't blocked him, which somehow feels worse. But he can't call, not when he's like this, not when he still doesn't know how to fix what's broke.

His voice catches in his throat as he mutters your words again "Think about what I'll do without you".

He does, every damn day, and the answer? This. A lonely motel room, a bottle, a ghost he still calls "mine".

Wiping at his eyes, angry at the wetness there. He's Dean Winchester. He fought monsters, the worst kind, got hurt, nearly died, lost everything, but you? You're the only thing he chose but couldn't keep.

Your fingers, curled around the stem of that wine glass, remembering the night he left, it started like every other fight. Raised voices. Empty beer bottles, the motel door half open, like he already had one foot out.

But this time? It's like you knew he wasn't coming back. You were done pretending, it was just stress, the job or his damn trauma he never let you carry with him.

He always said he was protecting you, like you were a little damsel that needs saving, - but you weren't, you were his partner, his home. - but still he ran.

You stood there in front of him, heart thundering, the air thick with words neither of you could say, that's when you said it "Before you do that... Think about what I'll do without you." Your voice wasn't loud, it wasn't a scream or a threat, it was desperate, small - like a child whispering in the dark. He froze, you saw it, the war behind his eyes, for a single split second you thought he'd turn around, he'd stay, that love would win.

But all he said was "I'm sorry" and he walked into the darkness like some kind of shadow. When that door shut, at first you didn't cry, you couldn't, there was a strange calm. Like your body couldn't handle the grief, all at once, so it made you numb.

Making your way towards the bathroom, unsure why but it felt like the right place to break down - lonely, cold, hollow - like your heart.

You collapsed against the tub, your fingers curling around the tile, gripping it like it could stop you from falling apart. But oh it didn't.

The tears came and they didn't stop. You didn't cry like in the movies - soft, pretty, poetic.

You sobbed, ugly, shaking gasping sobs that made your ribs scream. Screaming his name into a towel, cursing the universe, begging for him to come back

But he didn't, the worst part? You still loved him, even after everything, the silence, the wreckage, even after he took a piece of you, with him, leaving you with a barely beating heart. And even though he didn't stay, the love did.

Dean hasn't slept. Not really, he passes out sometimes - liquor heavy, face down on some shit motel pillow - but he never truly sleeps, not like he used to... Not since that night. Your voice over and over in his head.

Thinking he was saving you, but instead he abandoned you. And now... Now he drinks more than he hunts. His hands shake when he holds his gun, no, not from fear-but from withdrawal, exhaustion and regret.

He tried sleeping with someone else once. Didn't even get her shirt off before he saw your eyes. He bolted, leaving that bar like the damn place was on fire, because no matter where he goes, no matter who he talks to... It's you, it's always you.

He pulls out that picture of you, the one of you, where you laid on that picnic blanket, hair messy, from the wind that day, a smile on your face, a book in your hand, the sunlight casting a golden hue around, you looked like an angel. To be honest you were - his angel, the only one who could make him feel that life was worth living.

He sighs as he puts down that photo, picking up the bottle, hell he doesn't even bother with a glass anymore, what's the point?

He stares and mutters like a damn lunatic, voice wrecked and low; "I should've stayed, Dammit baby... I should have stayed..." His throat tightness, "I didn't want to hurt you... I wanted to protect you..." He stops mid sentence, every breath hurts, everything feels dark, lost, cold.

Grabbing the Impala's keys, he knows what he should do, so he gets in that car, whiskey on his breath, broken heart and determination in his forest green eyes, he puts the car in drive.

He's been driving for hours, he sobered up by now, the shitty gas station coffee helps a little to fight the withdrawal from the whiskey.

Now, he's outside her door, hands trembling, heart screaming.

It's raining - of course it's raining, even the sky is crying about you. He deserves it, the cold, the wet, the weight of everything soaking into his bones, - maybe if it seeps deep enough, it'll drown the pain he's been choking on since he left. He stares at the door, he drops right there, on that cold, wet concrete steps, to his knees - because standing feels like pretending he's strong, and he ain't, he hasn't been strong for awhile now.

His breath shaky, he chokes out "I messed up everything sweetheart," the rain mixing with the salt water on his freckled cheeks, "I see you everywhere" he whispers "in my head, I see you laughing, crying, wearing that stupid oversized hoodie you stole from me like it's yours now..."

A bitter laugh slips out, it breaks halfway through, shattered. Like him. Knocking softly, one.... Two, "I can't even breathe without you" it was a whisper, a confession, a plea.

He stays there on his knees in the rain, hoping if she opens that door, that she'll take him back. That maybe they can carry on, that he can take that ring out his pocket, that he can ask her to be his wife.

The door doesn't open, the rain stops, the wind dies down, he stands, fist clenched, his cold hand tries the doorknob.

It's unlocked, as if she's waiting for him, his breath catches, he pushes it open, maybe she's in the kitchen making tea, or curled up on the couch in that blanket he never liked, reading that book he never understood.

But the house is silent, he steps inside, no smell, no warmth, nothing. - Just emptiness.

The echo of his boots on the floorboards is loud, overwhelming, there's boxes, packed and labelled.

The living room - bare, walls stripped of all the memories, the photos, everything - like she took the color with her.

His breath hitches, the lump in his throat swells, he moves through the space like a ghost. Bedroom? Empty!

Closet? Just the oversized hoodie of his-hers.

He stumbles back, like the air got punched out of him, then he finds it, the note folded. Neat ... Tucked under the bottle of that perfume he once said smelled like heaven and bad decisions.

Hands shaking as he opens it.

"Dean"

"I couldn't stay. I tried. Dammit, I tried. But this house, this town... Every corner has you in it. And it hurts too much. I waited. For a call. A knock. Anything. But you didn't come. So I had to save myself before I drowned in the ghost of us. I'll always love you, but I have to learn to live without you. Please don't come looking. Not yet."

"-Yours, even when I shouldn't be"

The paper crumples in his hand as he falls back against the wall, sliding to the floor.

