#was this a wr prompt

[intolerable-sushi]

this is apply for the prompts of single mom beta and pregnant beta with an alpha and a omega

Betas not have the instict or needy of nesting than omegas and when they are pregnant say they not need it despite how tired and aching is pregnancy for them

So once their omegas enter in the protective mode they make little nests as a surprise for they respectives betas

I think instead of outright nesting betas would want to find a hiding space to feel safe. If the abuse of betas has been happening for 100s of years than betas would gain the instinct/trauma to hide away during their pregnancies.

So while the omegas are trying to get the betas to nest in the nest they made for them, the omegas are also trying to combat the beta's instinct to hide in the closet or in the car. They would probably compromise by buying some kind of tent or curtain to put over the bed so the beta feels safer and can be in the nest where the omega can take care of her.

[hockeyprompts]

Start of Season Prompts

Player A's excited to be back, but Player B seems to have some reservations about it.

Player A finally moves in with Player B.

Player A and B argue about the status of their relationship.

Player A plans a romantic evening for Player B before the season starts, but doesn't realize Player B also has something planned.

Player A and Player B both feel they're to blame about the first loss of the season.

Player B suddenly can't get it up. Player A thinks it has something to do with them.

Player A and Player B can't stop making eyes at each other. Team gets suspicious.

Player B treats Player A after a win (sex, food, etc.)

Player A wants to do matching Halloween costumes, Player B disagrees.

Player A comforts Player B after a loss.

Player A punishes Player B after a loss.

Player B was traded over the offseason; after the first game, Player A receives a call.

Player A and Player B are angry at each other. The team takes it into their own hands to resolve it.

They start a new pregame tradition.

Player B reads something he shouldn't have. Player A has to deal with the aftermath.

Player A gets caught wearing Player B's sweatshirt during a postgame interview.

Player A fucks Player B in the team showers.

Team gangbang (either victory or defeat)

Winner's Room: Victor comforts the loser.

Winner's Room: Victor does whatever he wants to the loser (could result in injury, etc.)

Player A falls asleep on Player B on the team plane.

Player A defends Player B during a presser.

Player A and Player B play on opposite teams; their romance is found out.

Player A says something he shouldn't have about Player B.

Player A feels insecure about his relationship or place on the team. Player B makes sure that they'll never question it again.

Player A doesn't speak English, not realizing Player B has been flirting with him the entire time until Player B kisses him.

Misread cues from both Player A and B--one thinks they're interested, the other absolutely isn't.

Player A gets violently sick and tries to play the home opener. Player B forces them to sit it out.

Player B is extremely agitated before the first game. Player A decides to fuck it out of him.

Player B gets the C. Player A decides to congratulate them.

[heartspin2023]

Dialog from a story I'm writing. I changed the name to Sam for this practice.

"I don't know Sam well enough to be aware of any redeeming qualities-"

"EXACTLY! If only you would-"

"BUT! I have also learned that, anything good so buried by things that are harmful and bad, is not worth suffering for."

" You don't understand! Sam has a lot of trauma and is struggling to be a better person! I can 'help' with that!"

" Everyone is struggling- it is apart of living! We all have demons. It is our choice if we become one of them or not."

"Thats unfair-You're being too judgemental and harsh."

"No. I am being honest. We chose what we put in this world, and if that choice is to become someone else's truama, then I will not support you. No matter the reason- there is no excuse for cruelty."

"People like you are the reason people like Sam never change."

"No. Sam is the reason Sam never changes. I just refuse to allow the behavior or to be hurt with excuses of dark pasts."

"You know nothing! Nothing of trying to be good when everyone juat sees the bad! When you have such kindness but don't understand expressing or receiving it because that was never allowed! You know nothing of Sam!"

"I know everything!!! I used to be a Sam- too. But I made my choice. All I can do, is never repeat the wrongs I have done and accept the judgement people give me. The friendships lost, people hurt. There is no excusing my actions. Nor Sams. The world, nor you, should make excuses so that past victims are obsolved from their creation of future sufferers."

[windfavored-wanderer]

love scrolling through the yandere prompts tag to find 2 yandere prompts and 83 improperly tagged fics and headcanons

[the-lady-in-progress]

I actually couldn’t stop thinking about this and had to scroll back for it. I think I could really get into a short story with this prompt. It’s giving somewhere between The Boys and Dungeons and Dragons. Also why is this giving Megamind…? I’ll need to revisit this. I’m too intrigued to just let it walk away forever.

You trained for years to become a high ranking cleric just to find out that adventurers don’t value you as anything other than a cheaper healing potion. Your anger leads you to joining the villain to show them just how terrifying Holy magic can be.

[decomplex]

@brinaspells : no wonder you have nightmares.

the room feels smaller with sabrina in it. like the walls are closing in — not physically, but in the way where you feel something you can't see, heavy and suffocating. jackie exhales sharply through her nose, arms crossing tightly across her chest like they might hold her together. "you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" her voice wobbles, but she doesn't allow it to crack, holding onto the sharpness like a shield. there's an attempt made to look at the other, but something about her makes jackie's skin crawl — like staring too long might draw her in.

instead, her gaze falls to the ground.

jackie doesn't like thinking about the woods. about how it felt to wake up alone in the snow, her muscles stiff and the air so still it felt like the earth had stopped spinning overnight. she doesn't like thinking about how the way their faces looked around the fire, shadows with sharp edges. it's easier not to think about it at all, easier to pretend she doesn't remember. (that all they simply did was watch as their friends died and prayed for nineteen months.) but sabrina's here now, and that's the thing — jackie knows she isn't normal, not in the way most people are. she's not sure how she knows; it's just a feeling. like the way the frigid cold used to sink into her bones out in wilderness. it didn't require an explaination, one just knew.

"i know why i have nightmares. we were in a plane crash for christ's sake, but we're still here. so don't — don't act like i'm some victim or whatever. i survived. and you—" her breath catches in her throat, the next part feeling as if she's pulling something sharp out of her chest. "—you were part of it, weren't you? out there. lottie told us and i didn't want to believe her..." jackie trails off, biting the inside of her cheek so hard she tastes blood. the words feel too big, absolutely too final. she can't say them. if she does, it means they're real — it means there was something out there watching them. (it means, that something was sabrina.)

[lilwritingprompts]

The world's safety rests in the hands of five magical cats.

[chaosgremlinlivinginyourwalls]

"I- what the hell dude?? Okay then, uh, the first day we met I threatened you and then we became best friends." Akaia was very confused as to what their friend was talking about, but she listened. "Wanna tell what this is about now?"

"Demons." Their friend, Wylie, responded, much too quick for their liking.

"Quick—tell me something true. I need to know you can."

