#sunlight and snowdrops

[ibrithir-was-here]

Sunlight and Snow Drops: Part 4

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(Been waaay to long but I'm back on this! Thanks to @animate-mush for giving me a needed push!)

[day-dr34mer]

[greencheekconure27]

[blog-bellle]

Author unknown, source internet.

[velaris-fic-repository]

Winter’s Ball

@sjmxreaderweek May 8th Prompt: Heirs/Lords & Ladies

Adult!Nyx x Winter!Reader, Reader is Kallias and Viviane’s daughter, Ballroom Dancing, Azriel and Cassian are instigators

Cassian and Azriel had worn twin smirks for the better part of two hours now, their nephew serving as better entertainment at this ball than the food or dancing.

Nyx, Heir of Night, well into his young adult years, could not seem to tear his eyes away from a female on the other side of the expansive white and pale blue ballroom.

The Night Court, as well as many other High Lords and their immediate courts, had been invited to this glittering winter ball by Kallias and Viviane to celebrate their beloved child’s birthday.

The ballroom was decked from floor to ceiling in beautiful ice crystal decorations. Ice sculptures flanked the room as silent, shiver inducing sentinels. Winter’s beloved flora in the form of holly sprigs, camellias and snowdrops brought soft pops of additional color throughout the space.

The female Nyx had been staring at for the better part of the event was happily conversing with Nesta, Rhys, Feyre and, of course, her doting parents, High Lord and Lady of Winter.

Your dress suited you perfectly. A white, jewel encrusted bodice that trailed down to an elegantly bunched waist, leading further into a soft blue gradient skirt. Sheer sleeves covered your arms like frostbite.

Your smile, however, was the thing Nyx’s gaze settled on. You spoke animatedly, genuinely thanking his aunt and parents for attending, much to the joy of all in the conversation. You lit up the room like sunlight on fresh snow.

You bid your thanks to them again, your parents patting you on the shoulders and you took your leave, approaching the dance floor as the string band took up a new song.

You moved beautifully and Nyx found himself following you with his eyes the entire time.

A winter courtier, a cousin of yours, spun you around the room, your laughter mingling with the music and other sounds of the room seamlessly.

When the song neared its end, Azriel and Cassian looked between you and their beloved nephew and shared conspiring grins.

Azriel chuckled lowly, more a visual shake of his shoulders than an audible sound, as Cassian said, “Go get her, kid.”

Nyx barely had time to blink and say, “what-“ when his uncles shoved him directly into you.

You cried out softly as you stumbled on your heels, flailing your arms out for balance. Soon enough they locked on two other, broader arms. You glanced up to find blue grey eyes staring down at you in concern. You knew who they belonged to, but this was the first time you had been this close to them. Their color reminded you of dark river ice or your favorite frozen fjord.

A call of your name brought you out of your head as Nyx fearfully asked, “Are you alright?”

You swallowed, cleared your throat. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, attentiveness incarnate, “you look faint.”

Finally recovered, you smiled up at him, “then it’s a good thing I had such a capable male to catch me, isn’t it.”

It was Nyx’s turn to flush. “Yes. Yes it is.”

You took stock in the near dip he still held you in and smirked, “now, despite this usually being the position a dance ends in, I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask you, sir. Care for a dance?”

Nyx straightened immediately, still holding you. He raised one hand to his mouth and coughed, recovering in the same way you had. He only let you go to bow and extend a hand.

“Who would I be to deny the female of the evening? It would be an honor to, my lady, if you’d have me.”

You fondly rolled your eyes and smiled. “Please.” You took his hand.

Nyx’s answering grin could have put the stars themselves to shame and your breath momentarily caught as he swept you off into a waltz. The band noticed and pitched into a sweeping, romantic song.

The ballroom cleared for the two of you, the entire assembly watching you twirl and spin, not that either of you noticed.

Cassian smiled as he watched, laying his hand out in Azriel’s direction. His brother responded with a smile and answering low five.

Other would-be suitors of yours grumbled to themselves as it quickly became clear, just watching the joyful glimmer in your eyes, that you would not be dancing with anyone else the rest of the evening.

The party trickled back into its usual form after the song concluded, but to you two, heirs of Night and Winter, the rest of the world ceased to be.

And you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

[the-offside-rule]

Mason Mount (Manchester United) - Inked Up

Requested: yes

Prompt: this ask

Warnings: none

The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the shared bedroom. Mason and Y/n had spent a rare night in together, enjoying the simplicity of being in each other’s company. The warmth of his hand resting lightly on her waist stirred her from her peaceful sleep.

"Morning." She mumbled, her voice soft and still laced with sleep. "Morning, love." Mason replied, his voice low and comforting. He pressed a kiss to her temple, pulling her closer for a moment before he sighed. "As much as I’d love to stay in bed all day, I need a shower." Y/n smiled, knowing exactly how these mornings usually went. She followed him out of bed and toward the ensuite bathroom, their routine as familiar as breathing.