He lets out a sound - not human, raw animalistic. Like his souls just split in two.

She's gone - and the worst of all, he let her leave, because he was too late, he should have stayed, should have asked her... Should have said "I do".

[nes-sies-stuff]

Awwww that was lovely thank you hunny...🐞❤️🥰

Hey, 😊🐞 there how are you? Give me a cute little fic about a short about 5'4ft curvy girl, with Sam, where she's so sensitive, so emotional and she's just being frantic and all over the place, and blabbing on and on and Sam stop's her with a kiss 😅🥹 I just think it'd be so cute... ,🥹🥰 you can choose how far the kiss goes, a little smut will do too... But your choice babez...🐞💕 Also sorry if that doesn't make sense 😰

Frantic Romantic - Sam Winchester

A/N - AHHH I hope this is what you wanted @nes-sies-stuff, I did my best! I don't really write smut, but I alluded to it, so I hope that's okay. It's a little on the shorter side, but I thought it would be a bit boring to hear reader ramble on about crochet for ages. Word Count - 432

You don’t know how you got to this point, but you’re rambling. As you bounce around on the bed, you’ve been babbling on for the last 10 minutes about crochet, of all things. The worst part? You don’t even know how to crochet anything. Well, that’s not true.

“Well, that’s not true, I know how to do single crochet, and chain stitch, and I know how to do slip stitch. And I guess I technically know how to do double crochet, but I don’t know how to make anything. I don’t know how to apply any of what I’ve learnt, and I’m not exactly willing to spend 30 dollars on a pattern for a beanie, because that’s ridiculous. I mean, it’s probably super easy, I just have to figure it out. And I can do a scarf, but that’s just a really long rectangle, so it’s really easy. But I want to learn to make sweaters, and I want to make you a sweater-”

Sam’s lips capture yours, and you immediately melt into the kiss. Your hands clasp at the front of the flannel he’s wearing, brushing past the scarf you had presented him nearly 10 minutes ago, the one that had begun your little crochet rant.

He pulls back, leaning his forehead against yours. You can see his gentle smile, and it causes you to smile back. “I love it. I love you.”

“I love you too.” You whisper back, pecking another kiss to his lips. For once, Sam is looking up at you, but only because you’re standing on the motel room bed. His arms are wrapped around your waist, and he pulls, causing you to let out a loud squeal of surprise, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“I can’t believe you made me a scarf.” Sam mutters as he presses kisses to your jawline, your neck, your hemline.

“Oh, well, it wasn’t hard. It just took time, that was the main thing. That and trying to remember how to crochet, based on those wack ass instructions that the lady gave me, and attempting to apply it to making a scarf. The hardest part was hiding it from you because I wanted it to be a surprise.” You let out a little moan as he sucks on a particularly sensitive part of your neck.

“Come on, baby, keep telling me all about how you made the scarf.” Sam urges, smiling up at you.

The rest of the night is spent telling Sam how you made the scarf, all while he spoils you rotten as a thanks for your gift.

tags list - @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

[nes-sies-stuff]

Finding Hope 🐞 #4 - Shadows Lingering, 3:00 AM Call's & Empty Shells

Prompt: Empty Shell - will be bold!

A/N: YAY! My fourth one for @badthingshappenbingo 🤭, Is Meredith losing her mind? Find out in the next chapter,🐞❤️

Warnings: 18+ Only! Some language, blood and gore, normal Criminal Minds stuff, going into depth off crime scenes etc, drug use,torture, anything else I missed let me know💕

Characters: Aaron Hotchner, Dr. Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, JJ, Emily Prentiss, Meredith Lang.

Cover: Created by me. Also images from Pinterest and Canva.

Words:2141🐞❤️

Chapter Name: Lingering Shadows, 3:00 AM Calls, & Empty Shell's

Meredith wakes up feeling like she’s been scraped off the pavement, her mouth dry, her veins crawling, unsure if it’s the guilt of relapsing or the remnants of the drugs she took. It’s still a blur really, as she focussed her eyes she saw the man, with his crazy curly brown hair, her head against his chest, his arms engulfing her, his head against the wall as he must've fallen asleep. Wait! What? When did this happen, how did Spencer get in, then the fear sets in, he knows… he knows she used again. In one swift motion she escapes the comfort of his arms, as she scurries across the floor, her heart beating in her throat.

His voice was soft, he wasn't sleeping no, merely resting. He looks at her with those sharp perceptive brown eyes, “You're probably thirsty, statistics shows…” he stops himself, she doesn’t need that now. She just sat there, the words stuck in her throat. Her green eyes wide as he came back with a bottle of water.

Their fingers brushing as she takes the bottle, at first she didn’t want to meet his gaze but she does, to her surprise all she sees in those hazel orbs, no judgement, just quiet understanding.

She’s seen that look before, in the mirror.

As the days turned into weeks, she smiled, acted normal, moving past it, like that night was nothing, like she didn’t shatter in his arms. Spencer doesn’t push. Not yet. Maybe he gets it. Maybe he knows she’s hanging by a thread, and if he pulls too hard she’ll snap. Maybe just maybe she’s counting on that. His eyes follow her every move, sometimes lingering a little too long, a part of him wants to make sure she’s okay, but really how could she be. The rational part of his brain is at war with himself, he should tell Hotch, someone. But he can't because he's been there before. So instead of doing what he thinks is right - he’ll watch over her like some sort of protective guardian angel.

She threw herself into work, solving case after case. In the back of her mind that newest victim is there, waiting to get justice but they still don’t have any evidence, none whatsoever, just nothing, almost like the Collector doesn’t exist, but she Meredith Lang knows all too well he does, she has the scars both physical and psychological to prove that monsters are real, not just some made up story that hides under your bed.

Sipping yet another coffee, definitely far beyond the doctors recommended dosage as her eyes trial over the newest case files, yet another serial killer, yet another victim, it never ends does it? Sighing, stretching out her neck side to side, inhaling, then picking up the photo of the newest female victim, - her phone rings, it’s 3:00 am in the morning, she shouldn’t answer but she does, “Hello?”

