#sometimes i have the urge to bleed out and let it mingle with my tears and some pond water so that i can sit in it

[gojoed]

nevermind

[hopelesshawks]

WOAH WOAH is your MHA reqs open?? So I wanted to request a Todoroki x Reader Angst where Todoroki sees his s/o getting stabbed by a villain with countless sharp spears like in Chiaki’s death video in danganronpa along with 1-A and just loses it? I’m sorry I’m craving for angst rn ✨✨ also love your writing and remember to stay safe <33 💕💗

My requests are open yes!! I have actually missed receiving them (and tbf I’m prolly not getting them because I’m doing daily updates on History of Us hahaha). So thanks for the request anon. I’m also really touched that you love my writing 🥰 I hope this lives up to your impression of me!

I had never seen danganropa but I just looked up what you were talking about and w o w I am in ✨pain✨ 🥲 I’ve got you anon. It’s going to hurt but I got you. Did I drag out (y/n)’s last words? Yes. Would they realistically already have died before saying all that I have them say? Probably. But this is fanfic and if movie writers can do it then goddamn it so can I!

CW for angst, somewhat graphic description of major character injury and death (reader), non-major character death, and canon typical violence

Nothing has been the same since the fall of the hero commission and the loss of faith in the Symbol of Peace’s generation of heroes. It’s been two years since Shigaraki wreaked havoc and Dabi exposed Endeavor’s crimes. As pros unused to that level of violence retired or quit, hero class students have been forced to step up and fill in the spaces they left behind. As a result, even as their faith in the pros waned, the public started to see the students as a beacon of hope. All Might, they whisper, spoiled the current generation of heroes. They argue that Endeavor is now too old to keep up, that Hawks and Mirko are too burdened by their mentors’ failures, and all the heroes aged in between are too used to the relative peace of the golden era to be effective. These current students though? Students like the famous UA hero class A, now third years who’ve already seen so much? They are the new hope. They’d grown up in the fires of a post-symbol of peace era and as such they are the only ones who can drag society out of it. It would be flattering if not for the overwhelming pressure that comes along with it.

Shoto thinks he would have been crushed beneath that pressure if not for you.

The two of you had started growing close your first year during the provisional license exam make up classes. Spending so much additional time together over the weekend had allowed Shoto to slowly open up to you until a beautiful friendship had blossomed. Even still, both of you had secretly yearned for something more. It was only after the destruction of Jaku City and the Todoroki family secrets were aired to the whole of Japan that the two of you finally acted on your feelings. You’d been such a source of support for him afterwards that eventually he hadn’t been able or willing to hold back any longer and had confessed his feelings to you late one night in the dorms. The two of you have been together ever since and fully intend to open a hero agency together after graduation. He knows the two of you are still young but sometimes when he looks at you with your blinding smile or when you’re sleeping peacefully beside him, he swears he can hear wedding bells. If the civilians of Japan can consistently forget how young you all are as they urge you to take over for the pros, then it seems only fair he should be able to forget too.

His mother was ecstatic when he asked her about engagement rings. Endeavor had said it was too early, that marriage is too large a commitment to make at 18 years old, but Shoto insisted and eventually a compromise was reached. He’ll wait until after graduation but then he’s determined to make you his forever and always.

It’s an otherwise normal Saturday afternoon in the dorms when Iida and Momo get an urgent distress signal to gather the entirety of the class and head into the city. A large group of ragtag criminals, determined to become the next League of Villains, is terrorizing Musutafu and the number of casualties is climbing rapidly. The other heroes usually responsible for that area had been called away to handle a different disaster and all attempts made by the civilians to defend themselves had only led to more chaos. The entire class mobilized in seconds. Calls like this aren’t uncommon now. The villains have been banding together more and their bloodlust seems to have grown exponentially with civilians’ continued lack of trust in the current pros. By the time you all arrive to the scene there’s no time to waste. “Be careful,” you tell Shoto, carefully running a hand through his hair before resting it on his cheek. He brings his hand up to cover yours before promising, “I will.” He presses a kiss to your palm but before he can do more Bakugo sharply barks “Hurry it up lovebirds we got a fucking job to do!” before racing off. You both know he’s right. “I love you,” you tell Shoto. “Love you too,” he promises before you both steel yourselves and then take off into the fray.

It’s an absolutely grueling battle. Every time someone takes one villain down, another comes to take their place. “Pinky! On your left!” you call out, causing your classmate to sharply turn. Mina just manages to dodge a punch one of the villains throws her way and swiftly counteracts with an attack of her own, calling out a thanks. There’s no time to breathe though and almost as soon as you’re done warning Mina, you have to dive in to keep another villain off Ojiro’s back. It’s chaotic but slowly you’re starting to pick away the forces as many of the remaining villains start fleeing. Once it looks like they’ve all retreated you instinctively look for Shoto, having not seen him since the fighting had properly started. You catch sight of him and heave a sigh of relief. You call out his name to catch his attention and although he initially offers you a soft smile you notice his eyes suddenly widen. “(Y/n) behind you!” he calls out.

Every moment after that seems to happen in slow motion.

You turn around just in time for a spear to fire clean through your shoulder, knocking you off balance. You start to fall backwards but before you can even hit the ground at least a dozen more rise up from the asphalt and impale your body. You hear Shoto’s broken cry of your name but it sounds so distant to you. After a moment stuck in place the spears suddenly drop back into the ground. Shoto is next to you in a second, pulling your broken body close as you bleed out. One of your other classmates tries to call for medical support but all he can focus on is you and the sheer amount of blood you’re losing. Shoto knows his training. He knows that when a victim has been stabbed it’s crucial to put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding, but how can he when there’s so many fucking wounds. “You’re going to be ok. You’re going to be ok. You’re going to be ok.” He says it over and over again like a mantra. It’s both a plea to you and a desperate attempt to deny the harsh reality that the love of his life is bleeding out in his arms.

You press a bloody hand to his cheek, looking lovingly up at the man you’d do anything for, and shush him quietly. “Sho,” you rasp, voice already weak as your body tries and fails to cope with your injuries. “Don’t,” he warns. “Sho, baby, look at me,” you try again but he shakes his head, shutting his eyes tightly as tears start to run down his cheeks. “Please?” you ask and he can’t deny you, never could, so he opens his eyes and looks down at your glossy ones as you fight to stay awake just a little bit longer. “There they are. I always did love your eyes,” you tell him wistfully as your thumb strokes his cheek, smearing your blood there, though you don’t seem to notice. “You can’t leave me. You have to be ok,” he whispers but you shake your head. You can already feel yourself fading and with medical attention still several minutes out at least you know there’s no fixing this. “I need you to promise me something,” you tell him. “Anything,” he replies immediately and it brings a sad smile to your blood stained lips. “Promise you’ll find someone else after me,” you say and the scandalized look on his face would have probably made you laugh under different circumstances. “You’ve got too much love to give to let it die with me,” you tell him but he shakes his head again. “I could never love anyone else like I love you,” he swears and he means it with every fiber of his being. You chuckle wetly. “You always were stubborn. Fine, then promise to never forget me,” you compromise, tears welling in your own eyes now too. “I couldn’t even if I tried,” he swears before leaning down to press one last kiss to your lips. He can taste the tang of iron and feel your tears and his mingling on your cheeks. “I love you,” he whispers against your lips as he pulls away, but for the first time since he first said the words to you, you don’t say them back. “(Y/n)? Baby, I love you,” he tries again, pulling back to look at you properly now. Your eyes remain shut, your hand falling limp from his cheek, and when he looks to your chest the rise and fall of it has ceased.