The hot water cascaded over them, steam curling around the small space. Mason stood under the stream, his eyes closed as the water soaked his hair and ran down his toned body. Y/n stood nearby, reaching for the body wash when she felt his gaze on her. It wasn’t uncommon for Mason to admire her—he was openly obsessed with her, after all. But this time, his eyes lingered longer than usual, his expression shifting from playful to curious, then to something deeper. "What’s this?" He asked, his voice thick with intrigue as he reached out, his fingers lightly brushing the side of her ribs.

Y/n froze for a moment, heat rushing to her cheeks. She hadn’t planned on showing him the tattoo just yet, but there was no hiding it now. The delicate ink sat on the side of her ribs, a small yet meaningful design that perfectly symbolized him.

It was a minimilist tattoo of their birth flowers with the birth flowers of the month they met. A simple design but undeniably for him. Mason’s eyes widened as he fully took it in, his lips parting in surprise. "These are snowdrops." She nodded. "Your birth flower." He nodded. "And these?"

"Mine."

"So what are these ones?"

"December's, for when we started dating."

"So...its kind of our tattoo?"

She nodded shyly, biting her lip. "Yeah. I got it a few weeks ago. I actually forgot it was there." He blinked, and then his face broke into the biggest smile she’d ever seen. "You got a tattoo for me?"

"Well, yeah." She said, her voice soft. "You kinda have a big part in my life." Mason let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. His fingers traced the ink gently, careful not to press too hard. "It’s… gorgeous." He said, his voice full of awe. "I can’t believe you did this for me." Y/n smiled, feeling her heart swell at his reaction. "I wanted something to remind me of you, even when you’re not around. And this just felt right."

Mason leaned down, pressing a kiss to her ribs, right over the tattoo. "I love it." He murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "And I love you. So much." Her hand cupped his face, guiding him up so she could kiss him softly. "I love you too." She whispered against his lips.

[youryanderedaddy]

Summary: An unlikely encounter brings you and Cassian together, resulting in a decade - long obsession born out of lust and hatred. tw: female reader, hinted non-con, abuse/violence, obsession, jealousy, misogyny, degradation, slut-shaming, bullying, threats, choking, religious trauma, religious imagery, religious inaccuracy My ko - fi <3

Cassian still remembered the day you first met, the one he dreaded the most - the early spring warmth mixing with the smell of frost-hidden snowdrops. The earth being cleansed and reborn after a long, sluggish winter filled with challenges for the sinners' burning souls. Back then he was still working at the altar, freshly out of high school - barely nineteen, somewhere between a confused boy and a man of Christ.

He was called to fetch water from the well - it was nothing out of the ordinary, this was the sole reason he was part of the church, to help the elders with baptising and burying the dead. He was coming back with a rushed step when he saw you - bumped into you, to be exact. You were wearing a light white dress that covered just above the middle of your thighs, your ankles and feet fully exposed with just a pair of brown flowery sandals to go along with. You looked a bit older than the boy - maybe two or three years, he decided, as there was something mature in your beauty, an air of influence most girls his age didn't possess yet.

It all happened so fast - Cassian gasped in surprise as the water spilt all over you, sticking to each and every little crack and hem of your thin cotton dress. The wet fabric hugged all your curves, as if damp just to tempt him. He immediately looked down, covering his face with one hand as he tried to collect the fallen jug with the other, cheeks beet red. You, in turn, smiled playfully, reaching for the small pot before the man could grab it. You wiggled it in the air, laughing with your teeth out - glowing in the soft sunlight. He mumbled something incoherent, perhaps begging you to return it - but you were quick on your feet, running towards the river with the tool in hand, your soft giggles bursting like bubbles.

The boy hesitated for a second before eventually following after you, innocent brown eyes widening with a mix of fear and surprise, heart beating violently against his chest - this was the first time he was so close to a woman. After chasing you around the forest for a while, he stopped to catch his breath just to realise he had lost you somewhere along the way. He looked around, already panicking - too frightened to even begin imagining how the elders would react once they knew he had lost the ceremonial canna. 

“Looking for this?” You suddenly called out to him, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your pink lips. He quickly turned to face you, blushing once again as he spotted you sitting among the rocks surrounding the stream with the sun caught in your loosened locks - and his jug in your soft palms. You looked just like the nymphs his mentor had warned him about - cruel, whimsical creatures, yet painfully, breathtakingly beautiful. They liked to trick lost travellers and lonely shepherds, taking their soul for all eternity. 

Cassian took a deep breath and mouthed a quick prayer to his patron, bringing his hands together. He could do this. He wouldn’t be swayed by you no matter how cunning you may be - for his soul belonged to Christ and Christ alone.