The voice she knows too well, crawling down the line like cigarette smoke curling underneath a locked door. “Meredith, you haven’t forgotten me have you?”

Her knuckles white as she grips the phone, her breath catches.

“You were so pretty the other night, you always looked so good while you were high.” He tsked “You still need me, don’t you? I see it. I always see it”

A shiver crawls runs down her spine, she should hang up, block him, instead her lips parts and she whispers ”I don’t need you”

Laughter comes from the other end of that line, it's slow, dragging, the type that coats her skin in ice. "Then why are you still listening?"

For a few seconds she closes her eyes, her breathing stilled, maybe he's right? Maybe she spent so long in the darkness that she doesn't know how to function without it... He's been there this whole time, watching... Waiting!

She heard his breathing, waiting for her to say yes! Yes to needing him! But she doesn't. With trembling fingers she ends the call.

Looking around in her apartment, tapping her fingers against the other , first the ring finger against the thumb, then the point finger, middle finger and finally the little pinky finger. A sort of tactic to still her beating heart, her racing mind, letting her know she's here, she's safe. Letting out a dry chuckle, safe? That's just a word in a dictionary to make you feel some sort of comfort. But she hasn't felt that in years!

Days went by, she perfected the 'I am more than okay' mask in the day, smiling... Joking... Laughing with the team, Morgan, Rossi, Spencer, and sweet Garcia but she still hasn't spoken to Hotch yet! No she's not opening that can of worms - so instead of doing that she acts like nothing is bothering her. And some days she almost believes that she's happy, that she's okay, that she found friends... Maybe even a second family, except for Spencer Reid, there's a different feeling going around, maybe understanding, perhaps something more, his soft eyes, his gentle smile. The way he'll silently check on her, handing her camomile tea after she had too much coffee, or how he'll make sure she goes home after a case, to get some rest.

It's when the night is at its darkest, that her mask falters, it started with the feeling of being watched. Not the kind of distant paranoia that slowly trickles down your spine in an empty room - no, it's personal, like a phantom hand ghosting over the nape of her neck, the feeling of hot breath at her ear, even when she knows she's alone.

It's him, she doesn't need to turn around to know, in a way she's learned to live with him, like a sickness that never really leaves your body.

3:00 AM The phone rings, it doesn't sound normal, no it's distorted like the sound is dragging itself through barbed wire just to reach her ears.

Staring at the phone, private number, her stomach knots, biting her bottom lip, she shouldn't answer. Her hands move anyway.

There's no greeting, just breathing. Ragged, wet, hungry, evil.

His voice over the receiver "you miss me" it was a statement, not a question. He knows!

Swallowing hard, her throat like sandpaper "I don't"

"Liar" his voice shifts into something familiar. Almost soft! "Poor thing, you must be so exhausted, tell me you still wake up shaking? Meredith? Do you still check the locks on your door three times and then a fourth just to make sure, just in case! It doesn't help does it?"

Clenching her jaw.

"I know why you haven't told anyone about me"

Her pulse spikes, how does he know she hasn't told anyone that she's keeping it to herself?

"Because Meredith I am the only thing keeping you together - because you need me, you always have."

Swallowing hard again, the worst part? Somewhere deep inside, she wonders if he is right. - the line goes dead.

Unsure of how long she sat with the phone against her ear, but she eventually got into bed, trying to sleep - she didn't. The room feels wrong every time she closes her eyes, the shadows stretch too far, the air too thick. Then there at the corner of her eye, something moves.

No! Telling herself it's just a trick of light, until she hears it. A slow deliberate, tap - tap - tap. From inside the closet.

She stops breathing, it's not possible right? She checked. She locked it! The night stills, then - Knock. Knock. Right behind her.

She whirls, gasping, but the room is empty. The closest is closed, the doors and windows locked.

Her phone buzzes - one new message. "I'm closer than you think" Her chest locks. She feels him now, like a weight pressing on her ribs, like he's inside her lungs - like he never really left.

Closing her eyes, trying to forget, trying to act like she's not losing her mind. Slowly, drifting off.

Meredith hears him breathing, soft, steady and too close... Keeping her eyes shut, reciting over and over, "it's not real, just my mind playing tricks on me" suddenly theres a dip in the mattress, a man's weight in the bed beside, her, the whisper against her ear "you know better, Meredith"

Her lungs seize. Don't move, don't turn, don't give him power - racing through her mind. She fists the sheets, tries to slow her pulse.

A finger - a real, solid finger - trails done her spine, his voice smooth "you feel me, don't you?"

Her body froze, biting down on her lip so hard she can taste the bloods.

Then- warm lips press against the back of her neck.

"NO" she screamed. Her breath stutters as she whips around... Nothing, the bed is empty, the room still. But she can still smell him, that faint metallic scent - like blood and rain.

Letting out a breath, "it must've been a nightmare,!" The pad of her thumb, wipes the blood from her lower lip.

The phone vibrates, grabbing it with shaking fingers.

One new message "I like this game" in an instant she drops the phone, gets out of bed, she needs to get out of her apartment, she'll go to the one place he can't find her, can't dare touch her.. the BAU.

It's been a whole week since he last called. Her mom decided to come visit, just for a day or so.

During the day she's fine, but when night strikes and she tries to sleep is where reality is fracturing.

She stopped trusting her eyes... Her ears, her own damn mind.

One moment her mom is talking to her, sort of grounding her. The next? She's standing at the kitchen, staring at the knife in her hand. She doesn't remember picking it up.

Her mother is calling her name, but it's distant, as if she's on the farest end off the apartment.

She blinks and suddenly the knife is gone, her hands empty. But her palms? They're wet! Looking down.

Blood?

No-no that's not-

She blinks yet again, her hands clean, no more blood insight.

Her mother calls out "Mer, sweetheart, you okay?" Her brows furrowed in worry!

Meredith swallows. Nods to quickly, smiles. "Yeah, just..."