Devastation claws up through him like a rabid animal, tearing him apart as his whole world shatters around him. He feels his grief like a physical ache in his chest, radiating out to each of his limbs as if every cell of his body is violently rejecting the fact that you’re gone. “Todoroki-kun?” Midoriya asks cautiously, putting a gentle hand on Shoto’s shoulder. Shoto’s head snaps up as he cradles you closer, as if scared your body will be taken away from him too. Before Midoriya can say whatever he was going to, Denki’s voice cuts through the tense silence. “I got him!” he crows, shoving the villain down to the ground in front of his classmates. Shoto’s eyes land on the villain and instantly his grief twists into a searing rage. He gently lays your body down but his eyes are cold and lethal as he stares down the man that took you away from him. Midoriya realizes what’s happening a beat too late and by the time he reaches out to grab Shoto, the grief stricken man has already launched himself at the villain and grasped hold of him. His right hand closes around the man’s throat, ice wrapping around it like a vice grip. He’s vaguely aware of his classmates calling his name but he doesn’t care. This man stole the love of his life from him. For that he will pay. Before Todoroki can finish the job he’s suddenly being yanked back by Midoriya and Bakugo. “Let go of me!” he demands as he fights against their hold, ignoring their warnings and empty platitudes. He manages to wrench his left arm free for a brief moment and that’s all he needs. His flames shoot out, preventing Midoriya from getting a good hold of him again, and the man who murdered you goes up in flame. His howls of pain echo around the buildings around them but the sound is music to Shoto’s ears. Let him suffer. It’s a fate he deserves.

His classmates watch on in stunned horror until the villain is burned down to ash. As his flames die out so too does all the fight seem to drain from Shoto as the crushing grief returns. Bakugo let’s him go once it’s clear he’s not a threat anymore and Shoto uses his freedom to drag himself back over to your lifeless body. It’s not fair. You’re so young. He’s so young. Why was this fight even you all’s responsibility in the first place? He’s been excitedly planning his proposal to you for weeks. Now he’ll have to plan a funeral. The thought makes him physically ill and he has to turn to the side as bile climbs up his throat and he retches onto the asphalt beside him.

How is he supposed to go on without you?

Midoriya returns a hand to his shoulder as the paramedics finally arrive. It’s too late. Far too late. One of them approaches cautiously and like a dog protecting his master Shoto immediately lashes out. “Don’t you fucking touch them,” he warns, eyes cold and voice lethal. The paramedic jerks backwards, his hands up in surrender, as he cautiously looks to the other class A students for advice. They have none. They’ve never seen Todoroki like this. They can’t even begin to imagine what he’s going through. It’s Eijirou who steps up in the end. He approaches Shoto carefully, as if his classmate is a feral animal, before kneeling down to his level. “They need to take (y/n) to the hospital on that stretcher over there,” Kirishima tells him carefully, jerking his head in the direction of the waiting ambulance. “Can you carry them there for the paramedics?” he asks. Shoto stares at Kirishima blankly as if trying to process his words before slowly nodding. “Ok. Let’s go then, yea?” Kiri asks. Another nod in response before Shoto carefully gathers you into his arms. He ignores the way your body has already started to go cold as he carries you over to the stretcher. He tries to pretend they’re just rushing you to the hospital, that they’re speeding you over to recovery girl and in a few hours time you’ll be tired but cheery, teasing him for being so worried about nothing. But as he lays you down and then watches them zip you up into a black bag, he knows it’s a hopeless fantasy. You’re gone and you’re never coming back.

A few days later he sits in a black suit with a black tie and a silver chain carrying an engagement ring around his neck. He leans against Fuyumi, who sits on his left side, while his mother grasps tightly onto his right hand. Behind him Natsuo rests a steady hand on his shoulder. His father hovers nearby, unsure how best to offer his support or if his support would even be welcome. They are the only thing that keeps Shoto from falling apart. When the time comes, he stands on shaky legs and approaches your open casket. At first he’d been insistent he wouldn’t look, but his mother had argued his last image of you shouldn’t be your broken body, riddled with holes. So he looks down at you, pieced back together by some mortician, lying motionless in the nicest outfit you own and he traces every detail of you. He tries to patch over the memory of you broken on the ground that haunts him every night since it’s happened with this image of you now. He pictures all of the good and beautiful moments you’ve shared together, let’s them swell in his chest until they’re too large to contain and pour out of him through his silent tears. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your too cold forehead and mumbles to you again his final promise:

“I love you, (y/n). I’ll never forget you.”

[novelconcepts]

for the prompt, please do dani and jamie with 22 thank you :)

prompt: kissing someone’s cuts/bruises/scratches

Jamie can’t remember the last time she needed someone to tend her cuts and scrapes. Can’t remember, even, the last time she wanted as much from another person. There’s something too vulnerable about holding out an open wound and saying, Here. Please. I can’t do it alone. 

Jamie can do it alone, is the thing. Has done for so long, she’s forgotten what it was to want another person’s skin brushing her own, another person’s eyes concerned for her well-being. It’s become second-nature, pushing all of that aside. How many times has she wandered into the kitchen, a cloth pressed firmly to a torn-open patch of wrist or palm, and scoffed at Owen’s worry? How many times has Hannah strolled into the room to find her bracing an ice pack against a freshly-bruised knee, rolling her eyes heavenward at her own clumsy misfortune? It’s natural, courting injury as she maneuvers the grounds. Almost easier than it should be. 

She’s never wanted anyone to fix it for her. Never trusted, if she’s honest, anyone to have the touch. People are too soft. Too twitchy about doing damage. As if there’s any helping a thing like that.

She’s never wanted it--

But Dani, meeting her in the doorway of the greenhouse, has an expression she’s never seen before. Not open worry, not nauseous distaste--an almost perfect, steady calm. 

“Let me.”

No question mark at the end of the sentence. No hopeful sway to Dani’s hips, no itchy pull of Dani’s fingers along the elbows of her own jumper. Dani’s face is set, determined, almost as though she’s been waiting for this day since the first time their eyes met. 

“No need,” Jamie says, though her head is pounding. Dani is plainly unimpressed. 

“C’mere. Sit down.”

She can’t explain why she obeys; her body seems primed to follow instruction, perhaps as evidence of a concussion. There is a split above her brow where a tumbling branch caught her just right, and privately, she’s relieved--that it was her standing beneath the tree as the wind jerked it out of place, and not one of the kids. Jamie had been quick enough to dodge aside. If it had been Flora, if it had been Miles...

Better me. I can take it.

Dani has a kit in hand, she realizes, lifted from the manor bathroom. Sitting beside Jamie on the sofa, she tears open a single-use alcohol wipe. She hesitates only once, one hand hovering beside Jamie’s jaw; when Jamie nods, that hand takes her chin, fingers splayed gently to tip her head back. 

“Deep breath.”