“Stealing is a g-grave sin, Miss.” The boy exclaimed, voice shaky yet unrelenting as he took a step towards you. “So please return the can to me at once!” This time he sounded almost breathless, whiny like a mere child. You couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped your parted lips. “Aww, no need to get mad. I am simply borrowing it.” You cooed at the disciple with slight mockery, pretending to eye the item in your hands with great interest. 

“I am n-not mad!” Cassian swiftly contested, crossing his arms to appear more intimidating, if that was even possible. “I am just frustrated - righteously so, since y-you took something that belongs to me, and refuse to give it back.” He continued, puffing his chest out towards you in annoyance. You found his attempts to convince you utterly adorable - but the only thing they accomplished was making you want to pick on him even more. “If you want it so bad, come and get it!” You egged him on, dingling it just above his head once again.

Then suddenly, just for a split second, something in his eyes changed. The brown turned dark and muddy, almost glowing with fury, his teeth grazing his cheek until he could taste the blood on his tongue - and next thing you knew, he had pushed you into the stream, soaked up to your chin. You started coughing, desperate to keep the water out of your lungs, but his hand pressed heavy against your chest, shoving you towards the very bottom of the river.

It was your turn to panic, cheeks heating up with uncertainty. You looked up at Cassian with soft, pleading eyes - begging him to let go. It was all too much for the sheltered boy - your prior teasing, your pitiful gaze, your warm skin shivering against the drenched, transparent clothing, leaving little to the imagination… He subconsciously began tugging at his tight golden collar, feeling the cold sweat creep upon his neck - then he slowly released you, letting your body rise up to the top without any added weight on it.

The disciple stared at your trembling form for what felt like eternity, unable to look away. Soon enough you came to your senses, scurrying to cover your breasts - but despite your best attempts at hiding, his fervent gaze kept threatening to burn a hole into your flesh. You opened your mouth to say something, perhaps an apology of sorts, or even an accusation - yet no sound came out. 

And just like that the boy was gone.

***

Cassian cried the whole night, he cried his little heart out, hugging the Mary Magdalen icon close to his chest - hoping, praying that he could be redeemed. He was sick, utterly sick. The way he had felt, the way his body had reacted to you - it was sinister, devilish, unholy. Something completely unbecoming of the sacred figure he aspired to become once his altar duties were finished. He was supposed to be different, a beam of light in a crowd of darkness and misery, and now he was filthy, reeking of sin - of you.

His racing thoughts left him restless, unable to close his eyes. He had no other option left - he had to confide in his mentor, it was the right thing to do. It was going to be alright, he tried to rationalise. Repent, and you will be saved. A sin admitted is a sin resolved and punished from within, from your very core. That’s what the elders always said - sin was human, but deceit was intentional, it meant that your soul was purposely straying away from God’s love and protection. The ones who were truthful and eager to accept their faults could still ascend to Heaven.

And Cassian was lucky - so, so lucky, because his mentor proved understanding to the troubles of his soul. He reassured him, taking him into his arms, the smell of incense and wax and home enough to soothe any heartache. The old man smiled gently, petting his hair - telling him that beauty was a Godly virtue, and there was nothing wrong with admiring it for his body itself was a fruit of desire and love. Then once the boy had stopped sobbing, his breathing finally even, the priest pulled him to the side and reminded him that he was one of his best students, and as such he simply could not be tempted and swayed by the weakness of the flesh. The deacon had seen him - had felt the cleaness in his eyes, and that’s precisely why he had chosen him; for his unyielding chastity and goodness. And he was never wrong about his pupils - so it was obviously the woman’s fault. 

Cassian could understand it now, clear as day. You had tempted him. You had stolen his sleep and his tears like a siren, like a Jezebel. But that was fine, completely fine. It was all part of the big plan. Temptation was good - faith always had its challenges, and he’d be damned if he let someone as wretched as you lure him into severing his ties to God. This was his future. This church was his home, and so it would remain. He would become the next deacon of Holy Agnes, and you would be no obstacle. Just an underwater stone - a bug he had to crush so he could be free and whole again.

***

Several years passed by with a snap of a finger. Cassian slowly matured, soft cheeks and bright eyes turning sharp and mundane with his newfound restraint. He had adapted some level of unconscious stoicism, set on raising above the lowly human needs. And yet he kept seeing you everywhere he went, like a ghost of the past.

Sometimes you were in the garden by his church, laughing and smiling with avid colours covering your body. Countless dingley pearly bracelets stacked one on top of the other heaving on your little wrists like a fire circle. You were loud, never one to suppress your silvery ringing voice. Other times you were sitting by the nearby lake, sewing or knitting, writing in a worn out notebook with fleeting papers all over your lap. You were in the bakery he walked by after Mass, on the opposite side of the farmer alley he frequented on the Sabbath. Always just a breath away, but never quite close enough. 

He wanted to touch you. He wanted to drag you in by your hair and yell in your ear until it bled - you, who so innocently strolled left and right with your pretty twirly dresses and skirts that never covered your knees, you with your naked hands parading around the park with nothing on your mind, but rainbows and sunshine. As if you didn’t know you had ruined his youth with aching sickness over you - as if you didn’t care he had spent countless hours agonising, wondering whether he’d see you again. Wondering whether he’ll be able to hold back from reaching out and completely devouring you. 