[hisui-dreamer]

his cleaner shrimp

Pairing: Floyd Leech x gn!reader

Synopsis: you had only meant to help him once, but he attached himself to you straight away

Tags: fluff, comfort, humour(?), Floyd calls you shrimpy, mentions of blood, Floyd and Jade fought, bot proofread

Word count: 1.5k+

Notes: more floyd fluff! this fic was originally angst can u believe it anyways i was inspired to do a classic shoujo manga scene hehe

Masterlist

'I did nothin' wrong!' Floyd thought to himself.

In the shadowed back alley, Floyd sat curled up against the wall, his emotions roiling like a stormy sea after a heated confrontation with Jade. Anger still boiled within him, but the sting of his injuries dampened his spirit.

His left cheek was swollen and discolored, a vivid shade of purple and blue, with a raw, angry red spot where Jade's knuckles had landed with force. A small cut near his eyebrow oozed blood, giving his face a gritty and battle-worn appearance. His knuckles were bruised and bloodied as well, the skin was broken in places from the forceful punches he had thrown.

He nursed his wounded pride, nursing his bruised ego, and found solace in the alleyway alone, away from prying eyes. If anyone had dared to even look at him funny, they would be met with a fierce glare from his mismatched eyes, as if daring them to challenge him to a second fight.

But it seemed his glare wasn't intimidating enough, as your shadow started approaching him, prompting him to look up from the floor. You were a small thing in Floyd's eyes, not the best target for a fight, and definitely easy to throw around.

'Pshh... Just small fry...' he thought as he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Uhh, hey there," you said hesitantly, holding out a plastic bag Floyd could only assume contained first aid supplies from the red symbols. "I couldn't help but notice you're hurt. Your injuries might get infected if you leave them untreated."

Floyd's initial gruffness wavered slightly as he glanced at you, surprised by your concern. But he didn't want anyone's pity or help, especially not from a stranger. "I don't need any help from small fry like you," he retorted, trying to sound tough and dismissive. "I'm not that weak."

Still, you continued taking steps closer, kneeling down next to him to stare directly into his eyes. "Even strong people can get infections, you know," you said, a wry smile playing on your lips. "It'll hurt more then, so it's better to have it treated now."

Floyd hesitated, torn between his pride and the growing realization that he did need help. Perhaps it was the adrenaline passing, but he could feel his bloodied hand throbbing in sharp pain. He cast a hesitant glance in your direction, taking in the softness and understanding in your face. In that moment, he decided to let his guard down, just for a little bit.

"Fine, whatever," he mumbled, begrudgingly extending his injured hand toward you.

Your touch was gentle and sure, and as you cleaned the wounds and applied antiseptic, you made sure to warn him of the incoming sting, though he seemed unaffected by it all. Despite his efforts to stay aloof, Floyd found himself feeling strangely comforted by your presence. As you continued to patch him up, he felt a warmth spreading through his body, a soft and fuzzy feeling that he couldn't explain. He wondered if that was the infection you had warned him about, but it didn't feel bad or painful; instead, it felt like a balm for his tired soul.

With your curiosity getting the better of you, you couldn't help but ask about the cause of the fight.

"So, what happened?"

Floyd looked at you, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, he hesitated. However, the trust he had found in your compassion made him open up.

"Shrimpy's curious, huh..." he replied with a small smile. "Okay, I'll tell ya, but only cuz you're Shrimpy."

You blinked at the peculiar nickname, amused and intrigued. "Shrimpy? Is that... me?"

He nodded happily, a hint of mischief in his eyes. You couldn't help but smile wryly at the odd choice of nickname.

"I had a fight with my brother," Floyd finally admitted, his smile fading into a pout.

"It's Jade's fault!" he yelled, his frustration evident in his voice. "He kept using those weird ingredients in his cooking, even though I hate 'em! I kept tellin' him, but he didn't even listen."

He paused, his voice turning quieter as he continued, "So I broke one of his terrariums to make him stop, but he got really angry..."

You listened attentively, humming as you carefully cleaned the wound on his face. "And so you two fought... I understand how that could be frustrating," you said softly. "You know, cooking takes a lot of time and effort... I'm sure your brother just wanted you to enjoy it like he does."

Floyd glanced at you, his mismatched eyes reflecting a mixture of emotions. He couldn't ignore the gut feeling that maybe you were right.

"Yeah, maybe he did," he conceded, a hint of contemplation in his voice. "But it's still annoying he doesn't listen to me."

You nodded, understanding his frustrations. "Of course, it's not nice that Jade disregarded your feelings," you replied gently. "But you should respect his feelings too. Breaking his terrarium wasn't the right way to handle it."

Your words struck a chord with Floyd, and he felt a pang of remorse for his impulsive actions. He knew better than anyone else how much time and effort Jade devoted to caring for his cherished terrariums, often staying up late into the night to tend to them.

"Aww man... Shrimpy's right," he muttered, feeling the weight of his mistake. "Jeez, what do I do now?"

You offered a reassuring smile, glad that his anger had dissipated. "It's never too late to make things right. The best place to start is always an apology," you suggested. "There, all done," you murmured as you finished placing an island dressing bandage on his face, a smile forming on your face at the job well done.

Floyd, meanwhile, stared at you in a daze, your close proximity allowing him to notice all the little details on your face. He felt his cheeks warm as a gentle affection slowly bubbled inside him. Your genuine care and gentle touch had triggered something deep within him, and he found himself feeling drawn to your presence.

"Floyd!" a familiar voice broke him out of his daze. "There you are!"

Jade stood at the front of the alley, slightly panting as if he had been rushing around. You nudged Floyd gently, having recognized that the man must be his brother, and gave him a reassuring nod.

Floyd glanced at his brother, momentarily torn between his pride and guilt. But he took a deep breath and stepped forward, his voice steady as he said, "Jade, sorry... I shouldn't have broken your terrarium, and it was wrong..." He confessed. "But I don't want to eat any of those weird things again!" he exclaimed with a pout.

Jade's initial surprise gave way to a soft smile, appreciating Floyd's rare willingness to apologize and make amends.

"I understand, Floyd," Jade replied, his tone more understanding now. "And I apologise as well. I should have listened to you and respected your preferences."

Floyd's pout softened as he realized that his brother was willing to meet him halfway. "Really?" he asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

Jade nodded. "Yes, really. Though I do not wish to, I will stop using mushrooms for your meals."

"Wait..." you blurted, turning to look at Floyd. "This whole time, the weird ingredients you've been talking about are mushrooms?"

At he nodded furiously, your incredulous expression only intensified. "But mushrooms are so delicious! Why would you hate them?"

Before Floyd could even start to complain, Jade approached you and clasped both of you hands, his eyes alit with surprise and excitement. "I'm delighted to meet a fellow mushroom lover! Would you like to join me on a mushroom foraging trip in the mountains?"

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden turn of events. As you tried to muster up a response, a pair of strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you backward to meet his sturdy chest. It was Floyd, and you could feel his warmth and presence enveloping you, his chin resting on top of your head, his hair tickling your forehead.