“I’m fine,” Jamie starts to say, the words hissing out of her when Dani angles the wipe against the edge of the wound. It’s small, thankfully--the branch had been, too, though Jamie knows better than anyone that size is no measure of danger--but the sting clenches her teeth together. She closes her eyes, trying her best to disassemble the pain and piece it back together into a more enjoyable sensation.

Not the burn, but the soft pressure of Dani’s hand on her skin.

Not the throb running a path along her skull, but the warmth of Dani’s breath mingling with her own.

Maybe this isn’t better, she realizes. Maybe it is infinitely worse, fixing on Dani’s knee pressed to her thigh, Dani’s hand cradling her cheek as though she doesn’t even know she’s doing it. Her eyes flick open to find Dani leaning close, inspecting the wound with an unflappable composure.  

“It isn’t deep,” she says. “Might scar a little, though.”

“Not my first,” Jamie quips before she can stop herself. Dani’s eyebrows raise, her lips curving in a small smile. 

“You’ve got stories.”

Not a question--and not a pressure, either. Just an easy statement. Sometimes, this is just Dani’s way: neat, straightforward, to the point. Jamie wonders what kind of life shapes a woman this way, to navigate the grip of anxiety one moment and turn utterly steadfast the next. She’d like to know. She’ll never push. Dani is a co-worker, nothing more; the last thing Jamie needs is to go crossing bounds again.

“Thank you,” she says, as Dani fishes out a bandage and some tape. “Didn’t, uh. Didn’t need--”

Dani silences her with another smile, tinged with something so like sadness, it puts any knock on the head to shame. “When I was little,” she says, “I was always getting hurt. I was a clumsy kid, I guess. Fell down a lot--out of trees, off my bike. My dad was always the one to take care of it.”

Jamie says nothing. This is the most Dani’s ever spoken directly to her, and she finds the bounce and curve of her Midwestern accent strangely comforting. 

“He wasn’t really a typical dad that way, I guess,” Dani goes on, gently holding the cotton bandage up to the wound. She reaches down, clasps Jamie’s wrist, eases her up to hold the square in place. “Hang onto that a sec. My dad, he was...softer than other kids’. He always knew how to clean my scrapes without making me cry. Never quite got the hang of that, after--he died when I was eight, I dunno if you knew that--”

Jamie shakes her head. Dani, patiently cutting a strip of tape, shrugs.

“Got sick. Was gone almost before I knew it. And my mom was never...much good at any of that, so I had to learn how to patch myself up. The alcohol was always the worst part. Almost.”

“Almost?” Jamie repeats. Dani is replacing her hand with deft fingers, adhering the bandage with simple efficiency. When she checks a mirror later, she suspects the whole affair will be neat, orderly, perfectly applied. 

“Yeah,” Dani says, leaning back to observe her handiwork. She seems satisfied, piling everything back into the first aid kit, closing it with a click. “Worst part was after. He would always find the best bandaid--something brightly-colored, or with cartoon characters--and then he’d lean over whatever I’d busted open that day, and he’d kiss the spot twice. Once for forgiveness, he always said, to let the skin know he didn’t blame it for bleeding. And once for healing. Two kisses, every time. It felt like magic. I could never...”

She quiets, her smile fading. It’s too easy for Jamie to imagine a small girl with a blonde braid, kissing her own scraped knee after a fall, knowing full-well it wouldn’t be the same. Too easy to imagine Dani at eight--eleven--thirteen, patching herself back together on her own. 

“Well,” Jamie says, clearing her throat. “You left a bit out, then.”

Dani raises her eyes, frowning. “Sorry?”

“Did the patching,” Jamie points out. Her mouth is weirdly dry, her head thundering away. This is, she senses, navigating too close to the brink of something. Friendship, maybe. Or just Dani thinking she’s making fun. And still, she can’t stop herself. “Seems like you forgot the magic.”

Dani hesitates, her hands folded in her lap. She’s picking, Jamie realizes, at one cuticle, nearly enough to tear the skin. 

“Go on, then,” she adds, heartened to see Dani’s grave expression tilting toward the sun. “Forgiveness and healing. Could use a little of both, maybe.”

She doesn’t know what she expects, exactly--even saying this feels like the product of insanity, a crack on the head urging her toward things she’d never normally try--but Dani draws a breath. Folds a hand around the back of her head, fingers sifting into curls. Leans forward.

It hurts, a little, Dani pressing her lips to the bandage, though she knows Dani is being gentle. Hurts a little, and sparks something Jamie hadn’t meant to let in, too. She closes her eyes, Dani’s kiss seeming to scorch. 

“Once for forgiveness,” Dani murmurs, lips brushing the skin of her forehead. Another kiss, sweet and soft and sending an electric charge down her spine. “Once for healing.”

She doesn’t lean back, not right away--her hand is warm, her eyes searching Jamie’s, and for a single beat, Jamie wants to tilt her chin. Coax that gentle kiss to find her lips. Change it all. 

The concussion, she assures herself, responsible for the reckless impulse. Responsible, too, for the thread of disappointment coiling in her stomach when Dani removes her hand, places it back in her lap, shakes her head almost ruefully.

“He was better at it.”

“Maybe,” Jamie says. “But I can be clumsy, too. Stay long enough, you might get enough practice to measure up.”

Dani meets her eyes, looking embarrassed, looking delighted. Jamie rubs the back of her neck, casting around for a way out of this hole she’s dug. 

“Listen to me. Take enough thumps to the head, I’m gonna starting spewing puns like Owen.”

“Oh no,” Dani laughs. “Anything but that.”

She has to go, she explains, back to the kids. Jamie’s welcome to join them--she’s got a game of cards planned, and they could use a fourth. Jamie almost agrees. Almost lets herself follow Dani into the house, her fingers straying mindlessly to brush the fresh bandage sealed with a kiss. 

“Shouldn’t,” she says--to Dani, to herself, to the burgeoning heat in her cheeks as she recalls how gently Dani had pressed her lips to the wound. “Work to be done, y’know.”

Dani nods. “See you at dinner?”

She should say no to that, too. Should go home to her little flat, to the quiet which always makes perfect sense, which never turns up with a first aid kit and assertive hands. 

“Yeah. Dinner.” She’s smiling. Dani, leaning against the doorframe, is, too. 

“No more knocks on the noggin,” she adds with mock-gravity. Jamie snorts, gives a careless little salute. 

“No fuckin’ promises.”

It’s difficult to say what’s harder to ignore, when Dani’s gone and the work rises up to meet her once more. Hard to say which part--the thumping of the headache, or the memory of Dani Clayton’s lips pressed to her forehead--has a greater hold on the rest of her day. No one asks, and she’s honestly relieved. 

If asked, Jamie would insist the headache has won out. If asked, she’d have no other choice.

If asked, Jamie would absolutely lie. 

[writefightandflightclub]

Make it last forever (Poe x reader)

Summary: Poe brings you breakfast in bed, and you wish this brief respite from the war could last forever. Fluffy with a lil angst, but only so Poe can comfort you, sweeties.

Author’s note: I’m doing soft blurbs bc you all deserve a hug from one of our fave fictional husbands. Let’s all destress and be comforted one blurb at a time, okay? (Dunno how many I can do but gonna try and blitz a few requests out tonight. I’m doing these quickly so they’ll be a bit scrappy, please forgive!)