Were you looking for attention, looking so bubbly and careless, bright shouting colours on display? Were you hoping to tempt him again by showing all this vulnerable, ripe skin? Had you completely forgotten about that unlikely encounter that was permanently engraved into his memory with the burning mark of hellfire itself? 

Because it certainly seemed so when the whole village was whispering about you and your countless misdeeds. People were saying that you were pursuing a crafting clerkship in the nearby town - that you were travelling alone, or in the company of strange men, sleeping in unknown taverns on the road for days. Drinking and drowning in debauchery. Rumours had it that you would give yourself away to the highest bidder, thus being able to fund all those adventurous trips across the land. 

Cassian didn’t want to believe them, and he refused to partake in the tired, painfully repetitive conversations of the common folk who flocked to the church for warmth and food like a herd of sheep to a master. To him tattle was a sin of itself, a needless effort to drop the Lord’s name in vain just to curse a harlot or to mock an innocent, unsuspecting widow - but from day to day their words became harsher, crueller, ungodly. You were made to look like Lilith herself, and he couldn’t help believing what he could feel with his own heart.

It was a simple fact, really. You were just a whore, and nothing more - because he could clearly see you clinging to another man’s shoulder through the small glazed window of his, pushing your chest towards the dark stranger - laughing unabashedly at his jokes, gazing into his eyes, prompting him to claim your sweet lips. You were a whore, because you let them all have you, yet you belonged to neither. Not even to him - not even when you appeared in his dreams, tormenting him even in the comfort of his own psyche. 

You would share your warmth with him then, caressing him - letting him rest against your soft breasts, letting him inhale your tantalising aroma. Teasing him endlessly, just to disappear at dawn, just before he had his final fill of you. And just like that the cycle repeated, driving him crazy.

***

It was another warm spring day when you two met again face to face. When he saw you, hair dishevelled and clothes torn apart, he thought he was still dreaming - but you were even more beautiful, even more radiant now. That’s how he knew you were real. He could finally touch you, he could smell the salt and morning dew on your skin, could lick the tears off your puffy, swollen eyes.

You had been dragged to the church early in the morning by the wife of the mayor, kicking and screaming. The older woman had been furiously gripping your wrist, forcing you to trip after her in a desperate attempt to keep up. Once inside the ceremonial hall, she had pushed you down at the deacon’s feet like a sacrificial lamb before a pagan god’s altar.

“Martha, dear, what’s wrong?” Cassian was quick to intervene before the woman could mess you up even more. “You know it’s unbecoming of a lady of such wise age to engage in this ungodly behaviour.” He explained calmly - it was obvious that he held no wrath for her, and this was all just a performance. The mayoress was very influential in the village, so he had to be careful with his words, lest you’d both be in trouble.

“Oh, Cassian, Cassian!” The wife all but crumbled against the man, heavy, accusatory sobs strangling her speech. “This harlot has done it again! She tried to destroy another family.” Martha kept wailing in a theatrical way, hanging off the deacon’s white collar. “My family, Reverend! I saw her talking to my husband, oh, it was utterly despicable! I might faint just thinking about it.” She rambled on and on, cheeks turning comically red. “She must be possessed by the Devil - I see no other explanation behind her constant sinful endeavours.” She fluttered her lashes as if attempting to persuade the deacon, going as far as to use the title only given to priests. “I beg you, Father, do something. Teach her the right way, make her repent. Our village can’t keep tolerating these… these outrageous conducts!”

You looked up at him just as he lowered his head to you, your eyes meeting. Your orbs were wide and filled with fright just like that day in the forest when he had pushed you into the river. You were gripping the end of his robes pitifully, tearfully shaking your head as if trying to deny all those ugly lies, mouthing off little sounds he couldn’t quite understand - and just like that he was nineteen again, sweating and mad all over you, lost in your sweet pleas for help. And help you’d receive.

“Calm your senses, Martha. I will deal with this.” Cassian patted the wife’s shoulder reassuringly, nodding at the big gate leading to the garden. “You must not worry anymore, you know you have a weak heart. Just - just go home for the day.” He looked at you one last time, and the sheer black burning intensity of his gaze made you shiver. “I know what to do from here.” He made an airy gesture at the older woman, smiling benevolently. “You’re right. Enough is enough.” 

With that she finally left, satisfied that some order would be restored ultimately. The hall remained silent for a while; massive, dim-lit, over-decorated with various gorgons, demons and monsters - designed specifically to scare those who wouldn’t give in to salvation. “Leave us alone.” The man mumbled at last, snapping his fingers at the altar servants and nuns, who in turn hurriedly flocked to the back rooms, nowhere to be seen. You could feel the tears drying on your skin from the freezing cold air, leaving trails all over your scorching hot cheeks. He was observing you carefully, scared to miss even the slightest of reactions - your pain was so expressive he wanted to seal the memory forever in his brain. After all, he had dreamt of this for years. The day when he finally has you at his mercy with nowhere to go. 