"No way! Go get your own Shrimpy! This one's mine!" Floyd exclaimed, his arms tightening around you possessively to prove his point.

Jade's lips spread into a wide smile, his sharp teeth showing playfully. "Now now, Floyd, I do believe you've broken a precious terrarium of mine," he hummed as he tapped his chin thoughtfully. "It's only fair that you give me something for reparations."

"Nuh-uh! As if I'd let you steal my Shrimpy!" Floyd said. In a fluid motion, he picked you up and started running off with you, while you scrambled to hold on tight to him.

You couldn't help but squeal as the unexpected playfulness unfolded. "W-wait! Floyd! Put me down!"

"Nope! You're my cleaner Shrimpy now! I'm not lettin' you go!" Floyd declared, his voice lighthearted and full of joy.

Maybe you should have been more concerned by his words, but you found yourself so captivated by his joyful and innocent laugh, that you couldn't help but burst into a fit of giggles with him.

Masterlist

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[after-witch]

Horrorfest: The Killer Always Comes Back For One Last Scare [Yandere Haruta Shigemo x Reader]

Title: The Killer Always Comes Back for One Last Scare [Haruta Shigemo x Reader]

Synopsis: You're the last one alive--or so you think.

Horrorfest prompt: When I saw you post wanting to write a Mean Thing for Haruta JJK, my mind immediately jumped to now requesting "reader-chan thinking they killed him and got away, but surprise! His luck technique" in the way slasher films trick you

Word count: 2010

Notes: yandere, reader is female, descriptions of death, gore, groping, sexism, Haruta being Haruta

The blood–oh, the blood. You’ll never get the blood out of your clothes. They’ll have to be burned.

No–they’d be burned no matter what. Because even if the soaked-in red could be removed and laundered and done away with, you would always see it. You would always smell it. You would always feel it, warm at first and now dry and tacky, damp against your skin. 

Most of it wasn’t even yours, after all.

It was theirs–your colleagues–your friends–

Nao, her body sprawled face-down, neck sporting a boot print; blood soaked through the stab wounds through her chest, her back and the highest part of her thigh. The last was close to her backside, and the killer had laughed about it. “I almost got her cute little ass!”

Kei, killed the simplest. Killed first. Stabbed through the gut. “I’d rather play with you girls alone,” the killer said. He wasn’t lying. Because Shika–

Shika, flat on her back, eyes wide in horror. Her face was a canvas of pain, stab wounds on her cheeks, one of them flayed and flapped open, hanging down her jaw. Her hands–what was left of them, they were stubs of missing fingers now, defense wounds–were splayed upwards. In desperation, in prayer. In growing rigor mortis. 

A glance around you only makes you want to tear at your hair, your skin, to collapse on the ground and die alongside them. Hell, with your blood loss, that might still be an option.

Fuck–This was supposed to be a simple mission. An easy one. The plan was to meet for dinner and drinks afterward. Nao would get too drunk on cocktails and Kei would ask her out again and Shika would slap him and you would laugh and laugh and–it’ll never happen now. Not ever again.

You are the only one left alive. And it’s not fair, really. It’s not right.

Your colleagues–your friends, after years of working together–weren’t any stronger than you. They weren’t any weaker, either. You were the reconnaissance team. Trained in basic combat so you might hold your own until actual help arrives, but your techniques were defensive, strategic. 

It was always the next wave of sorcerers who were meant to do the real fighting, while your team got the information, relayed it to just the right people, then got the fuck out of there. And today? Today, you did get the information, and you did relay it to just the right people. 

But just as you were planning to make your swift and necessary exit, everything went to shit. The single curse user that you were meant to be tailing (a weaker man, you’d noted; his sword held his hand for him, of all things) turned out to be two. And the second had a technique that hid him from your sight until just the right moment, unleashing a barrier that kept you contained–an ambush. 

The second curse user didn’t even bother coming inside, and there was a brief sense of relief that rippled through your team. You could deal with one low level curse user. This other man, blonde and thin and wearing a stupid outfit and a stupider grin, could surely be fended off until help arrived.

Or so you thought.

He’d grinned widely before counting the lot of you with his sword in hand–

“One, two, three… four.” 

His gaze lingered on Nao, on Shika. And then on you. Longer than the others? Maybe. It was hard to tell, then and especially now, with the adrenaline. And the blood loss.

Speaking of–

You grunt and rip off a piece of your tattered suit, then another, and another. You’ll have to wrap your wounds yourself, now that you’re–now that you’re alone. Help will arrive soon, and since the curse user is finally dead, and the barrier is gone (perhaps his second simply gave up, when he died?) all you have to do is survive until someone comes to help you.

Which should be any minute now, surely.

They will come before you finish wrapping your wounds, even; there’s a hope you cling to, while you carefully gauge which of your injuries is most at risk for killing you. Probably the stab wound in your side. It went in deep. It hurt–it still hurts–and blood is still seeping out. There’s a strange sort of pain with this wound. Something that almost tingles. Perhaps he hit an organ. Or an artery. Or both. 

The cuts on your arms and legs, no, that’s superficial. Meaningless. You don’t bother with them, instead going for the deeper wound, wrapping it with as many pieces as you can. Blood seeps through, despite the efforts. But that's all you can do. 

A pained sigh, more of a whine, escapes your lips as you lean against the old fountain in the center of the square. On the off chance that the second curse user came back, sitting here was an awful idea. But you were tired. You were dying. And sitting here gave you the best chance at rescue.

It also gave you the best sight of the curses that had seeped their way out of your body, that of your friends as they died. They were nothing much. Bitter, scared things. Whining and whimpering, much like you were doing; much like the rest of them did as they died.

But it would be over soon. You could go home. Call your parents and tell them you love them, consider how to pick up the pieces, and maybe in time you–

“You’re still here! I’m so happy!”

The warmth of slowly bleeding out is cut through with ice that runs up and down your weary limbs, stopping at your chest to make sure your heart begins to race so hard that the pain of it has you leaping to your aching feet.

“You…” The words come out of your lips without energy. It’s impossible. You’re dreaming. No: you’re dead. That must be it. Dead and this is what you hallucinate as your brain fires off all those lovely synapses. 

But it’s not a dream, and you’re dead. Not yet.

The curse user is standing in front of you, looking almost cheerful. His sword is back in his hand–back to holding his hand–and the wound that should have killed him, the ragged slicing of his neck that you managed with a broken pane of glass, is healed up. The only sign of it are dried rivulets of blood covering his neck and chest.

He glances down at it, following your gaze.

“Weird, huh? I’m just really lucky, you know!” When he looks back up, his eyes are wild. But not with anger, as you might expect. No–his eyes shimmer with glee.