Her phone buzzes, staring up at the clock, 3:00 AM. "Go back to bed mom, need to take this"

Letting out a heavy breath, she knows it's him, she shouldn't but she does. Not uttering a single word, neither does he.

Just his breathing, calm and collected, like his not busy tormenting her soul, and then - "Look outside"

Her stomach drops as she moves on her own, hesitantly stepping in front of the window, pulling back the curtain ever so slightly, the phone against her ear, the street below is empty, not a soul insight.

But there at the very edge of the streetlight's glow, barely visible in the shadows, he's standing there.

Tall, watching, a man that shouldn't exists, a ghost wearing skin.

He smiles and waves, her phones buzzed again , one new message. "You left the door unlocked" his gone into the darkness, not seeing him anymore.

The sound of a creaking wooden floor echoes behind her .

Turning around, wide green eyes, "Mom! What the hell you scared the crap out of me.”

Her mom stood there looking at her daughter, she's seen her like this before... An empty shell of the girl she used to be, her voice soft, almost pleading "Sweetie talk to me, what's going on, you haven't been like this since..." Trailing off as she doesn't want to recall those horrific days.

A nervous chuckle escaped her lips "no mom, it's... Uhm .. been busy at work, not getting enough sleep, you know"

Shaking her head, "it's more than that, I know when your lying I've raised you, honey please just talk to me"

Releasing a shaky breath "Mom..."

Her phone vibrates, "right behind you" her throat closes. She can't breathe, can't think - can't move.

Her body turns before her mind catches up, slow, hesitant, already knowing she shouldn't look, but she does anyway and there lingering in the shadows stand a dark figure, the soft glow of the sunrise revealing the smile, it seems forced somehow.

She doesn't think, - she reacts.

Her gun is in her hand before she realises she grabbed it, the weight familiar, automatic. A single shot rips through the air, splitting the silence wide open.

The figure stumbles back.

"Meredith...?"

Her brother's voice. Choked, Pained. Disbelieving.

The gun, clatters to the floor as she stares at him, her brother, clutching his stomach, blood blooming between his fingers.

"No, no, no, no-"

He drops to his knees, she drops with him.

You could hear the horrifying screams coming from the older woman.

The phone vibrates, one new message.

"I never said it was me”

[nes-sies-stuff]

_Between pages and an empty space_

It's somewhere in the depths of night

Where my mind is wavering the fight

I'm a romance writer

A darn good fighter

Not wanting to give in

To this so called thing

Love! Ha! A little cynical I know

But really does the words on the pages not show

The way the ink bleeds into the page

The way it's all a maze

Somewhere between the clouds and the cold hard floor

Somewhere between not living without your love and not wanting a single ounce of pain no more

Somewhere lost between the fantasy of church bells

And how outta love you fell

Its reality I tell myself

Its right there on every bookshelf

How two people fall in love, on page one

And as the pages turned, into chapters, here I am left alone.

Your loving arms, something I used to know

Clutching to our photo frame

Here and now

Whispering your name

The salt water rolling down my cheeks, without a single trace

I'm left with our memories, a broken heart and in my bed there's an empty space.

- Denesca van Eck

- 25 March 2025

[nes-sies-stuff]

Triangle's and Stethoscopes - Chapter 7 - ❤️🐞

A/N: Urghhh 😱 y'all I know this took me forever and I am so sorry ❤️ but let me know what you think... And uhm... Maybe hold tight to your chairs, because this is a bumpy ride...🤭

Warnings: 18+ Only! Some language, angst, heartbreak, cheating, punching, mentions of blood, anything else I missed let me know💕

Characters: Sam Winchester, Amy Summers, Ruby Jones, Paul Summers, Ada Brown, Dean Winchester.

Cover: Created by me. Also images from Pinterest and Canva.

Words:2782 😅

Tags: @jackles010378 @k-slla @cevansbaby-dove @winchesterwild78 @cutedisneygirl @angelbabyyy99

Chapter Seven 🤩

Sam's grip tightened on the phone "What do you want?"

A dry rattling chuckle slithered through the receiver, one he hadn't heard in years, but still made his stomach chum.

"Easy kid" the voice rasped, roughened by whiskey and bad decisions, "that any way to greet your old man?"

Clenching his jaw "John" Sam can't get the word 'dad' out when he thinks of the man that was supposed to raise him, no Dean was the one who raised him.

Muttering into the receiver, "Figured you'd block my number"

"I should have"

Heavy silence fell between them, the only thing that could be heard was Jack's laboured breathing, as Sam swallowed down the bitter taste that was rising in his throat, he sure wasn't in the mood for this right now, hell not now, not ever, he sounded cold, distant even "if this is about making amends, save it, I don't have time for your bullshit"

John wheezed out another dry laugh, "calm down son, you can hate me forever, hell you'll hate me even more after I tell you the reason why I called"

Sam clenched his fist, "start talking then"

You could hear the hesitation in John’s gruff voice, "I-I did something, something bad" A bitter laugh "Not that it's news to you"

Sam's patience snapped "Spit it out" he demanded.

John coughed, the wet, hacking sound grating against his son's nerves "I set a fire Sam, I set your law firm on fire"

Sam practically gasped for air "what the hell did you do that for?"

He mumbled out, "you have a case against Paul Summers , he wanted the witness files" Sam interrupted him "w...what? You work for that bastard?"

John didn't respond to the question, instead he went further, "Paul wants me to take out all these witnesses, but I can't, their women, children... Families, I just can't"

And for the first time in his life, he heard something real in his father's voice, not just desperation, but remorse.

Sam's voice soft, "why are you telling me this"

John sigh's, "because I guess, I want to do something right in my life, I want to fix it... Fix us?"

Sam shook his head, even though his father couldn't see, "there's no fixing 'us' John, you threw me away, Dean raised me, you're nothing!" And with that Sam ends the call, leaving John there, in the deafening silence of all his past mistakes.