“I see that you’ve decided to succumb to a life of sin.” Cassian started off haughtily, moving just a bit closer - you were still kneeling on the floor as if you had assumed an eternal repenting pose. His fingertips grazed against your chin, his touch radiating pure ice - cold frost as his head tilted down in rehearsed condescension. “It’s quite unfortunate to see someone so beautiful give up on Christ.” He continued, eyes practically glued to your quivering form from above. It was intoxicating to have you in this position, quivering below him. He wanted to see you like this all the time, he decided. It suited you to be underneath him - you were a filthy, wicked adulterer and he was your saviour. He deserved your worship. He deserved your pain, and everything that would come with it. 

“But then again, you’ve always been a temptress.” The man crouched next to you, quick as a snake - gripping your chin between his two fingers. “It must be oh-so difficult for you to act like an honest woman.” His grip got tighter. “Especially when you possess such a dirty, sinful bod–

“S-shut up!” You cried out, pushing yourself to stand on your knees. “Shut up, you know nothing of me, Reverend. You look at me with those eyes… Don’t think I don’t remember.” You hissed, suddenly gaining back the courage the woman had knocked out of you earlier, adrenaline pumping through your veins. “I’ve seen you follow me, I’ve seen you in my nightmares… You want me! You want me, and it’s driving you insane.” You gave him the cruellest look you could muster.

“The dirty one, the sinful one is you - you, and every single bastard in this goddamn village that seems to think they own me.” You spat it out, everything that had been building up over the past few months. The hurtful rumours, the nasty remarks on the streets, the way everyone was measuring you up, touching you without permission… This was your breaking point. “You don’t own me. You never will.”

Cassian was seeing red. Before he could even begin to summon any reason, his hands had tangled into your hair, pulling on it with malice he had never experienced before in his life. He was a being of love and kindness - yet any time he faced you, he turned to this gruesome, unholy beast of a man. It was all your fault. You had ruined him, since the moment you first met him you had been ruining him. You made him like this and there was no going back now. No amount of tears or pretty pleads could save you from the horrors that inevitably awaited you in Hell - the one on Earth. The one he was going to create just for you. Anything for you.

“Do not sully me with this blasphemous tongue of yours, wench. Don’t you dare utter a single word to me, lest you want to lose it.” The man hissed, venom dripping off every over pronounced syllable. His whole body was shaking with fury, skin red and painful as if on fire. One wrong movement could set him off into a flame that would kill you both. “I don’t want to hear a sound from those tainted lips of yours. Who knows how many have kissed them, hmm?” His face got dangerously close to yours - so close you could feel his warm breath across your cheek. Your heart was pounding violently against your chest in a fruitless attempt to escape the rib cage. You tried to push the deacon off you, but he didn’t bulge an inch. 

“Aww, you’re going to hurt me with the same hands you caress your lovers with?” He grinned manically - you had never seen a man so unhinged. You had always known he was dangerously unstable as the forest incident had proven - which was the reason you kept your distance over the years, but you could never imagine he’d be so… bloodthirsty. “Have you got no shame?” Cassian was spiralling, going in mental circles. 

He finally had you in his arms again, your skin warm and malleable against his - yet the only thing he could think of was all those men you had allowed by your side over the years. It was like he could see their fingerprints all over you, red and scorching on your body as if to mock him. As if to laugh at him for ever trying to fight the temptation in the first place. Your lips were wet and pink, so perfect and vulnerable trembling before him, just begging to be bitten. He reached in to kiss you - just like he had done so many times in his dreams, but he was met with your equally wet, cold cheek instead. You had turned your head away.

“Anyone, but me, huh?” The man screamed at the top of his lungs, beyond wild as he shoved you to the ground, crawling over your body in quick succession. You felt the blood drain from your face - could this be your final moment? “You are willing to give yourself to anyone, but the one who actually deserves you…” His hands travelled to your neck as if they had a mind of their own, voice suddenly dropping to a desperate, shaky whisper. “The one who craves you more than anything.” His fingers danced over your throat, holding your life in one tight grasp.

“What do you mea–”

“All my life I’ve been a good man.” Cassian interrupted you once again, tone back to its initial biting spite. “An honest man, goddammit! And I am not going to lose everything because of… because of some fucking whore!” His words aimed at your heart just like daggers, and your eyes watered. You squirmed like an injured animal, praying to whoever was up in the sky that he would release you, but God wasn’t so merciful to sinners, apparently. “So you’re going to kiss me, right here, right now.” He was holding your wrists over your chest as he positioned himself between your legs. This couldn’t be happening right now, but it was. You were doomed, you had been doomed from the start. 