There’s only one thing your brain can think to say to him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

His eyes widen. His lips get thin. He seems to be thinking seriously, perhaps for the first time in his whole damn life. And then, his face begins to shake–a little at first. His lips twitch into a smile. Then he throws back his head and laughs. Loud, giddy. It hurts your ears and you long to cover them up.

“I like to have fun,” he says, taking a step closer. 

Your eyes dart here and there, but where is there to run? You’re exhausted. Bleeding profusely. You wouldn’t make it around the corner.

When your pathetic gaze makes it back to him, he grins wider.

“And I really like weak things. You’re a weak thing, aren’t you?” He licks his lips as his eyes travel up and down your weakened, bleeding body. “All women are.”

There’s a retort somewhere in you; some indignity that might flare up and have you glaring, spitting at him, all defiance and swollen anger. But that retort has been stabbed out of you, chased out of you as your legs twisted and turned within the barrier. 

The retort is blubbering in the blood seeping out from underneath your torn suit bandages. 

“Aw,” he coos. “See? You can’t even speak.” He makes an awful noise, a gleeful little moan. “I want to hear you scream again, though.” His gaze flicks at Nao and Shika. “They made wonderful noises as they died. So pitiful.” His voice cracks at the last word, like a boy in puberty. 

At this, your body does finally try to run away. It has to; you can’t just stand here and die, no matter how tired you are. So your gaze hovers to the left before your bled-out mind decides it’s the best direction to go, carrying your weakened, jelly-like legs a few steps. 

A stupid thing to do, but since when were primal instincts always smart? 

“Oh!” He croons, just in time for your knees to buckle, for your body to hit the pavement hard. 

His footsteps sound too loud against the ground as he approaches you. You’re about to die. He’ll either kill you quick or slow but either way, you’re dead. 

Well, you think. At least I won’t have to live with survivor’s guilt. But mom-dad-sis-friends-neighbors-my-dog–growing-up-on-a-quiet-street-the-time-I-fell-down-at-the-playground-my-first-kiss-and–

All bittersweetness, all those momentary flashes of your life before your dying eyes are replaced with blinding hot pain searing through your ass. His sword–

“Bull’s-eye!” The laughter from behind you is too giddy for the blood-stained scenery. “Ah, should I try your tits next? Women always squeal when I…”

Whatever he says next is lost when the world gets topsy-turvy. The pain in your side and ass and body sears hot as you’re turned around by the curse user. You’re too weak and he’s not exactly strong–if only the second team had gotten here–but he’s strong enough to manhandle you, to hold you up by your wrists and fling you back to the ground so that you land on your back.

He straddles you, pressing his knees into your open wound. You scream–it must be you screaming, everyone else is dead–and he rolls his eyes backward lewdly. 

You hear the sword clatter to the ground and there’s almost relief in you, before you feel his hands roughly groping your breasts. It hurts. Not because he’s particularly rough, though it’s entirely possible; but because your entire body hurts. 

And maybe because, despite the knowledge of your imminent death and the gaping wounds on your body, you can still feel shame. 

“These are so cute,” he murmurs, voice half-laughing. “I wonder if I could cut them clean off.” His eyes glance towards his sword just as you whimper.

A pitiful sound. A small sound. A sound that attracts this vulture-like predator as readily as any mouse in the desert.

He leans forward, cooing softly. “You don’t want that?” 

You shouldn’t. It wouldn’t matter. It’s not going to change anything. But you can’t help it; fear of even more pain wins out.

“Please don’t,” you croak. “Please.”

The sigh that escapes his lips is practically sinful. 

And then–worse than death–you can see an awful thought blossom behind his eyes.

 “You know, I’ve been thinking–” He leans in close, breath hot and stale on your face. Spittle flies onto your cheek. “Since you’re so weak��� and since you’re really the prettiest one… I might just keep you alive…”  

His tongue sneaks out like a worm and licks a trail up your cheek, catching tears and blood in one go. Your body jerks all too feebly, a blow to your dignity and primal desire to get the fuck away from him. 

You don’t want to die. But do you want to live, when this is the alternative?

He doesn’t care to find out your answer; instead, he licks another trail down your face, dragging blood–some yours, some not–into your mouth. You sputter, and he bites your bottom lip when you try to jerk your head away.

You whimper again–soft, pitiful, trapped. 

He only grins, and you can hear the sharp slice of the sword dragging against the pavement as it finds its way back into his hands. 

“It’s like you were made for me, right? Poor thing.” 

[kairiscorner]

hihiii pookie :DD!!

tw// mentions of depression

i'm wondering if you could maybe write a comfort fic about miles 42 with a reader who hates asking for help even when theyre clearly suffering in silence because they were taught to just 'suck it up' and deal with it alone as a kid?

you dont have to write this if you dont feel comfortable with it <33

Thank you pooks :33!!

hi pooks @jrrantss <:DD oh man, okay so i was kind of that kid back then too (though i was a big crybaby) it's like the adults around me didn't fully comprehend why i was feeling the way i was, so in response to that, they basically condemned crying at home or in front of them. i'm sorry if you went through something similar or, hopefully not, something worse ;-; i hope this provides you some comfort, and in a way, might also let you know you aren't the only one going through stuff like this. i'm here for you pookie, all the time <:)

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

you can be honest with me. – miles 42 x reader (angst + comfort)

nothing went your way this week, hell, you couldn't even remember a week in your life when anything felt right, when you didn't feel that you were holding yourself back from letting go of everything that felt wrong, awful, and just... painful. you were too good at keeping secrets, too good at lying about how you really felt; and that was something you hated about yourself, how you found lying as your first nature, not your second. you lied to people when they'd ask you if you were doing okay, if your day was going alright–you always gave them the answers they want to hear, that you were fine, that nothing was wrong.

but when everything just comes crumbling down, and the cracks in your facade begin to show and become more obvious... you get more and more defensive, more and more angry, more and more... scared and worried about these feelings that are hurling themselves at you so quickly that you can't even begin to understand why they're affecting you so badly–why people can see the bare you now if you just turn your face to look at them or open your mouth to speak; and your boyfriend was the first person to see you this way, vulnerable, yet trying all you can to avoid that vulnerability while you're crumbling down.