Amy's fingers tremble as she touched her lips, trying to erase the memory, the taste of him, - maybe, just maybe trying to savor it just a little while longer, she felt sick as the guilt twisted in the pit of her stomach, but underneath that heavy burden she felt something, something far more dangerous, excitement? Something more, unsure... The only thing that's sure is that she's not going to act on it.

On the other end of that debris, Dean sat elbows propped on his knees, shoulders hunched forward, jaw tight, his usual emerald green eyes side dark, and unreadable. Looking like a man caught between sin and salvation.

There were no words uttered between them, but then Amy swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper "we should..." Cutting herself off mid-sentence, shaking her head, trying to erase the whirlwind of questions, pretending it didn't happen? Lie... To ourselves? Maybe it's just the heightened situation.!

Exhaling sharply his gruff voice broke through, as he ran his fingers through his messy dirt-streaked hair "Yeah, we should"

Neither of them moved, Amy could still feel the way his fingers curled around her waist, pulling her closer like he couldn't get enough, like she was something he needed. Letting out a heavy sigh, - the worst part she wanted it to, what does it say about her and Sam huh!

Clenching her small hand into a fist, "this was a mistake"

Dean lets out a low, humourless laugh, "yeah?" Tilting his head, finally looking at her, his voice rougher than usual, "didn't feel like one?"

Her stomach flipped , her mouth opened, to argue with him, to say something, a reason to shatter what happened, but her breath hitched when Dean leaned in his eyes, locking with hers, "you gonna sit there, and tell me you didn't feel it?" His voice quiet, but deadly dangerous, it made her pulse stutter, knowing she should say something, anything, no, maybe deny it, shove it down, pretend it never happened, anything Dammit.

Dean staring her down, like he knows, whatever words she's about to utter, it's going to be a lie.

The air charged, as Dean cupped her cheek, his voice low, but soft "t...tell me no, tell me you don't want this and I'll stop, I'll pretend that I..." He stopped himself, before his vulnerability showed, she looked at him, almost leaning into his touch, her lips parting to say something, but no words came out, just her breath that fanned across Dean's lips, he couldn't take it anymore, and he plunged into her lips once again.

She moaned into the kiss, her fingers tangling in his sandy brown hair, he let out a groan himself, as he heard that sweet sound vibrating against his plum lips, his rough calloused hands gripping around her waist pulling her closer, their bodies touching, their breaths colliding, their desires igniting.

Dean shifted so that she could straddle him without breaking the kiss, his fingers curled in under her shirt, silently asking for permission, her fingers running down his neck and over his shoulders, pushing his shirt off his shoulders was permission enough.

His hands were hot against her skin, as his fingers trailed up her sides, every touch lighting a fire she wasn’t sure she wanted to put out. Amy’s breath hitched, her head tipping back as his lips traveled down her throat-

Suddenly a deep gut wrenching groan echoed through the ruins, the ground beneath them shifted.

Dean barely had time to react before the loud crack tore through the air. Amy gasped, gripping onto his as the unstable wreckage beneath them gave way. In mere seconds, everything that had been solid-concrete, steel, debris- collapsed.

The water surged in, dark and fast swallowing the ground where they’d just been tangled together”.

Amy!!!!” Dean’s voice was rough, desperate as they were thrown apart, the cold water rushing between them. She choked on a gasp as she hit the jagged remains of a subway pillar, her fingers scrambling for something, anything to hold onto. The water was rising fast, swallowing broken beams, washing away any hope of steady ground.

He fought against the current, lunging toward Amy, “Hold on!” He was desperately trying but the way the water swirled, the debris closing in, it was like the city itself was determined to keep them apart.

Her chest heaved, panic clawing at her throat. The heat from their kiss had barely faded, and now they were fighting not to drown. Reaching for him, their fingers brushing, a glimmer of hope in their eyes, suddenly a fresh wave of water came rushing combined with the wreckage as another section of the structure collapsed. Just like that Dean was gone, Amy screamed his name, but the flood swallowed the sound whole.

Gasping for air, clinging to whatever she can as the water swallows the space, where Dean was. Her screaming his name now turned into a hoarse whisper, The wreckage keeps shifting, water rising, forcing her to either keep moving or drown. The whole time, thinking about that damn kiss, how it felt different, so different from Sam, but… but now he’s just gone.

Dean is fighting his way through the flood, battered, coughing up water, but his ming? Locked on her. The way her fingers brushed against his, the look in her eyes before they were ripped apart. And now all he can think of is - I found her, I kissed her, and I lost her in the same damn breath.

One second Amy is fighting to keep her head above the water, trying, clinging, to the last bit of consciousness, suddenly the world drops out from under her feet, plunging her into the open ocean, crashing into the waves, coughing, spitting out water, arms flailing until a piece of the subway, hits against her, grabbing onto it, clinging, her fingers gripping it tightly, blood seeping from the broken skin. The cold is biting, the exhausting bone-deep, but nothing… Nothing hurts as much as the thought that Dean didn’t make it… the mere thought of never looking into his emerald green eyes, never hearing his voice again, that is enough to make her want to give up. But she kept clinging to that piece of wreckage… maybe a distant part of her heart is hoping, trusting that he might be alive somewhere, floating…

Barely breathing, spitting out the salty water, the sand scratching against his skin, his eyes bloodshot, jagged red lines surrounding his pupils, the sting of all the open wounds, scratches evident all over his body, trying to gain focus, his vision still blurry, its pitch dark only the moon casting some light on the ocean, that’s when he realised he must’ve washed out on the shore, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper as he calls Amy’s name, over and over, like some kind of chant, prayer, creed. But nothing… there’s no one there but some damn sand and waves, she is gone forever. Exhausted he pulls himself to his feet, he’s been through worse right? Like that time overseas, when he was a Prisoner of war, for four months, tortured, starved, beaten, but he managed to get out, he escaped. Sighing as he dragged his feet across the heavy sand, whispering to himself “somehow, losing her feels worse, feels like it’s the end…” he plunges down to a rock, throwing his head up to the sky, not a star in sight, and then there far in the distant a shooting star, he scoffs he doesn’t believe in shit like that, but he finds himself wishing upon it, wishing Amy is somewhere out there, getting help, alive.