Warnings: hints of steam but no explicit smut. Rated TEEN.

GIF: by @wilsonsamt​

You grin as Poe shimmies back under the covers, having carefully settled the breakfast tray on to your lap.

Your hands eagerly reach for him and filter into his raven curls, pulling him to your lips for a quick, lazy kiss before he sits back on the propped pillows next to you.

“Where the hell did you get koyo juice?! Baby! You got koyo juice?!” you exclaim excitedly as you survey the items on the tray. Your eyes widen with joy as you bring the tumbler to you nose and inhale the sweet, reassuring scent of home. You take an eager sip and the flavour is like a taste explosion in your mouth.

Poe smiles widely, utterly happy when you’re happy, and he wraps his sturdy arm around your shoulders as you butter the breakfast cake and eagerly sprinkle some seeds on to the plate of fruit.

“This is perfect. You’re perfect,” you praise, planting another kiss to his stubbled cheek, his face creasing beneath your lips into an easy smile. Before Poe can say something smug in response, you shove the still warm bread cake towards his mouth for him to take a bite.

“Mmm,” he says around a hearty mouthful. “That is good. I did good, baby.” Apparently he doesn’t mind praising himself as well, which makes you smile even more broadly. he deserves all the praise he can get. 

Poe begins shovelling food into his face with little dignity, crumbs falling down on to his gorgeous bare chest. You simply watch him enjoying the moment, your initial joy becoming something bittersweet as you realise how rare it is to share something so simple together. Breakfast in bed like this is special, yes - undoubtedly a treat- but even so, it is a rarer occasion than it should be.

Yesterday had been especially tough. You can still feel yesterday lingering in your body. The stiffness in your joints and muscles, the scrapes and bruises on skin. The residual stress. The despair. The tiredness which goes so deep it can only be described as existensial. You were thankful, as ever, that the two of you made it back, of course. But this domestic, blissful pageant before you only highlights everything you will have to return to tomorrow. As though you are merely playing house while waiting for the war to find you again.

Oblivious to your turmoil, for now, Poe snaffles the remaining half of his bread cake as you idly sip your sweet koyo juice, but he looks at you with concern etched into his strong features as soon as he realises the sadness which has overcome you.

Poe’s eyes soften with understanding, rather than hardening with judgement. His brows furrow briefly in thought before he delves his nimble pilot’s fingers into the fruit bowl, plucking out a strawberry and bringing it up to your lips. He had hidden that treat at the bottom of the bowl, but now, upon seeing the sadness cloud your eyes he figures life’s too short; why wait to put a smile on your beautiful face?

It works too. Your eyes light up again as the rare red fruit catches your eye.

“Take a bite, come on,” he coaxes, holding the fruit out and hovering it in front of your lips. “I know, I know. I’m the best.”

Poe smirks at you, finally managing to be smug, and you can’t resist dipping forward to take a bite. The sweet, ripe fruit bleeds sticky, red juices all over his fingers, which you lick innocently off before they can form rivulets all the way down his hands and onto the sheets. 

Poe eyes you hungrily as your tongue rasps over his skin. Hungrily, as if the tray of delights before him is forgotten, but he doesn’t pursue his urges just yet. Instead, he swipes a rogue drip of red from your chin and cleans it from his finger with a soft pop of his lips, more focussed on the glumness backlighting your eyes. He can see you trying. Trying to be happy, and if anythign that hurts him more.

“You okay, honey?” he probes softly, whispering in case the ghosts in the room hear him. There are often ghosts in the room when you’re alone with him. Especially after days like yesterday. It seems so impossible to escape this war, sometimes, that even mornings like this can remain haunted.

You sigh. “I’m sorry, Poe. This is all so sweet. I don’t know where or how you even found all this stuff. Or how the kriff you convinced Leia to align our rotas. It’s just...” you trail off, looking down at your naval in contemplation.

Poe knows. Poe understands, without you needing to go on, but he also knows that it can feel good to let it out anyway. He brings a sticky, strawberry scented hand to cup your face, gently tipping your head up until you meet his gaze again. His whole manner is open, receptive. Encouraging you to talk to him.

“It’s just... Poe. The war is so long, and moments like this... moments together, they’re so short. I just,” you clench you fists in front of you as you talk, as if you’re grabbing something invisible, “I want to hang on to these moments and stretch them out forever, but before we know it we’ll be back up in the skies, fighting for our lives. For each other’s. For the entire kriffing galaxy.”

You look at Poe apologetically, as if you’ve ruined the morning, but you haven’t. He knows exactly what to do. He scoops up the tray and sets it aside for the moment, before bundling you into his arms, resting your head on his lap while he soothingly strokes your hair back from your face, his other arm draped lightly over your torso.

The sounds and tapping of his fingers brushing over your hair are instantly soothing. The way the rolls of his soft, scrunched up belly press intermittently against the side of your head, with each rise and fall of his breath, is infinitely comforting. When he speaks, his sandy drawl slow and steady, you feel even more relief.

“I see why y’ think that, honey, but I have a different way of looking at things,” Poe muses, a gentle furrow still playing in-between his brows as he mulls over his half-formed words of comfort.

You look up at him hopefully. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he continues, stabbing the air emphatically with his wagging index finger. “Now hear me out.” You watch the furrow disappear, his expression becoming misty as he looks down at you. Poe is handsome even from this peculiar angle, his strong chin and nose and thick lashes prominent as you gaze up at him. “Moments like this don’t pass quickly. They last forever. These moments... they... bury themselves in me, like a tree. Or the seed of a tree. They are planted, and they just keep growing, through me. Like the force tree on Yavin spreads its roots into the ground and its branches up to the sky.”

You look up at him with admiration, even though he has yet to fully flesh out his metaphor, Poe still searching his head for the words to express what flows so easily in his heart. You love his soothing, honest, storytelling voice, and you could listen to him all morning like this, you think. You are happy when he continues, still stroking and caressing you with his fingertips.

“You think the war is long, but it’s moments like this which get me through, sweetie,” Poe says, his eyebrows shooting you, face becoming more and more passionate and expressive as he finds his stride. You love watching him speaking like this when he’s delivering briefings in the command centre, but you never love it more than when he’s animated by his passion for you. With his love for you. You smile fondly, and you wouldn’t dream of interrupting the words which keep coming.

“In this war, I think of what I love. About what I want to keep, forever. And, honey, the sum of all these little moments you think slip away too fast? I’m carrying them with me forever, baby. They’re gonna live forever. This is what I think of when I’m in an X-Wing, fighting for my life; for yours; for the galaxy. When I’m fighting, I don’t really think about flying- don’t have to. I think about you. Us. These stolen little moments last years, honey, last a lifetime, because they play over and over in my head any time I’m not next to you. I’m gonna remember stuff like this, here, right now, and take it with me everywhere. Your face lighting-up when you see a simple glass of koyo fruit, because it reminds you of home. The weight of your head in my lap and your soft hair on my thighs. Seconds? Minutes, baby? No, they’re gonna last forever, and then some.”

You’re crying. Of course you’re crying. Wet tears channeling down the sides of your face and mingling in your hair and your ears and falling on to his hands as he caresses you.

How could you hear that and not cry? How could you be so loved and not weep? How could you love this much?