"hey," miles calls out to you in a soft voice as he sees your back turned to him as you kept working on your assignments, hunched over at your desk with your brows furrowed together and your lips curved into a scowl. you had been avoiding him for a few days now–at least he thinks you might be avoiding him–and have acted very distant, very... out of it recently. you didn't turn your head around to face him, which prompted him to continue talking, hopefully so you could find a reason to face him and his worried eyes. "you've, um... you've been busy lately." "uh-huh." you hummed as you tapped the end of your pencil against your desk impatiently, racking your brain for the answer to the questions written down that all seemed to blur together as the shittiness of the previous days just irritated you even more, and the worst part was... you couldn't hide the fact you can't mask ot anymore.

miles' face contorted as he got more and more worried about you, not knowing why you were acting starkly different than the usual you, or the only you he was familiar with. he extended his hand out to you as he walked over, looking at your cluttered up papers on your desk and the smudged up marks on the paper from your erasures. "...is something wr–" "everything's fine, i'm fine, i'm just peachy!" "you don't sound very convincing." he said, his voice returning to his nonchalant, cool tone as he took a small glimpse at your face before you turned away from his field of vision.

he sat in the chair next to you and wrapped his arm around you in an effort to comfort you. "cielo, sonething's up with you. are you... are you sure you don't wanna let me help?" he asked you with a soft voice, hoping he didn't overstep any boundaries as you slowly turned your head to show him a bit of your face. there were tears in your eyes, though you didn't dare let miles see them fall down your face; there was a sob stuck in your throat, but you didn't dare let miles hear it escape your lips. you had been there before, being severely troubled for more things than just homework–but never had you been advised to do anything than the age old phrases you've heard all your life as a kid: 'get over it.'

you took in a deep breath and tried to tell him what those words you've exhausted yourself from saying all the damn time–that you don't need any help, that you've got this, that you're okay... but your body's betraying you right now. it's betraying you for turning your back on your own feelings, but that... was never your fault, never. as you let out the breath you've been holding in, the hot tears came streaking down the ends of your eyes, your scowl morphing into a sad frown as you felt yourself slowly come undone and all the raging thoughts in your mind boiled down into one thought right then and there: 'fuck no, i am far from okay'.

you had one tear come down, then two, then... a whole waterfall of tears came pouring down your eyes as you finally released that sob you had been desperately keeping in. you had released it out into the air as it mingled with miles' shushing and gentle whispers as he held you while you leaned against him, wailing as you tried telling him how nothing had been right lately. you choked out in broken cries how you desperately wanted a way out of everything horrible that's been happening but you didn't want anyone else to be bothered by your 'stupid, insignificant problems'.

"i just... want to be okay... but i can't even pretend to be okay for at least one damn day." "please, stop pretending, mi vida. it's hurting me how you... how you think it's strength to rake up everything by yourself... when you clearly need help." miles said with a cracked voice as he felt himself choke up at your melancholic state. you cried even more out of guilt that you saddened miles, but he kissed your forehead, cheek–your whole face as he murmured words of reassurance, of love, to you to calm you down and comfort you. "you're not alone, not anymore... i don't care if some idiots in your life want you to deal with alone, never to bother them–you're never a bother to me, got that?" he mutters to you as he holds you close, letting you sob into his shoulder, your sobs getting louder and louder all the while. he shushes you and rubs your back gently, kissing your wet cheeks as he keeps reminding you that no matter what you're going through, what problems you're having, he's always going to be there for you–be the help you'll need, one way or another.

"please, don't be scared, mi vida... you can be honest with me. i promised to love you with all my heart, protect you, and... always be the help you'll need."

he whispered to you as he looked into your eyes and gently wiped your tears away and leaned his forehead against yours, hoping you would be more lenient, more understanding towards yourself and your own needs; and that you wouldn't hesitate to ask him for help. because even if you don't ask him to, he'll be there to help you, be there to guide you, be there to comfort you the best he can. because he loves you, and knows you deserve more than what you think you deserve, that you deserve... the best of the best, and nothing less.

tags !! @ii01vq @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @k4tsu3 @solecitoszn @toneystank-3000 @fiannee @popeheywardssecretgf @lovefrominaya @onginlove @meowmoraless @q2ie @zalayni @anikaluv @conitagray

[thefreakandthehair]

mistletoe.

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompts: mistletoe | wc: 999 | rating: teen & up | tags: alternate universe- no upside down, alternate universe- flower shop au, eddie pov, eddie munson has a crush on steve harrington, confident!steve harrington, fluff, getting together, first kiss, background buckingham mention

It’s chaos. 

Clippings, and rogue petals, and ribbons that still need to be tied into bows as far as the eye can see. Long tables lined with crinkling plastic to protect the aged wood take up the center of the room, and somewhere off in the distance, Eddie can hear Chrissy on the phone with what sounds like a disgruntled, last-minute customer. 

“... Sir, it’s December. Most of our poinsettias have been reserved for weeks. We have two left that we can give you. You can have them, or you can—”

Eddie’s sure Chrissy’s about to kindly tell the phone stranger to go fuck himself and he couldn’t be prouder of how far she’s come, really, but he loses the thread on the conversation when Steve bustles in from the back.

“How many carnations does one middle school Winter Wonderland dance need, anyways? Are there even this many kids in the town?” In his warm, forest green jacket and black beanie with wind-flushed cheeks and rosy nose, Steve exhales and sets the box of carnations down on the counter. 

“Enough to pay the rent this month with carnations alone, apparently,” Eddie jokes, tapping Steve’s jean-clad shin with the toe of his boot. “We’ll be here all night doing these ribbons, won’t we?”

He tries to make it sound like a chore, like something he hasn’t been looking forward to since Chrissy told them she had a date and couldn’t stay. Any amount of alone time with Steve is welcome, even if it means tying tiny bows on small carnations and pricking his finger a hundred times with the stupid little pins. 

“Probably, yeah,” Steve shrugs with a smile. “It’s not so bad though, right?” 

“Not at all.” Eddie bites the inside of his cheek to keep from beaming. 

When Chrissy wraps up her part— invoices, confirmations, and all of the paperwork shit that Eddie and Steve are better off leaving to Chrissy— she practically skips out of the office with a wave and a smirk. 

“You do know that if she and Robin hit it off, this is gonna be a regular thing, right?” Eddie jokes, hoisting himself up to sit on one of the tables and grabbing a ribbon to wrap around another flower. 

“Robin hasn’t stopped talking about Chrissy for months. This is going to be our life, Ed. Mark my words.” Steve laughs with Eddie’s favorite crooked smile, the one that only ever seems to be targeted at him. 

He tries not to let Steve’s phrasing dig its claws too deep into his lovestruck brain, but our life wiggles its way in regardless. 

Eddie looks around and takes in all of the fine details— a half-eaten bag of plain chips, two cans of coke, carnations and ribbons strewn about in somewhat orderly piles. Chrissy left the radio on when she left, the station alternating between the top hits and classic holiday songs, and Steve bobs his head to Wham!’s Last Christmas. 

This could be their life; not just the tumultuous riptide of highs and lows, but all of the mundane minutiae in between. 

Eddie and Steve. 

EddieandSteve. 

“You okay? Stab your thumb again?” Steve asks, tearing Eddie from his reverie. 

“Yes, and actually, yes,” Eddie laughs, breathy through his nose, and wipes his thumb on his jeans. Before Steve can grab his hand and check him over, and probably push Eddie over the edge into doing something incredibly fucking stupid in the process, he brushes it off. “It’s fine. Let's get these bitches done.”