“You’re going to kiss me like you kiss your lovers.” The deacon paused to lick the tear running down your chin, groaning at the heavenly taste. You wanted to drop dead. “Like you love me.” He pressed down on your neck, squeezing tighter just so your eyes would fill up with hundreds of tiny little tears - it made you look so glossy and cute. “Did you hear me? You are going to kiss me like you fucking love me, you damned slut.” Your face was turning blue from the lack of oxygen. 

“And then I am going to fuck the Devil out of you.”

[sanriomilk]

I have ideas. I'll make all of them but I need to know which one is going first.

Warnings: 16+ Cheating (guys and girls dont), if you squint mentions of intercourse, violence (through school hostage situation), mild fear (DOLLY), AFAB (you can change the greeting to your liking)

DOLLY HYUNJIN IS NOT IN THE POLL ANYMORE.

A/n: Why is kento's low key giving snowdrop, but if it was japanese?

[Third Person POV]

16+

Warnings: sexual implications, cheating (dont), work relationship.

_______________________________________

CHEATER Minho

Minho was never fond of his marriage. It was an arranged marriage, and he'd only married for his parents, who kept pestering on and on about his marriage.

Minho wasn't the type to engage in workplace romance. But y/n, his secretary was so nice to him.. He never loved his wife. They always argued over small and petty things, and recently, their arguments escalated when she asked for a child. He wasn't ready to be a father. Heck, he wasn't ready for marriage.

────────────────────────────

Minho woke up in his hotel bed, shirtless in only his boxers. He had a business trip to Chicago to represent his company, Lee Know Enterprises, at a few major business related events. You, being his secretary, it would be mandatory for you to travel beside him to assist him.

His vision was disoriented as he opened his eyes, adjusting to the bright sunlight that pooled onto the white bedsheets and duvet.

He looked around to see his clothes on the floor and saw you asleep on your chest with your bare back facing up. Everything was coming back.

After last night's events, he'd expressed his emotional anger towards his marriage and everything and took it out on you, his secretary. With consent, of course.

He got out of bed and wore a pair of sweatpants and walked to his en suite to wash his face. He'd cheated. But it's never felt better..

He walked back and saw you, sitting up in bed wearing one of his shirts, on her phone.

"How was your sleep last night? Is that my shirt?" He suddenly realized you were wearing one of his shirts.

(I might change the name to something because of the 20 letter name limit)

[First Person POV]

16+

Warnings: Violence, School Hostage Situation, Character is one of the bad guys, gore (?), manhandling, terrorist x teacher.

_______________________________________

HOSTAGE Kento Yamakazi

I was armed and bulked up, with the whole group wearing their masks to disguise themselves. Today was the day my group had been finally waiting for.

Terrorising a school? Nah. We were gonna gain intel from the government about our families' murders.

A kindergarten teacher there, y/n l/n's father works for the government with a high position. High enough to know enough information about the murders. If I can get to y/n, then we can get to her father, and the government

────────────────────────────

I was only stupid enough to forget the fact that Y/n was the teenage girl who'd saved my life by donating her blood to me after I'd experienced a life-threatening car accident when I was 14. But when she moved away to Osaka, I'd forgotten that teenage girl's face and name and grew into an adult with a separate life and motive.

"Move it." I said sternly to some older students and teachers who were lagging behind. All the students and staff were going to be forced into the gymnasium for the hostage. "That's right."

When I saw you, I felt a sense of familiarity and grabbed your shoulder to look at your face. My mask covered my whole face, luckily. You looked so familiar. Maybe you just had one of those faces.

"Just go. No funny business, alright?!" He pushed your body into the gymnasium lightly.

You sat next to some younger students to comfort them. "Get those cry babies to stop crying. Now.. We're here for a lady named y/n l/n. Does anyone know her? If you're her, you better stand up and come forward! Or else we're gonna stay and keep you like this for God knows how long."

(I reached the 10 photos per post thing)

[Third Person POV]

13+

Warnings: Bullying, destruction of personal property, mild angst, perversion (in personality), bad parenting.

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🎮 |'𝑩𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈' |SFW| ©

BULLIED Ryohei Arisu

Ryohei Arisu was born to a reputable family. But that didn't stop people from bullying him for enjoying his habit of playing video games as Arisu was obsessed with video games and basically a game nerd.

Arisu dreaded going to school because he'd get bullied again. The fact that he was from a reputable family made it worse for him, as the bullies found a way to make him feel like some burden or disappointment.

But they took it one step further this time. One of them grabbed his expensive controller and threw it to the floor, the other stomping on it, smashing it to smithereens. It was.. brutal.

"No! My- My controller!" Then they yanked his glasses off of his face and broke it. Seeing the damage was done, they smirked among each other and left.

"M-my.. controller.. I-.." He said, rummaging through his locker for his spare glasses. Once he found them and wore it, he broke out in a sob at the small mess on the floor.

"It's all gone now.." He mumbled to himself, not noticing you approaching him.