Poe’s words were raw and spontaneous and spoken right from the heart. From that good heart. That beautiful heart of his. 

You wish this moment, although over in seconds, could be eternal too. Except, now you realise it will be, because it has embedded itself in you like a seed, like a force tree, and it will only keep growing through you. The moments where you love and are loved by him become indistinguishable from your love itself. Your love  for Poe, which has never slowed or wavered but has only grown taller and stronger and bigger and denser, roots reaching to the core of the universe and leaves all the way beyond its outer extremities. 

You raise yourself up from Poe’s lap with a renewed vigour, and you wind your arms into his glorious inky curls. You kiss his cheeks and his lips and his face and you hold him so close. So tightly. This good man. This good heart. This good soul. You know you have to make the most of this moment. Make it the best it can possibly be, because you’re never going to let it go.

“I love you, Poe Dameron. I love you forever.”

Poe pulls back momentarily to look you in the eyes, his warm hands skimming over your back, and the beauty of him as he gazes softly at you makes your heart skip a beat. This beautiful man, who loves you with his whole, good heart.

Poe reaches down for your hand, and twists his mother’s wedding band on your finger. “I love you, Mrs. Dameron,” he says fondly, voice infused with adoration. “I love you even longer than forever.”

“Always so competitive,” you tease fondly, and his lips split into a smile, those delicious creases lining his eyes and mouth, and a crinkle in his nose. 

Poe’s forehead comes to rest against yours as fresh, happy tears mingle on your cheeks. You press your lips to his, mouths moving together in your own private language, your tongues mingling and speaking secrets to one another as you share each breath.His kiss is sweeter than a koyo fruit, and more reminiscient of home.

You wrap your limbs around him, lovingly, fleetingly. And while your bodies may be entwined only for now, you are sure that your souls will be entwined for always.

You sink into the bed as Poe gently lowers you to the mattress, strong, warm hands beginning to roam lovingly over your body, moments becoming lifetimes, seconds becoming eternity.

The war may be long and these easy mornings short, but for now the war can wait. This moment belongs to you and Poe alone, and you intend to make it last; to make it last forever, and then some.

[blackwinged-silversolace]

Scarlet Tanager

Nearly complete now, Mother.

"YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE…"

Gaia? Do I not? Mother do you hear her suffering as well? Sometimes she calls to you, no?  The planet she hears and sings to us, her damnations ring out but she is so misguided ... Perhaps even she fears the end of her own life cycle. Her bleeding veins that bear her traitorous children mingle breed conflict here, she gives them rest, and somehow even as her last defendant merges with her shores she ignores the wound we gouge on her surface, she turns her head as it festers, and wastes her energy to drown us out. Gaia, will you not acknowledge that your plight is and has always been a futile one, you should rest now, make peaceful your lamentations and insufferable wailings and accept your glorious fate with the one who would inherit you. Your bleed is my sustenance.

"NIGHTMARE."

My patience for you grows thin, Minerva, Gaia, your skewed images of warning do not threaten me...

 "CALAMITY."

Mother...listen, the voices are thickening in attempt to bury us inside her, this sickened place where we have forged preservation within the stream, our shared abhorrence rooting our stigma even as ages of voices would try to force upheaval unto our vestiges. An annoyance, but not enough to hinder our call, through the rivets my brethren are pervious, among the coagulation their voices are here to make us stronger. Attuned to my impenetrable resolve, even the resistant bend in reverence the closer we get to our freedom, but do you feel it now? Those remnants, they are close, our reunion so near completion….

"DEMON…"

When I am to return, our existence will be  stronger, and all insolent traitors that drown her woeful voice, wretches that riddle her circuitry and drill to mine her flesh for lifeblood- that is meant for us, they seek to deny us our claim yet here we are unshaken. She is afraid as any animal would within its snare, the wound bleeding out, but oh how her fear is misguided.  Louder than ever before is her thunderous lamentation, does she prepare for this body to lay waste upon her? Ah but now her voice is unheard save for you and I, mother. So the planet sinks, troughs of her soil are so much shallower, her breath is hollow… 

Threads are unwinding, the tide recedes, this moment, if he had the mouth to do it Sephiroth would be grinning, the singularity, the between of lifestream and physical manifestation is narrowing, his rebirth dawning. There, the place of rest, of purgatory among the rock, and the familiar sky alight with starry cosmos he is nearly complete once again, the ache of limbs rebuilt with godlike power are a sensation like no other. But no chance is had for savoring this celestial beginning, for he….he... is not alone. It is that of a dream, the distance, and the clarity of the voice that pierces the air. 

"You are a monster…"

There is no body to hone in on, to vessel to lay his narrowed gaze upon beside his own...but the voice is clear. Indisputable. A memory, no doubt. Was it given with purpose? Or is the planet attempting petty manipulation in its late and desperate hours? 

"Perfect Monster…."

The ethereal silver form recoils, blistering ice spearing his once centered thoughts with biting agony, this was not a part of his scheme, pain did not fit within the woven destiny, but there was nothing to dispute it’s echo. The wound...is deep, old. Fire in his bones, his emptiness quakes upon the impossibility -this frozen inferno… only, his urge to purge this presence was washed as instant as it rose…. The knowing whisper in his mind is correct, his beloved mother shushing her son’s rage... for did he not neglect one of his own? 

“Kin, do you hear me, your lifeforce is not forgotten” who, where are you, whisper to me as I forge this body to our mother's image once more, tie me to the planet's surface….tie me to the last that is my own of this living crust, oh tiresome crystal grave. The puppet has done most well, but where is it you cover yourself as blackened power merges with my remains, my eternal resolve, this body will merge anew. Where. Are. You.

Closing his eyes the Nightmare seeks through the threads of lifestream, oh how the voices cry out as he scours through them, his cataclysm’s re entrance is dark and splitting against the soft threads of light, searching the tendrils for that...one missing piece.

There are fragments: Black wings, asleep, no- drugged, but how long? Contained, recently perhaps, drowned in mako and glass. Ah but this place he knows well... Deep ground? Hmm. Scarlet hair carried wistfully through the liquid. 

GENESIS

Yes. Of course. The memory gains shape, all details and forms hazed beneath layers of a different time, another life, but the source of injury was made clear yet again...if he were the same vulnerable, manipulable soul, if he had not died on that seventh day, then maybe he would have let the other rot as promised...but Sephiroth was not the same, words and finalizations such as ‘monster’ could not sway his purpose, could not hold candle to his resolve. After all, what reunion would be final without HIM.

Have they clipped your wings? Or is it you who locked yourself away, my sweet song bird? Is this where you are hidden Scarlet Tanager, dearest brother? Should you lack home, then it is I who will provide, you will not go wasted.  

Some deliberation is necessary, 

Most unexpected, this waking desire to reclaim. Oh but there is power in that memory, new and old, foreign and evolved from the familiar. Something through his fingers, through his divine senses that distant presence spoke of necessity, of use and rite the same as was the power that saturated his spirit, and his tie to the planet.  Would it ring terrible memory to his beloved kin if faced with the ‘monster’ he helped create, one can find pleasure in that, would he find dread  if kept for this grand conquest? Perhaps. But made true in our most vulnerable, are we not? You more than any should know this, Genesis. Then it would be perfect.