Hours pass, quickly and comfortably, and they eventually tie their last ribbon. 

“We did it, Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie celebrates, hopping off of the table and tossing the last carnation into the box. “Do you still have skin on your fingers? I don’t think I have fingerprints anymore.” 

“Now would be the time to go commit some crimes,” Steve snorts, his nose wrinkling, and Eddie wants to kiss him right on the mouth. “Before you head out though, I uh, I think we forgot one. Close your eyes for a second.” 

“What?” 

“Just close your eyes? Please?”

Eddie does as Steve asks because he’s helpless to not, his brows knitting together in confusion because closed eyes. He hears rustling and the sound of scissors snipping ribbon. What’s so special about this carnation? What’s so secretive that Eddie has to close his eyes and miss valuable alone time with Steve? Doesn’t Steve get it? Every second with his eyes closed are seconds he doesn’t get to stare. 

Steve’s stool slides against the tile floor, scraping as Eddie feels Steve standing closer. Close enough that he can feel Steve’s breath against him when he says, “Okay, open your eyes.”

In front of him is Steve Harrington, his favorite smile, and wide, hesitant eyes holding a hastily tied together bundle of mistletoe just above their heads. 

“I know it’s not Christmas yet or anything, but I couldn’t wait.” 

“You’re not fucking with me?” Eddie asks, heart clattering in his chest as hope gouges its way out of its deepest recesses. 

“Definitely not. I really like you, maybe more, and I know I didn’t have to wait for some big moment but tonight, just the two of us, it felt right. If I’m wrong, I’ll chuck this in the garbage and we can never bring it up again but—”

Eddie launches himself at Steve, both arms wrapping around Steve’s neck. 

Maybe he should’ve taken it slower— maybe their first kiss should’ve been patient, tender— but he’ll have other opportunities to show him the softness he deserves. Instead, Eddie kisses Steve just like he’s fallen in love with him: spontaneously, impulsively, urgently. Steve drops the thicket of branches and pulls him in closer, one hand balling the edge of Eddie’s shirt up in a fist by his hip and the other cupping the back of Eddie’s head, meeting his intensity wordlessly. 

Through the murky daze of Steve’s lips against his, Eddie hopes that this is their life. 

[sebsbarnes]

happy new years dear!!! i hope i’m not too late to ask for new year’s eve party with tangerine

maybe they never expressed their feelings for each other other but there has always been a lot of tension and at the new year’s party they finally make a move 🫢

happy new years, i hope your day was well! of course it's not too late! i'm going to do this request first though to keep it closer to the new year :) thank you so much i enjoyed writing this prompt! the ending is grossly mushy. i'm still working on the other requests so don't worry if i haven't written it i plan on writing all the ones sent :)

a new year || tangerine

tangerine x f! reader

warnings: smoking

word count: 800+

masterlist

you groaned loudly in frustration throwing your head back. the metal back of the chair digging into your shoulder blades but you couldn't care less. the pain brought some relief to the mental agony you were battling.

"the fuck is your problem princess?" you opened an eye to see tangerine standing above you. his features looking funny from being upside down.

"well if you really care to know," you started maneuvering in your seat to face the man who had now sat next to you, "i'm tired of these cutesy little couples."

tangerine raised an eyebrow in disbelief, "you're mad 'cause some random people are dating each other."

you rolled your eyes at him. of course he doesn't get it. you reached your hand into his breast pocket fishing out the pack of cigarettes. you pulled the long white stick out of the package and tucked it back into tangerine's black-button down shirt. desperately ignoring the feeling of his muscles underneath the shirt. you placed it between your lips waiting for tangerine to light it.

"i'm mad 'cause i'm not with anyone. how the hell am i supposed to start the new year like this," you said absently gesturing to the lack of a partner wrapped around your arm.

"you're unbelievable," tangerine stated though he was desperately trying to suppress a laugh from bubbling up.

you blew smoke in his face which he swatted away, "shut up. let me sulk about another year with no one to love. don't midnight kisses bring good luck? maybe that's why i haven't found someone," you tutted.

tangerine pulled the cigarette from your hand and you watched as his lips softly wrapped around the paper, "well darlin' you got about ten minutes to find prince charming."

"fuck off," you spit pulling the cigarette from his lips.

you were here at a party thrown by one of your frequent bosses with tangerine and lemon. it was some extravagant new years eve party at a multilevel home with a beautiful backyard bar area that you were now sulking in. though it was true you were sad about not going into the new year with someone, you wanted a little bit of dramatics before the clock hit midnight.

"feisty, eh?" tangerine smirked. now it was him observing the way your lips closed around the cigarette. the way your lips turned into a slight pout when you blew out a cloud caused him to flex his thigh, the sight made him envision sinful things. like the way he could picture you sinking to your knees and he'd peer down his nose at you while you innocently look up at him before you would wr-

"tan!" tangerine jolted awake from his daydream.

"what?" he blubbered.

you chuckled at him, "i said do you want to stay out here or go inside for the ball drop."

tangerine looked around to see some of the people from outside wander inside to witness the start of the new year under the light of the tvs plastered to the wall. and though he would love to experience the slight exhilaration the chanting to 'one' in a large crowd gave him, he much preferred the quieter atmosphere the backyard was providing.

"oh no, no it's alright. i think i'll stay out here," he smiled at you, "you can head in, i'll find you after."

you flicked the cigarette into the tray, "i asked so i'd know where to stay, silly."

"how are you going to find your prince charming out here?" tangerine joked observing the lack of people outside.

you smirked at him, "there's always next year."

a waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes sauntered to the table you both occupied and offered you the midnight drink. you grabbed two flutes, offering tangerine one and holding onto the other. you could hear the commotion of the inside and you could see the room swelling with people through the sliding glass doors. everyone started to cheer down to one loudly and you and tangerine stood observing the small tv facing the yard.

the silver ball made its yearly descent to mark a new beginning. a new year filled with new goals, new aspirations, and new opportunities. a fresh beginning that could bring new fortunes and new love or solidify old plans and love. you weren't one for cliches but you couldn't lie and say the mark of a new year didn't ignite some sort of fire under you to make new and daring decisions and choices. which is why when the clock struck midnight and you and tangerine clinked glasses with a small 'cheers' you refused to break eye contact with the man who stood before you. he sipped at the bubbly drink, his blue eyes unwavering from yours.

though no words were spoken, you could read each other's eyes and it felt like you were both reading each others iris's the same for the first time in years. you dropped the glass to the table and reached forward grabbing tangerine's face. you pressed your lips to his and you could taste the champagne and cigarette in his mouth. tangerine briefly pulled away from the kiss giving you a smile and muttering 'finally' under his breath before eagerly reconnecting your lips.

you were right, in the new year you'd find your prince charming.

[laura1633]

hii this is not a prompt but can i request a smutty drabble of charles riding maxs cock ty!