[ibrithir-was-here]

Sunlight and Snowdrops:Part 5

Prev

Part One

And we’re done! Thanks for reading!

[fatherxfear]

“Ah, Maker. This again.”

Dawn has passed and Kozmotis still sits at the center of the eruption of colors his daughter and her most eager colleague left behind. Still the snowdrop tucked behind his ear, fervently aware of their conversation on the wind not far from his haven in Big Root. It escapes him soft and only unconsciously bidden:

“I don’t belong here.”

I don’t belong in this time of rebirth, this levying of joys after so many hours of deepest coldest darkest pain. The pain was my role, my task, and my reign is over. The crocuses open joyfully to the sun in tribute to their two makers. I have never made a flower, or anything else that was good, not since my daughter.

What can I possibly give Seraphina that Bunnymund, Sandy, and a host of other father figures have given her?

Sometimes the best thing a flower can do for us is die, someone once wrote. Maybe you shouldn’t have awakened from your coma, to complicate a life that already moved on without you.

There is nothing he can do or say to measure up, to keep up. He is a burden, given an obligatory title by a merciful band of flawed but loving spirits, allowed to live because his living is the right thing to allow.

Oh Kozmotis. Pitch. Pitch Pitch Pitch. You can decorate yourselves in an entire garden of blooms and still when there’s a slight chill and the sun is setting in all those hues and textures and on the spicy aroma of fresh soil, you will be what is left of the creature who tried to shoot down the star in which his daughter lived, who killed all the Pooka, who tried to make three different children into orphans he could abduct and keep as his surrogate kids. You are still little more than the “yes, but.” The cautionary tale. Your daughter, ask you to make living things growl from the soil of her great terrestrial vessel? No, Pitch. You’re lucky she let you look at a toad a few days ago.

The direct sunlight is hitting his trouser leg, starting to scorch it at the knee. It smells like burning sugar. He ignores it.

You will never share with her what Bunnymund can share. You will never understand what he can, the being whose world you destroyed. And maybe that’s your real penance.

[greencheekconure27]

[izzybleep]

Snowdrops and Sunlight

Watercolor, Canson watercolor paper, speedy carve

@izzybleep

[julesofnature]

I am the dream of awakening.

I am the returning of the light.

I am the tough green shoot pushing up through the pavestones, I am the first kiss of sunlight on the unfurling petals of the snowdrop. I am the wind which whispers the gentle pull of home to the migratory bird.

I am the drop of ice melting on the mountainside with its great dream of the ocean.

I am the sap rising in the blossom tree just before it reveals its sticky buds to the sky; I am the riotous celebration humming away beneath the earth’s mantle of frozen sleep.

I am the rousing of the bee from its winter slumber, and the soft pad of the mother-wolf’s paw on the snow as she prepares to birth her pups.

I am hope, potential, rebirth and promise. I am the kindling breath which transforms a spark of inspiration into a blazing torch.

Give me the silent crescent moon rising over the sea and I will build you a bridge of silver light so you can walk across and lie in it.

Give me the frost-hardened wilderness and I will lay my cloak of radiant green life over it.

Give me the healer, the poet, the midwife, the craftsmith and the prophet, and I will replenish her essence and make her new again.

I am Brigid, Bast, Inanna and Hestia. I am the fierce protectress of the sacred fire.

Tonight I bestow my gifts of power and courage at the hearth of your soul. Power to shed all that which no longer serves you, and courage to clear your heart and mind for the dawn that awaits you. For I am the longing of the spirit which refuses to be consumed by a narrative of fear and chooses instead to place itself vivaciously on the side of love.

I am the song which cannot be silenced, for it is carried deep in the bones of the land. I am the flame which cannot be doused, for it is kept aglow in the hearts of the free. I am the wellspring of knowledge and the milk of the life-force. From the darkness of the earth I give light to the fires that will forge the new world.

I am the stirring in your belly that knows what you are capable of, and just how much your gifts are needed now. For you are as much a part of this world as the rivers and the forests, the creatures and the stars in the night sky. All are sacred to me.

For I am the Exalted, Goddess of land, sea and sky.

I am the fire within which will not be contained any longer.

I am the quickening, I am the serpent uncoiling, I am Imbolc.

I am the dream of awakening.

https://carolinemellor.substack.com/p/imbolc?utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web

[imagoddamnonionmason]

hi Goose, are there any flowers that you tend to associate with your OCs?

Hello darling!!

Yes!

So, I’ll try not to waffle too much, but there are some OCs that I do have some flower associations with, but not all of them. I feel like flowers isn’t something that suits all of my OCs, but for the ones that come to mind, I’ll try and explain my thought process for ya!

Sarah: Sunflower 🌻 the reason that I associate this flower with my lovely Mrs Sarah Mason is because she’s quite a bright and bubbly character; she’s the warmth on a cold night, the sunlight peaking through on an overcast day and her smile is sunny. I think I also have that her favourite flower is a Sunflower. Like I say, you think of that flower is it’s positive and bright and happy. That’s very much the disposition of Sarah.