So, the essential divergence from his path was set, and Deepground would be paid a visit.

There is a crackle within the underground laboratory, static tangible, men in lab coats scramble away from the intrusion, shouting and tearing their legs pathetically, in all directions they flee in chaotic disarray as the dull light wafts into a large mass. Black, and green tendrils rising from the floor to engulf the space as oxygen itself protests the tearing of fabric, space, time, splitting matter and element to make wide the opening for the return of Calamity’s chosen Son. 

The voices mutter, some, scream, but so faceless and belittled, they are disregarded as the plume takes form, solid unwavering he emerges. Proud, motivated, the Silver haired entity is whole, clad in leather, masamune reflecting the faces marred in horror, green slitted gaze casts over the mass of fear only once, “Genesis.” He demands, but no answer is given, looks passed every which way, he is already upon them... then the murmurs are silenced.

One by one those who litter his path are cut down, his eyes need not land on them, they are nothings, they are tread same as the concrete, they are liquid, and sinew with as much purpose as rodents… yet, room after room his prize is not found, and the red wastes of flesh and life are at his heels, glistening and reflecting the narrowed frustration in his focus. “Hmn, Where are you?”

@unforestalledreturn

[sirius-archive]

Could I get a ship with Sirius x Hufflepuff Reader. Your writing is really good BTW. Thanks

15 43 45 with sirius? love you work btw

I’m assuming you meant for me to write you a fic with Sirius and a Hufflepuff reader as opposed to writing an actual ship for you (you’d describe yourself and I ‘ship’ you with someone)…? anyhoo, let me know. Also, yes I did combine two requests and yes I did plant two easter eggs in here. If you spot them, let me know, there may be a prize involved ;)) 

15. “I miss you, but then I remember what an asshole you are and the feeling fades.”, 43. “I trusted you,” and 45. “Remember that time I thought you were stalking me?”

Sirius Black was following you. You could feel it, his presence lurking like a shadow, as you ambled down the path toward Hogsmeade with your friends. You tried to ignore the feeling, to throw yourself into the ambient glow of the warm company that surrounded you, but Sirius Black is nothing if not stubborn and the feeling of his eyes boring holes into your soul pestered you for the entire trip.

(And maybe you never wanted him to leave you in the first place.)

“There is no way that The Banshee’s cover of ‘Bewitch my Heart’ is better than the original, isn’t that right, (Y/N)?”

Matt Nelson’s voice yanked you from your thoughts, pulling you back into your body once again.

“Erm…yeah. The originals are always better…” you mumbled. Matt beamed triumphantly while your best friend, Claire Page, scowled at you.

“Well, there you have it,” Matt grinned, causing Claire to roll her eyes.

“You have both been disowned. I’m leaving to mingle with people who have better taste…”

“You’re going to be a lonely person, then!” Matt called out to her as she left, to which she flipped the bird, causing you both to chuckle.

A contented silence followed in the wake of Claire’s abrupt departure, which you filled with thoughts of your ex. You had thrown a glance over your shoulder before, spotting Sirius in the distance, and he made no show of hiding. Instead, a smirk had sliced those deliciously soft lips, sparking electricity that scuttled down your spine. That hair and those eyes and those sinfully delicious lips–

“How you holding up?” Matt asked, once again tearing you from your thoughts. You glanced at him and flashed him a charming smile.

“Fine, thanks.”

Matt nodded. “That’s not entirely true, is it?”

You gave him a shrewd stare. Matt and you had a…complicated past. As in, he had feelings you did not reciprocate, so when you started dating Sirius, Matt was passive aggressive and filled with disdain. But, like the true Hufflepuff that he is, he abandoned those feelings for your happiness. He hasn’t said it yet, but his voice whispers ‘I told you so’ in your ears.

“I am really not in the mood for a deep and meaningful right now,” you drawled.

“And I would never expect that from you,” Matt adds, hastily, “I just…I want you to know that you can talk to me.”

You nod, sending him a soft smile. “Thank you, Matt.”

Matt matches your smile, and it’s an amicable tug of his lips that deepens his dimples. It’s adorable, and you find yourself wondering how you can’t find it in you to give this boy the love he deserves. Here he is, offering his bleeding heart on his sleeve, yet you’re sweeping glimpses at the past, hoping for a love that broke you.

Your fingers graze against his gloved ones, testing for a reaction. There is none. No electricity, no fireworks, not even a tickle of warmth. There is not one cell in you that does not belong to Sirius Black, and you loathe the boy that sparkles silver and is crowned with black.

(But you mostly love him)

When you arrive at Hogsmeade, Claire circles back to you, and the three of you move from store to store. The feeling of Sirius stalking you, however, does not leave you, and you decide to confront him, fed up with his creepy antics.

“I’m going to hang back here for a while,” you announce to Matt and Claire before they can leave the Three Broomsticks.

“Alight, do you want one of us to stay with you?” Matt asks, concern leaking into his tone, but you shake your head at his offer, sending him a reassuring smile.

“I’ll be fine.”

With a nod and smile, Matt leaves, Claire following closely. Once they’re out into the street, you lean back on your chair and turn your head slightly so that you’re speaking over your shoulder.

“Remember that time I thought you were stalking me?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yeah, when we first met,” Sirius responds, not bothering to turn in his chair to speak directly to you, “You confronted me.”  

“Did I mention that you’re a sloppy stalker?”

“Many times on many occasions.”

“Well why didn’t you take the hint?” You snip, now turning around to face him, “Stalking someone is actually fucking creepy. I’ve had enough.”

Sirius barks a laugh, spinning in his seat. Your faces are dangerously close, so close you can trace the constellations in his eyes.

“Are you really that vain? I am not stalking you!”

“Yes! You are! You’ve followed me to every single store.”

“It’s not my fault my friends like all the same stores as you!”

“They weren’t there!”

“Yes, they were!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and force a sigh from your lips. Anger ripples through your veins. “You know, sometimes, I miss you, but then I remember what an asshole you are and the feeling fades.”

A spiteful chuckle rumbles on Sirius lips, lacking the warmth of genuine amusement. “Sometimes, I forget how charming you truly are.”

“Look, I don’t care if you’re stalking me or not. Just…keep away from me. I trusted you once upon a time, and I’m not making that same mistake again.”

With that, you sprung from your seat and stormed out of the pub, your blood boiling with lust and contempt. How was it that Sirius managed to evoke such contradictory emotions inside of you? How can someone love and hate an individual at one? You want to kiss him and punch him in the face with a chair at the same time.  

You had no idea where you were going, but you knew you had to put some distance between you and Sirius. The growing void that stretched between the two of you was filled with everything you wanted to say but couldn’t, rotting away like corpses at the bottom of a pit. It’s only when Sirius’ voice shatters your racing thoughts that you realize he’s been tearing after you, and what he says roots you to the snow-clad ground.

“You seem to have forgotten that I trusted you, too.”

Sirius’ words strike you like a fork of lightning. You spin around and march back up to him, eyes fierce and voice sharp.

“And what did I do to break that trust? Hm? Tell me Sirius!”

Sirius pursed his lips and ground his jaw, and it’s all sharp edges and chiseled lines and you have to fight the urge to spill your lips over his because he’s as destructive as a forest fire but he’s so damn beautiful…

“You left.” He breathes, and its so simple and so complicated, you have to blink and let it sink in.