Hi Anon, of course ♥️ Hopefully this okay

Hmm I wasn't sure what to write so decided to go with a little post race hook up (I am ignoring the fact the race was in Bahrain and the laws etc there!)

“Charles what the…?!” Max almost squeals as Charles brackets him up against the hotel room door. The Dutchman hasn’t even had time to drop his bag to the side before Charles is tugging his jeans and pants down. 

“Missed you” Charles smirks from where he has placed himself down on his knees. 

“Missed me or missed my dick?” Max laughs because Charles is already running his tongue up and down Max’s cock like a man possessed. 

“Both” Charles says in all seriousness as he wraps his lips around the head and sinks down as far as he can until he’s spluttering and choking and dripping saliva from the sides of his mouth. 

Max throws his head back and knocks it against the door. The loud bang doesn’t put Charles off his rhythm though. Max doubts anything could put the Monegasque off his rhythm once he gets started. And really Max should be used to being greeted like this - the finer details change from time to time but their post race hotel hook ups pretty much always involve Max getting his dick out before he’s even really has a chance to say hello. 

“I did not have chance to shower Charles” Max moans as he curls his hands into the Monegasque’s hair. Max may not have broken too much of a sweat in the race but he’s still not exactly fresh. 

“Good” Charles looks up and gives Max a wicked grin, “I prefer you like this” The Monegasque goes back to what he was doing, licking and sucking and occasionally giving Max a near heart attack as his teeth run ever so lightly against the Dutchman’s cock.  He’s never actually dared to let his teeth graze before but honestly sometimes Charles looks a little feral when he’s down on his knees and Max thinks a quick nip against his most sensitive part is not truly out of the question. 

“I already fingered myself” Charles proclaims happily as he decides Max is now hard enough and leaps to his feet, grabbing his boyfriend’s hand and dragging him to the bed. Max goes awkwardly, his pants still around his ankles and almost tripping him up as he shuffles rather inelegantly. He lets Charles push him down on to the bed and instantly has a rather animated looking Monegasque clambering on top of him. 

“Are you okay… I mean the race?” Max manages to mumble out as Charles gets himself lined up,

“Fucking frustrating” Charles frowns, clearly not happy at being reminded, “May as well not have had any stupid fucking brakes” 

“Yeah” Max breathes raggedly as Charles sinks right down on his cock in one movement and immediately starts riding him like the world is going to end or something, “You do not look like you have brakes now” Max teases as Charles splays his hands on the Dutchman’s chest so he can ride harder, faster. 

“Oh there are no brakes now” Charles grins as he grips his hands more firmly into the fleshy part of Max’s chest and squeezes as tight as he can as he continues to move up and down the Dutchman’s cock. 

They’re a good while into it when Max realises he still has his cap on. There is something rather hot about being almost fully dressed whilst your naked boyfriend clambers all over you. Charles is panting, his chest heaving up and down, his face red from exertion and mouth hung slack. He wasn’t lying about there being no brakes though, he’s still riding Max at breakneck speed. So hard that the creak of the bed and the clatter of the headboard are echoing around the room along with two very desperate sets of moans. 

Max comes first (just like in the race - a joke he daren’t use anymore because last time Charles looked less than impressed) but Charles comes harder, the Monegasque groaning loudly as he covers Max in his come before collapsing on top of the sticky mess he has made. 

Max tries to steady his breathing as he wraps his arms around Charles’ body and kisses him lightly on the head, “Hi Charles” the Dutchman mumbles amusedly as he finally gets a second to say hello.

[c4xcocoa]

Remind me

“I’m sorry I’m dating, who?!” You say in shock. You just found out your girlfriend was the greek goddess Hera, how? By her ex husband Zeus arriving at your door and threatening you to give her back. This is going to be a long day…

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 14

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC A/N: Thank you all for the lovely feedback and support on the last part. For those that did miss it, I would recommend going and reading part 13. I know it didn't show for a few people initially. Now Ophelia has her dragon, what are your guys thoughts on what her signet will be? Also requests are open and I do have a prompt list linked in my masterlist now. Please send in any requests! The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

A loud thud echoes around my room, Garrick’s arms tightening protectively around me.

”Ophelia hav-” A loud sigh and a dull thud as if someone has rested their head on the door meets me ears.

I feel Garrick chuckle underneath me and I look up to see Xaden resting his forehead on the half closed door, pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes screwed shut. Shit.

”Least you two finally sorted your shit out I guess.” He says sarcastically.

I let out the breath I had been holding. He’s not angry. Which given how he just found Garrick and I still very naked in my bed, I’m very glad.

“Hey Xaden did you fin-” I hear someone ask.

”Don’t come in here!” Xaden nearly yells. Feet skidding to a halt outside my door.

”Why what’s wr- Oh.” I see Bodhi’s head appear in the small gap between Xaden and the door. “About damn time.”

Xaden growls and angrily shoves Bodhi out of the way before following and shutting the door behind him, leaving Garrick and I alone. Garrick’s booming laugh echoes around my room as he pulls me to lie on top of him.

”Well that’s one way to tell your brother we sorted it out.” He tells me with a kiss to the top of my head as he brushes some stray strands of hair from my face.

”I’m surprised he didn’t kill you or throw you out in the hallway.” I joke.

”Trust me, if there’s anyone your brother wouldn’t do that to. It’s me.” He assures me.

Something in his tone tells me something had been said between the two and I knew not to pry any further. I feel Garrick’s fingers tracing up and down my side. Almost as if tracing a pattern. I look up at him to see him looking down at my side to. And that’s when I realise he’s seen my dragon relic. The white relic started just below my shoulder, and weaved its way down the side of my torso and wrapped itself all the way down to my thigh. It was quite large. And just like my dragon, the wings, tails and horns were all tipped with dark red. It was a stark contrast to the dark rebellion relic on my other side.

“That has to be the largest relic I’ve ever seen.” Mimicking my thoughts.

”Yeah Mealladh didn’t hold back.” I say remembering how she had engulfed me in heat yesterday while giving me the mark.

At the mention of her name I feel her presence in the back of my mind. But I slam the shield up between us. Another thing Melgren had taught me how to do even though I would have no way to till I bonded a dragon.

”Interesting name for an interesting looking dragon.” He mutters as his eyes move back to mine. “You two have definitely caused some commotion in the quadrant along with Violet and Tairn.”

He wasn’t wrong. Violet had bonded no one but two dragons yesterday. One of them the unbonded black dragon we were told was not bonding this years. And the golden feathertail. Also not to mention Tairn was Sgaeyl’s mate. Meaning Xaden and Violet were now connected for the rest of their lives. Despite how displeased he tried to look over it, I had not missed the furious look and shadows he had conjured to hold his feet down while Dain had kissed Violet. Something I knew Garrick had noticed to from what I had seen.

”Seems my year is full of surprises.”