Amy floats on that piece of wreckage, clinging to it just barely, her eyelids drooping, exhausting threatening to take over, bobbering around until she finally hits something, yelping as the pain pulses through her body, she heard people screaming, and then a hand reached and suddenly pulled her into that old fishing boat, she could barely make out the older fisherman as he wrapped a blanket around her cold , water-soaked body, as she looked up to thank him, she saw a shooting star, she always loved the wonder around a shooting star but she hasn’t believe it in so long, but now in this moment she can’t help but silently saying a small prayer, it was only four words, but it was heartfelt “Let Dean be alive”. And somewhere in the dead of night she knew there was maybe a little glimmer of hope.

The old man takes her to a small secluded fishing village, where other people came to help her out, some just stood and watched while others helped her, she heard between the blurred faces and the words that knit together that, they’ve radioed, the search party, that they find a subway - bombing survivor. Unsure how long it took, but soon enough there were multiple coast guard officials. Knowing she should be happy that this nightmare would finally be over, she kept catching herself, looking for Dean, as she stepped into the rescue boat, she couldn’t stop the tears, thinking if Dean was out there, if he was alive, she’d know, her heart wouldn’t feel this empty.

About a hundred miles away, Dean sees the commotion, the soft glow of various lights, it’s getting closer, but then realises his moving on his own, like a moth drawn to light, he froze as someone calls out to him, in that split second, just a second he hesitates, thinking if I wait, if I look a little longer, I’i find her, I’i find my Amy.

But the search team is persistent, the man taking him by his shoulders guiding him to another rescue boat. As he sat there in that vessel, his mind wandered over the open waters to her, wondering, hoping and yes even praying.

Disoriented, and still a little hazy she can barely remember her own name, the only name on her lips is Dean’s but she doesn’t say it out loud,no, she keeps it to herself, like it’s sacred, like if she would say it out loud, she’ll break.. Ending up in the hospital as ‘Jane Doe’ without an ID or recollection of how many days or weeks, she was caught down there, trapped between debris, water, guilt, and the love she felt for a man she met in the worst time of her life, the exhausting took over, plunging her into a restless sleep.

As for Dean the moment the search team wanted to admit him to the hospital, he disappeared without a trace, used to living off the grid, used to taking care of himself, now matter the depth of his wounds, physical or emotional, he wandered the city streets aimlessly. Until he reached a payphone, maybe it was the distraught look on his face, or the way his torn clothes hung, but some older woman gave him a few coins. He thanked her and he dialed the only number he knew. His baby brother Sammy.

Sam looked at the man, his friend who happens to be a detective , his brown hair dishevelled, his blue eyes piercing, his hand on his shoulder “Sam, are you listening, we found a woman matching Amy’s description, she’s in the hospital…” Cas kept talking, telling him in which room she was. But his voice drowned out my Sam’s heart beating in his ears, he didn’t respond, he croaked out “Amy’s alive” and he started walking towards his car to go and see her. To hold the woman he mourned.

As he turned the ignition of the car, his phone rang breaking his thought patterns, he answered mindlessly “Yeah?”

“Sammy?” Sounding hoarse, broken.

Sam sighed, “Dammit Dean I don’t have time for your drunken calls”

Dean spoke, sounding exhausted “Sammy I need your help…”

“You need my help?” He scoffed “What is it this time? You broke, you lost a bet, or - no let me guess - you got into a bar fight and need bail money?”

Dean winched not just from the bruises but from the venom in Sam’s voice. He ran a hand down his face. “It’s not like that, man.”

“Isn’t it?” His voice was clipped, cold even “Dammit Dean I don’t have time for this, not today!”

Dean’s breathing hitched, something in his chest squeezing tight. “I swear Sammy, if you just shut the hell up and listen-”

Sam spit out venom “Your just like him, calling me up, slurring, with some drunken ass excuse”

Dean’s head snapped, like him, John! His father! The comparison burned “You son of a ….”

Sam cut him short “Stay out of my life Dean, that’s why I moved away from you and Jack, LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE”

The line went dead, the dial tone ringing in Dean’s ears, drowning out the sound of his shattered breath. He raised Sammy all by himself, and now… now he needs him… he lets go of the phone, forcing himself to push on, one foot in front of the other. He is truly alone in the world, with that thought he wordlessly disappears into a dark alleyway.

Sitting in the hospital bed, the doctors, nurses, cops have cycled through, bandaged, sore, exhausted, hurting - but her mind, nowhere near rest. She’s not thinking about her injuries, nor the explosion itself. It’s Dean… the way his lips felt on hers, the way he held her, how it felt like something more, how she lost him before she even got a chance of figuring out what that more was.. Her fingers absently touch her lips, That kiss, the way it made her feel alive in a way she never felt before.

In that moment her blue eyes widened as he came through the door, choking out “Sam?” He stood there, his face a storm, as he watched her, she didn’t seem relieved she seemed troubled, that’s not a look of a woman happy to see her fiance, he stutters out “Amy, baby” she smiles sadly, and he couldn’t stop himself from wrapping her up in his arms, as Amy held the man she loved for so long, she couldn’t help the gnawing feeling of how it felt different with Dean.

[nes-sies-stuff]

Choose Me?

A/N: This idea popped into my head, and yes it's heart breaking I know. Who else than Beau Arlen, am I right? 🤗😅 It's short I know, but you might need a tissue...🥹

Warnings: Addition, Heartbreak - Sorry in Advance

Words: 500 🤭

Cover & Pictures: Pinterest ❤️

Side Note: please don't copy my work, thank you, oh and requests are open...💕💓

Tags: @jackles010378 @winchesterwild78 @angelbabyyy99 @k-slla @cevansbaby-dove @cutedisneygirl @bookishtheaterlover7

He had carried his fair share of burdens in his life, but none, not anything had weighed as much as the women in his arms.