“I…” you begin, but no words follow, they’re all tangled in a knot in your throat.

“You left and you ran back to him and you left me alone, when I needed you most…”

It takes a moment for you to collect your thoughts and string them together, one by one. You had never expected something so sincere from Sirius, even though he had never lied to you in your life. Your gaze finally lands on him, and now, you can see past his barriers, how he’s torn down his walls.  

Standing before you is Sirius Black, completely unmasked. Naked eyes, naked soul. For the first time, you notice every line on his elegantly handsome face, spelling out the same pain that chewed a large hole in your chest.

“I thought you wanted me to go…” you whisper, and you sound small and childish.

“Never,” he mumbles, “How could you think that?”

“You made it pretty clear when you told me to leave and never return…” you mutter, bitterly.

“I…I never meant that…” Sirius stammered, shaking his head, “Surely, you must realize by now that people say things they don’t mean when they’re angry…”

“Why didn’t you talk to me, then? Why didn’t you try to explain?”

“I thought you wanted to be left alone…” Sirius reveals, his voice soft and sweet. His hand reaches up to cup your cheek and you lean into his touch, feeling the warmth sink into your skin, and electricity crackles in your veins, fireworks burst behind closed eyes.

Leaning forward slowly, you close the distance between the two of you with a passionate kiss that burns all your doubt and turns your fears to ash. He’s gentle and unassuming, lips moving softly against yours, and you moan against his lips, the scent of his cologne intoxicating you. His arms wrap around you instinctively, collecting you like a beautiful mess, while your hands rake through his hair, tugging gently on the soft strands, relishing in the way it melts through your fingers like chocolate.  

When you break apart, and your eyes flutter open, you find two large, grey eyes gazing back, drinking you in like a dying man.

“Never,” you breathe against his lips, “I never want to be without you again…”

send me mcprompts with a side of large fries

[drades-lair]

Cage break PT 2

Author: Drade666

Rating: G

Pairings: Megstiel, Gabriel x OC

Fandom: Supernatural

Other:

Part 1

Lucifer recovered from his injuries that Michael inflicted on him while in the cage but decided not to stay considering how hostile the rest of the group seemed to be towards him. Drade bid her friend fair well but encouraged him to come back to her if Lucifer ever needed anything at all and that the others would merely need to deal with it. Shortly after Lucifer left so did Meg also not liking the way everyone stared at her now that they had pretty strong suspicions that she was seeing the nerd angel. The group spent sometime trying to recollect themselves with the Winchesters not speaking to Drade for several weeks cause she’d snuck around behind their backs to bring Lucifer back from the pit as well as Dean reading Cas the riot act several times for seeing Meg. Eventually they did get back on speaking terms mainly cause Drade didn’t really care and often indicated how the silence was a nice reprieve from the usual, so instead of giving her satisfaction they started speaking with her again and eventually forgave her. The group gathered in the research area to look up anything on the angel tablet that Cas had taken off with as they could possibly manage cause surprisingly Drade didn’t have much information to offer from her mental repertoire on this subject.

 While analyzing several older books from Drade’s library they heard the clear flapping of wings. Considering that Cas was currently MIA with the angel tablet the sound was surprising to hear causing the whole group to shoot their gazes towards it. Sam jumped up with Dean as they saw that it was Lucifer who had invaded they’re bunker.

 “What the hell are you doing here?” Dean spat but Lucifer’s gaze was severe as he snapped his head towards the older hunter, blue eyes boring into him with intense conviction.

 “I didn’t come here to see you” Lucifer growled at Dean before shifting his gaze to Drade who was currently making her way over to him. Drade under any other circumstances would have been thrilled to see Lucifer but she could sense his conviction as well as the clear air of stress around him, something was wrong.

 “Lucifer what’s wrong?” Drade asked swiftly

 “I need your help” Lucifer stated simply

 “Of course, I told you to call if you needed anything” Drade assured him

 “I have it on good authority that Meg will need our assistance please” Lucifer pleaded as his eyes softened towards the huntress.

 “Alright Lucifer, if your asking me to help her then I won’t protest but why are you wanting to help her?” Drade asked curiously

 “I know it’s strange considering my lack of love for demons but she always was very devoted, not a traitor like most. I don’t know I guess there was always just something different about her” Lucifer admitted

 “So your saying you just grew a heart or something?” Dean retorted from the seat he’d now taken.

 “Stop being such a smart ass Dean, now are you guys going to help me, help him or not?” Drade asked him sarcastically

 “How’s about or not!” Dean shouted back

 “We can handle this alone” Lucifer insisted to Drade not to keen on the idea of Dean coming along either.

 “We’ll come with you” Sam spoke up

 “Sam?” Dean suddenly asked in shock

 “Is there a chance we’ll run into Crowley?” Sam asked Lucifer, thinking fast on his feet

 “Possibly” Lucifer told him

 “Then if there’s a chance of running in to Crowley, there’s a chance to get some information on the tablets if we trap him” Sam suggested

 “Good plan except how exactly do you plan on trapping him? SOB’S smarter then he looks” Drade commented

 “We’ll think of something” Sam assured her

 “Well whatever let’s just get going before we lose our window of opportunity” Drade suggested with a nod from Lucifer.

  The warehouse was dingy that they’d followed Meg’s essence too but still no sign until the maniacal laughter of Crowley could be heard from further in. The group took off in the direction of the laughter to find Meg on her knees on the ground with Crowley’s hand firmly clutching her hair with an angel blade raised above his head.

 “And now you die! You dirty little whore!” Crowley scoffed

 “STOP! Don’t do it Crowley!” Drade shouted as she and the boys entered the room

 “What are you 3 doing her?” Crowley asked in surprise

 “Drop the blade Crowley!” Drade urged him, as she stood poised to fight with her sword in hand.

 “As you wish cupcake” Crowley taunted as he brought the blade down hard and fast into Megs shoulder. Meg screamed in agony as the blade was wrenched from her with a huge smirk crossing Crowley’s face.

 “I suggest you put the blade on the ground Crowley” Drade urged for a second time

 “Oh? And if I don’t?” Crowley asked his smug smile getting larger

 “Then you’ll pay” Drade stated simply  

 “By your hand I presume, I might like that” Crowley taunted

 “No, not mine…his” Drade said as she pointed over Crowley’s shoulder, Crowley furrowed his brow in confusion.

 “She means by my hand,” Said a rather unwelcome, smooth voice from behind Crowley making his smile fade completely and his gut churn.

 “Oh please tell me that isn’t who I think it is” Crowley said as he closed his eyes while shaking his head.

 “Luc…ifer…” Meg managed to moan out as she caught sight of the archangel

 “Bullocks!” Crowley cussed as he shifted his jaw back and forth then looked up at Drade

 “I suggest you leave while you still can” Drade suggested with a smirk now growing on her face.

 “Fine I’ll leave the demon whore at your disposal” Crowley stated as he tossed Meg in front of Drade before disappearing. Meg hit the ground with a yelp as her hand flew to her shoulder grabbing at it Drade sheathed her sword then sprinted towards Meg with Lucifer coming up on her other side at the same time. Meg groaned as Drade gently turned her over with Lucifer’s help to get her in a better position to look at the wound. Lucifer kept his arm under her shoulders while Drade pried her fingers off of the wound while she cried out in pain, gritting her teeth.