He rolls his eyes. “You could say that again. Probably the most exciting year I’ve had since I started here.” He sits up, pulling me with him into his lap as he sits on the edge of the bed. “And as much as I would love to escape it for a little bit longer and stay here with you, I think your brother actually needs me.”

I narrow his eyes at him, his laugh yet again echoing around the room. This was the most I had heard him laugh since I’d been here. And I’d missed it. He sets me down on his feet as he starts to gather his clothes. He catches me staring and decides to throw some of my stuff at me, signalling to stop and do the same.

We walk out my door and run into Violet and Rhiannon whose rooms are next to mine. Both of their heads whip towards us and there’s no way to hide what definitely happened last night. The way they both look at me and smirk, they know.

”Have fun.” Garrick teases before walking away, leaving me with Rhiannon and Violet.

Both raise their eyebrows at me as I slowly approach them.

”So that’s who you dragged into your room last night when I came into the corridor.” Rhiannon says with a smirk.

”Oh shut up.” I say with a soft laugh.

”Well we’re happy for you.” Violet adds with a soft smile. “I can tell you have known him for a while, and seems its been a long time coming.”

It’s the one thing I will always give Violet credit for. She was observant. Most of the time at least.

“Do I dare ask about you and Dain?” I ask as we start walking towards breakfast.

Rhiannon laughs and shakes her head. “She felt nothing.”

“Nothing?” My head snapping towards Violet who gives a hesitant nod.

I almost felt sorry for Dain. I’d always thought those two were a done deal like Garrick and I. Just waiting for the right time for it to happen. Clearly I had been wrong. And judging by Rhiannon’s look at me, she had thought the same.

“Good morning, ladies.” Ridoc forces his way through the crowd to us, putting an arm around Violet and I as we walk into the rotunda. “Or should I say, riders?”

”I like the sound of riders.” Rhiannon replies with a smile at him.

“It has a certain wring to it.” Ridoc agrees.

”It’s definitely better than dead.” I add sarcastically earning a laugh from them all.

“Where’s your relic?” Violet asks Ridoc as we pass into the commons.

”Right here.” He removes his arm from around Violets shoulders, moving the sleeve of his tunic up to reveal the brown mark of a dragon silhouette on his arm. It was way smaller than the mark Mealladh had given me. “You?” He asks directing his question to Violet.

She points to the middle of her back. “Can’t see it. It’s on my back.

”That will keep you safer if you’re ever separated from that massive dragon of yours. His eyes dance. “I swear, I thought I was going to shit myself when I saw him on the field. Oh and yours to Ophelia. Cool colouring for a red dragon. What about yours, Rhi and Ophelia?”

”Somewhere you’ll never see.” She responds.

”Garrick might have to kill you if I show you mine.” I joke.

”You two wound me.” He slap his hand over his heart. “But about time with you and Garrick.”

We move through the commons and into the dining hall to join the line for food. The other’s are too caught up in something else to notice the shift in dynamic in the room as we enter. The volume in the room doesn’t change, the conversation still going. But I can see all eyes on our group. On Violet and I. Violet who now has a target on her back for bonding the most powerful dragon in the quadrant and one not even meant to be up this year, as well as a second dragon. Not to mention her name. Then there’s me. The lost sister of the rebellion reader bonding a dragon no ones ever seen or heard of till yesterday. We would both be targets for the unbonded from our year.

I grab my food and follow the others to a table. Ridoc goes to ask a table if we can take their spare seats, they agree but end up giving us the whole table as they run off elsewhere. Not only did Violet and I have targets on our backs from the unbonded, we’d just become two of the most powerful riders in our year and in the quadrant behind Xaden.

“Well that was really fucking weird.” Rhiannon says as she walks to the other side of the table sitting across from Ridoc and I.

“Even weirder? Ridoc remarks as he gestures to the other side of the room.

I follow his gaze and watch as Jack Barlow is being squeezed out of his table. Being forced to stand while others take his seat. He hadn’t tried anything with me, probably due to Xaden and Garrick. But he had made it clear he wanted Violet dead.

”What the hell is going on?” Rhiannon adds.

I continue to watch Jack as he tries to go to another table with no success. Eventually he finds a spot a few more tables down. My thoughts echo Ridoc’s words. How the mighty had fallen. Another girl who I remember Violet beating in her second challenge walks by and says hello happily. Then a boy I had knocked out in mere seconds congratulates me on bonding Mealladh.

“It’s because you two bonded the biggest and most powerful dragons.” Imogen adds as he blows her pink hair out of her face and takes the empty spot next to me. Her usual spot now.

Ever since our conversation after we’d beaten each other up in challenges, she frequently sat next to me at meals. She even trained with me if we were both in the gym. An unspoken friendship over a man that had picked one of us.

“The morning after Threshing is always a clusterfuck. Power balance shifts, and you, little Sorrengail and Riorson, are now about to be the most powerful riders in the quadrant. Anyone with common sense is going to be scared of you two.” She adds.

Imogen was right. There had definitely been a shift now us first years had bonded dragons. Those who had shown dominance in classes, but had bonded smaller or weaker dragons were now sitting elsewhere in the hall.

”Which is why you’re now sitting with us?” Rhiannon asks as she arches an eye brow at Imogen. “Because I can count on one hand the number of nice words you’ve said to any of us.” I smirk at the fist she holds up towards Imogen with zero fingers raised.

Quinn and Sawyer join our group, taking the spots next to Imogen and Rhiannon.

”You weren’t interesting enough to sit with before.” Imogen says casually as she bites into a muffin.

”I usually sit with my girlfriend in Claw Section,. Besides, no use getting to know you when most of you die, no offence.” Adds Quinn.

She had a very valid point. A lot of us had died in the past few months. Though even with dragons there was still a chance we would die. It wasn’t as common, but here and there second and third years would be on the death roll in the morning.

It had become clear we were the squad on top now. With Violet and I with the biggest dragons in the quadrant now. Some third years I had only seen in passing and at formation every morning came and joined us. We were now worth their time. The only ones missing were our leaders and they were sat over with leadership.

My squad launch into talks about Barlowe and his smaller dragon, Violet not wanting to eat the food and Imogen offering to train Violet. I can tell by the way Imogen talks it is not her choice. I look over at the leadership table on the dais and catch Garrick looking at Violet with worry. He’s concerned. With Violet and Xaden’s fates now tethered together, their lives depend on each other. Xaden is going to do anything he can to make sure she stays alive. And as Xaden looks up from peeling his apple to look at Violet, I know that is what he intends.

I look back to see the others getting up to make their way to our first ever flight lesson. Something I was quite excited for. Yesterdays small taste of flying was not enough. I wanted more. I go to follow but a hand on my arm stops me, and I look over to see Imogen looking at me with a smirk.

”So how was it?” Part 15 Taglist:

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh @leptitlu