She was as light as a feather, barely weighing anything, oh but her choices... The scent of the whiskey on her breath, her head lolled against his chest - pressing down on him like a slow crushing vice, something so heavy if he thought to much about it, he'd break.

His boots echoed against the hardwood floor as he stepped through that front door, careful, precise, practiced. He'd done this before too many times to count.

Carefully adjusting her, holding her closer, because even now, even here in this very moment, right now, she was still his wife, though broken and at fault, but his.

He should be angry, and maybe, just maybe he was, maybe it was buried somewhere underneath this damn ache in chest, but all he can do is hold he closer, trying to protect her, like he tries and protects the town, sighing as he entered their bedroom, the place that was once filled with laughter, passionate nights and dreaming dreams together, now filled with the same routine, same heartbreak, same gut wrenching feeling he gets in the pit in his stomach.

He laid her down on the bed, gently taking of her shoes, whispering to himself "threw better or worse" letting out a humourless dry chuckle, he didn't know it meant carrying your drunken wife to bed every damn night.

Looking down at her, brushing the sweat-soaked strand of hair from her face, his own voice sounding so raw, emotional even surprising himself... "Baby, why can't I seem to safe you, why can't you fight this darkness, why can't you choose me... Why" he felt the tears burning in the back of his emerald green eyes, watching her, laying there, reeking of bad decisions, a part of his wished he can let her go, say "every single day, you choose that damn bottle over me, so for once I choose myself" but he knows he can't because when a man loves a woman he'd do anything for her, even if it means carrying her to bed every night, pleading with her every morning, "please darling, get some help" and her looking at him, with eyes that was once so full of laughter and love, now filled with a brokenness he can't fix and the bloodshot jagged veins, that lead to a road of heartbreak and despair.

His thoughts get pulled back as she stirred, her words, slow and slurring, "B-Beau" he smiles and softly replies "I am here darling, I'm always here." A small tugged at the corners of her mouth, "I know" she squeaks out, as she falls back asleep, as for him, well what can he do, but curl up next to her, holding her, even though it hurts, that's what love is all about.

[nes-sies-stuff]

Eeeeek Jip it's happening 😋 #ladybug🐞 #Nes_Life #gymlife

[nes-sies-stuff]

Jesus, help me be still and know... while You guide me❤️ #Jesus #Christian #Nes_Life #ladybug🐞

[nes-sies-stuff]

Caution To The Wind

With a smirk he said "come on little darling"

Wide-eyed I shook my head "no, I can't do such a thing"

His smirk grew "what love me?"

Looking up to meet the contact in his eye

"It's not that, it's your a little wild"

He smiled "and you've always been the sweet child?"

I nodded "yes exactly"

His eyes darkened "well frankly"

He paused, I nudged him, "well go on"

His thumb met my jaw, his voice low, "your a fully grown woman now"

His touch sent shivers down my spine "but I ..."

The rasp in his voice got deeper, "don't want to fly?"

Furrowing my brows, "what, fly where to?"

Smiling, he cupped my face "to the land where I love only you!"

Clearing his throat "throw caution To the wind"

"Let me you love you in every way,"

Oh his words were so kind.

Urgency in his tone "let me show you I'm a better man, because of you every day"

I felt that excitement in my heart

Pleading "please baby, take my hand and let's start"

He held his hand out to mine

I smiled, "okay fine"

His lips crashed onto mine and I could've sworn, that I flew above the clouds

He might not fit the world's perfect mould's

But my hand fits perfectly in his

It might not be the perfect scripted plan I had, but this...

This is how love's supposed to be,

Throwing caution To the wind, just you and me

Trying every day to love and respect each other, building a strong foundation

Our hearts the destination.

- 28 January 2025

- Denesca van Eck

- #2/25

[nes-sies-stuff]

Hurting Angel - Chapter 7 - ❤️

A/N: Y'all I am finally getting back into my writing, and the inspiration is flowing, so this chapter turned out to be severely sweet and I'm like, can I date him? 😂 Love y'all and thanks for the support my bugs 🐞🐞🩷

Warnings: 18+ Only! Some Intended Smut - And just pure fluff ..💞

Characters: Crowley, Bridget, Lainey

Cover: Created by me. Also images from Pinterest and Canva. Also please do not copy my work!

Words:1600-ish 😅

Chapter Name: Seven💕

The slow rising and falling of his bare chest, his eyes closed, his fingers stroking the blond hair of the woman, he spent the night with, opening his eyes, looking down, her head on his chest, her arm draping over his torso, she looks so peaceful, their limbs still tangled together, from this point of view he can see every freckle, the way the bed sheets are just covering the bare minimum of her body, the memories of last night, came flushing back.

The passion, the pent up feelings, he finally got to show her, what she means to him, he took it slow, getting to know every outline of her body, his lips against her skin, the way she trembled, the way those pretty little moans escaped her lips, her breathless whisperings of his name. If the walls could speak, they'd confess of two people exploring of the attraction, the connection they feel for eachother, the passionate dance that took place, a true definition of a man and woman caressing eachother's souls, connecting on deeper levels, it was so much more, than just physical they connected on a intellectual, heartfelt, soulful way. He has never felt this way about anyone in his entire life.

The fact that Bri wants him, feels something for him despite who he is, is astonishing, it's a mere miracle if you'd ask him.

She shifted a little, almost crawling closer towards him, a sleepy grunt escaping her lips as her eyes slowly opened, his voice a little deeper and raspier than during the day, "morning love".

She tilted her head, smiling, softly sleep still evident it her voice "so that's your morning voice mhmm... I like it" he chuckled "you like it huh? Want to know what I like my dear?" Reaching out to touch his stubbled jaw, "mhmm what's that" he smiled, and took her hand in his, kissing the palm, then her wrist, his lips still against her skin "everything about you" smiling and slightly breathless, "is that so?"