 “Take it easy Meg” Lucifer cooed as his hand cupped her cheek.

 “Try to hold still Meg” Drade encouraged while conjuring up a cloth that she quickly pressed to the wound.

 “W…why…did…you come?” Meg asked Lucifer as Drade began to wrap the belt from her jeans around her to hold the cloth in place.

 “I couldn’t let him kill my favorite now could I?” was all Lucifer said with a huge smile on his face.

 “We have to get her out of here” Drade stated as Lucifer looked up giving a nod of understanding. Lucifer slid his other arm under Meg’s knees then lifted her up while her head fell to his chest she winced as each step sent shock waves of pain through her.

 “Meet us at this address it’s one of my safe houses and call Castiel, try to get him here ASAP” Drade told the boys outside the warehouse.

 “Okay” Sam said as he got into the Impala

  Lucifer carried Meg into Drade’s safe house but cause it was one of Drade’s smaller ones she had him simply take her into the back room. Meg was mostly unconscious as Lucifer laid her on the bed, his left hand stained with the blood that was running down her arm still from the shoulder wound. Lucifer stayed with Meg while Drade went to get some items from a different room in the safe house, when she returned Drade placed the items on the empty dresser top across from the foot of the bed. Drade opened a drawer on the dresser to pull out several towels before shutting it again then making her way over to Meg’s side where she gently eased her onto her uninjured side as she began to removed the make shift bandage from her. Meg jumped slightly when Drade finally managed to remove the balled up cloth completely allowing the air to hit it directly making the bleeding start up again. Drade pressed a towel to the wound then began to clean around it before lifting the towel to see if she could determine just how bad it was, Drade determined the wound was deep, very deep and the angel blade had nicked the bone on the way down by the feel of it.

 Lucifer leaned against the far wall as he watched Drade with intense trust and somewhat curiosity. Drade knew now that this was going to get messy so she swiftly grabbed a sheet from the same dresser she’d gotten the towels from then placed it on the bed still folded as she maneuvered Meg out of her blood drenched shirt then took off her shoes as well to make her a little more comfortable before draping the sheet over her body, up underneath her arm. Drade laid a towel across her neck then picked up a larger syringe that she had on the nightstand filling it with water she then began to flush the wound track making Meg scream as the intense pain hit her hard. Drade held Meg down as she finished cleansing the injury, she panted heavily as sweat mingled with tears that had begun to stream down her face while small whimpers escaped her. Drade began to stitch the wound then sterilized it making her wince again with a small cry but her voice was too hoarse to manage anything louder as Drade grabbed a saline bag and a blood bag filled with her blood to help with the healing process Lucifer finally made his way over to Meg’s bedside. Lucifer tilted his head slightly as he pushed some of Meg’s hair away from her face then stroked her cheek delicately with his thumb, wiping the tears from her cheek as he did so. Drade connected both IV’s to the same arm but she placed one in her hand and the other in her forearm before bandaging the wound properly then cleaning up as Lucifer remained by her side.

 Just as Drade finished treating Meg the flap of wings was heard as Cas finally appeared in the safe house.

 “Where is she?” Cas asked with clear panic in his voice

 “Relax Cas she’s in there” Drade said as she pointed into the room she’d just exited. Cas strode swiftly into the room, sucking in a sharp breath when he saw Meg lying on the bed, having been moved back on to her back by Lucifer.

 “Meg” Cas breathed out as his expression turned to complete concern. Lucifer backed up as Cas walked over to her side his eyes searching her body for anything that might indicate her waking up. Cas bit his lower lip as his eyes scanned her face, her red lips parting ever so slightly as she breathed in a ragged breath with sweat rolling down her forehead. Cas took the cloth beside him on the nightstand to wipe away the sweat on Meg’s brow then patted it gently down her cheeks before putting it back as he leaned forward to place a chaste kiss to her forehead then tangled his fingers with hers. Lucifer smiled happily before leaving them alone to join Drade in the kitchen area where she was swigging a beer while leaning against the counter top.

 “Guess the boys aren’t going to show” Lucifer stated as he sat down on one of the bar stools on the opposite side of the island.

 “Nope but then again I never really expected them too after all their still pissed at me for letting you out of the pit” Drade explained as she took another swig of beer

 “Do you regret the decision?” Lucifer asked

 “No, I don’t! Screw them, if I had a choice I’d do it again” Drade stated firmly

 “Thank you” Lucifer said after Drade finished

 “I promised you that I’d get you out and I meant it” Drade told him sincerely as Lucifer smiled.

  Cas remained vigilant over Meg for days while Drade tended to her injury but thankfully her blood was doing the trick. Cas was watching over Meg one day when she began to stir with a moan as she opened her eyes groggily to look up at Castiel. As the haze lifted from her brown eyes Meg could see the angel come in to focus causing a slight smile to cross her face.

 “Well hello Clarence” Meg greeted him hoarsely

 “Your awake” Cas stated with excitement in his voice

 “Gold star feather boy” Meg joked but swiftly she winced as a wave of pain shot through her causing her hand to tighten around Cas’. Cas felt helpless as she trembled from the pain that coursed through her body, his hand holding firmly onto hers as he stroked the other through her hair soothingly.

 “I…I…don’t want…to sound…like such a wimp but…this really does…hurt” Meg stammered as tears began to streak her face. Cas’ heart broke as he watched her suffer with nothing he could do but lean in closer till he was sitting on the edge of the bed with her in his arms. Meg leaned against his chest with her hands balled in his trench coat while tears ran down her face as he wrapped his arms gently around her, rubbing soothingly on her back with his chin on the top of her head.

 “It really…hurts Cas” Meg sobbed out

 “I know, hush” Cas encouraged her as he kissed the top of her head then lingered there.

 A couple days later when Meg was a little better she was sitting in the bed reading a book while Cas had left for the first time to talk with the boys and Drade was restocking her supplies. Meg looked up from her book and nearly jumped right out of her meat suit when she saw Lucifer leaning against the doorframe to her room with his arms crossed looking at her. A look of aw crossed Meg’s face as she set her book beside her on the bed then began to move in order to greet him more appropriately but pain stopped her. Lucifer had made his way over to her with out her even noticing cause suddenly she felt a firm hand on her uninjured shoulder, pressing lightly as she gripped her other shoulder. Meg looked up at Lucifer with pain filled eyes as he smiled warmly down at her then eased her back against the pillow, encouraging her to rest.

 “I’m sorry father” Meg said as she averted her gaze to the side

 “Don’t be ridiculous my child, there is nothing to apologize for” Lucifer reassured her as he grabbed her chin gently to tug it towards him.

 “But I’m weak and unworthy” Meg whispered still not meeting his gaze

 “Not at all child, your more worthy then any of the others” Lucifer told her

 “Really?” Meg asked as she finally locked eyes with Lucifer

 “Yes, why else do you think I saved you and called you my favorite” Lucifer stated as he placed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Lucifer smiled at her then released her chin before leaving just as Cas arrived, passing him in the doorway.

 “How are you feeling?” Cas asked Meg who smiled at him

 “I think I’m just fine” Meg told Cas happily