In one swift movement, he pinned her underneath her, resting on his forearms as his body pressed against her, he lowered his face to her ear, a gruff whisper, "was last night not clear enough?" A shiver of electricity ran through her body, "y...you can always show me again" a grin formed on his lips, and he nearly growled in that deep British accent, "with pleasure love" and as he said that he nuzzled closer to her neck, placing kisses, working his way up to her lips, before devouring her lips, he whispers "I could wake up like this every morning love" she lets out a small gasp as his lips met hers once again.

Tangling her hands in his hair, almost tugging him closer, a moan slipping past his lips as she did that. They spent the morning confirming their passion for each other.

As Bridget got out of the shower she can't help but smile, she's actually happy despite everything that's going on, she's tremendously happy, the world may see Crowley as the devil, but she knows he's not really a devil, his just a man who was hurt, and didn't know how to heal, despite what he believes she's no angel either, he's helping her heal as well, maybe, just maybe their helping eachother heal.

She pulls on an oversized t-shirt of his, she doesn't really have clothes here, and in that moment reality hits again a little, what is she going to do, the worries and slight fear flooding her thoughts, but it disappears as she walks into the kitchen, smiling as she saw Crowley and Lainey covered in what seems to be flour. She laughs "what are you two doing?"

Lainey's eyes wide with wonder and excitement, "Mommy, me and Cowley making pancakes" Bridget looks at her daughter and then at Crowley, before she walks closer, "it looks delicious" Crowley smiles "this little one wanted pancakes what was I supposed to do," slightly shrugging his shoulders, with meaning "I'd do anything for my two girls".

He looks between Bri and Lainey, almost a whisper "you two mean the world to me" Before Bri could answer Lainey tugs Crowley's hand, wide-eyed "Cowley?" He looks down "yes darling?" "Can I have one now?" He laughed "you can have as many as you like" the little girl does a little twirl in a sing-song manner "I love Cowley".

Jokingly Crowley adds "I think you love pancakes more!" That made the little stop mid-twirl, she lifted her small hands in the air as she stood before Crowley, and instinctively he picked her up , looking at her serious expression "what's wrong?" She places her tiny hands on either side of his jaw, "no! I love you and Mommy more" his hold around her tightened a little, but he was lost for words, for a moment, then with a slight gruffness "I love you too Lainey" she wrapped her arms around his neck burying her face in his shoulder, he looked over at Bri where she were standing, tears in her beautiful eyes, he opened his arm, without a word, he signals her to come closer and now he has them both in his arms, holding them against his chest, he's never felt this much love for anyone, but in this moment he knew, he'd never want to lose them and he made a silent promise to always keep them protected, making sure they are safe and loved.

He smiled, "let's go on a vacation?" Bridget pulled back "what?" Lainey "vacation?" Crowley nods "yes, just the three of us, somewhere at the coast?" The two of them laughed almost in sync "really?" He laughed "yes really".

The rest of the day, they spend talking about how amazing it'd be, and how much fun they'd have, how Bridget and Lainey have never gone on vacation to the coast. That evening he told the two of them they'd have to go and do some shopping, get stuff for their holiday, they both were so excited. Wanting to know were they were going but Crowley insisted that it was a surprise.

The next morning the three of them went to the shopping mall, despite just wanting to spend a sort of 'family' day he was still protective and on edge because of the past few weeks events, but they spend the day despite the danger that could be around every corner. He spoiled his two girls to his hearts desire, nothing to expensive or to much. He might've spend more money in one day that he did in a year, but he didn't mind he had plenty were that came from.

With multiple shopping bags, clothes, food and other needed supplies they got in his car, he immediately drove to the private airfield. They were surprised to learn that Crowley has a private jet, and that he was a certified pilot. He kept surprising them.

He silently watched Bridget and Lainey as they talked and laughed as he quickly packed the jet, once he was done he helped them inside. As soon as they lifted off, he started, telling them little interesting facts about the city, clouds, flying and everything in between. Up until Lainey fell asleep.

He watched as Bridget took everything in, wide-eyed, his tone loving “you okay love?” Smiling she replied, “yes, just taking in the beauty of it all. I always wanted to fly, you know!”

His lips curled up into a wide smile, “oh yeah! Good thing you're dating a man who has it all then?”

The sweetest giggle escaped her lips “oh so we're dating now?”

His dark brows furrowed “I …” clearing his throat “I thought we were kind of you know”

A mischievous glint in her eyes “I can't remember you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

He was genuinely puzzled, “But we… you know,” giggling “ I know what we did Crowley,” he looked at her, trying to see what she was thinking, but he couldn't quite figure it out, he never really had to do the dating stuff formally, all the other woman were one nights only, he doesn't like getting attached, well up until Bridget anyway.

She smiled “nevermind that, where are you taking us?”

He smiled “you'll see”.

It wasn't much later than that, they've landed in the Maldives, the gasps and excitement were contagious the way their laughter filled his ears had him almost believing he could be a family man, just maybe he can be a father for Lainey and maybe he can be the man Bridget believes he is. He carried in their suitcases, and other supplies, Lainey running in jumping onto the bed and Bri trying to get her to behave, picking her up and placing her down, Crowley laughed “it's fine let her have some fun, it's my house, and now yours as well.”

“What?” *Bri gasped, with a smirk from him, “yes love” Bridget took Laineys hand and jumped onto the bed with her , laying flat on their backs, laughing when Lainey’s sweet voice broke through, as she patted the spot next to her “Cowley come” he smile “coming sweetheart” he got on and laid on his back, his legs hanging over the edge as Lainey pointed upwards the art on the ceiling were beautiful and he had to agree, everything in this moment we're perfect, with Lainey in the middle, and Crowley's hand intertwining in Bridget's, he found a little piece of heaven, as the sounds of their breathing and the waves crashing against the shore filled the room, he knew he was starting to heal.

Tags: @jackles010378 @k-slla @winchesterwild78 @angelbabyyy99 @cevansbaby-dove @cutedisneygirl @bookishtheaterlover7