Nanette: a collection of different wildflowers, snowdrops and bluebells, daffodils, little daisies. All of them mixed and found collectively bundled in the wild - all that mixture of naturally pretty under a canopy of trees deep in a forest, all the twisting smells and subtle grace that comes with the sight. That earthliness is what I associate with Nanette!

Franca: Now, I associate lilies with Franca. I don’t know why but as you’ve asked me, the first flower that came to mind for her was that one. Fun fact, which I didn’t know until answering this ask, was that Italy’s national flower is apparently the Lily. Fitting, given this OC is English Italian, based off of my own family line.

Jodie: again, for some reason and I feel like I may have mentioned this before, the flower that comes to mind for Jodie is Lavender. I think it’s because I said she smells like lavender.

[leejenowrld]

so, serious question—how many bunnies does sunshine actually have by the end of part one? and do they all have names? i kind of want a list of the bunny names and their colors, i’m not gonna lie. also: which bunny do you think is her actual favorite?

each bunny is a piece of haeun’s story, a secret badge of love from every soul who wanted her to know: she’s never, ever alone. her actual favorite? every bunny’s name is recited nightly by you and the staff, a soft, familiar litany that means home. by the age of two, haeun knows every single one of the names of her bunnies.

cloud — pale blue with white velvet ears, soft as sky at dawn. the first bunny, gifted by jihoon at the naming ceremony to cheer you up after a loss. always perched by her head at night.

egg yolk — lemon yellow, belly round and plush, stitched by you and named in a delirious moment of laughter during her first post-op recovery. the only bunny she ever tried to feed milk to.

mochi — pearl white with floppy lavender ears, a gentle face and squishy belly. a gift from the radiology nurse who soothed her through her first mri, meant to “hold the brave.”

marshmallow — pink and chubby, with a tiny green ribbon. given by hayoung after sunshine’s second surgery, to remind her of “sweetness after pain.” often found in the bed with her on hard nights.

tangerine — bright orange, with a mischievous grin and a tail that crinkles. won at the hospital carnival by dayoung, who swears it brought luck during the great cupcake disaster.

sprout — moss green, with oversized feet and a single brown patch over one eye. this one came from the nicu volunteer who played guitar in the mornings. sunshine always claps when sprout’s near.

snowdrop — pure white and tiny, a replica of the bunny that was lost (and ripped) during the commotion with aseul. you tracked down the exact model to restore her collection; sunshine greeted her like a lost friend.

peach — blush pink, with a leaf-green bow and embroidered cheeks. stitched by you on the night the adoption papers were signed, a promise of new beginnings.

butterscotch — golden yellow, the softest one, brought by hyejin after her first fever broke. sunshine always reaches for this one when she’s tired.

twilight — deep purple with sparkling silver thread, gifted by the night-shift nurses who whispered wishes for dreamless sleep. hidden under her pillow for courage.

buttons — baby blue, with mismatched eyes (one real button, one stitched). a quirky, beloved favorite made by a peds tech during a snowstorm lockdown, when supplies were low.

cricket — tiny, dark brown with a squeaker in its paw. jihoon snuck this one into her crib as a joke. she chews on its ear when teething.

sunbeam — soft yellow and white striped, a get-well gift from dr. choi in surgery. it glows in the sunlight, making her giggle every morning.

lilac — lavender, tiny silver bell stitched around its neck. given by the charge nurse after sunshine’s third surgery—meant to “keep the monsters away.”

basil — sage green with brown paws, from the nicu gardener who tends the rooftop garden. sunshine holds this one when she visits the flowers.

acorn — chestnut brown, small and round. stitched by a child from the oncology ward, who wrote her a note: “everyone deserves a friend.”

mooncake — ivory, embroidered with golden stars across its back, a parting gift from the hospital director before discharge. sunshine keeps this one closest on her last night.

maple — chestnut brown, silky-soft, ears too big for its tiny head. daddy bought this one for haeun on his first solo grocery run after realizing he couldn’t imagine life without her. she sleeps with it tucked under her chin, safe as secrets.

polar — snowy white, blue scarf, blue ribbon stitched over one eye. daddy learned to knit just to make this for haeun after her first wobbly steps; it’s a little uneven, but she holds it tight on stormy nights.

pebble — dove gray, little heart patch on its tummy. a perfect copy of daddy’s old childhood bunny, sewn in the quiet, worried hours after her second surgery. when she found it in her crib, she squealed so loud the nurses came running.

lemon drop — butter yellow, round belly, ears embroidered with lemon slices. daddy gave this to haeun the day she pulled herself upright, wobbling and grinning, and now she chews on the ear when she’s sleepy.

echo — striped silver and white, with a soft bell inside. “for when i can’t be there,” daddy said, so she’d always hear something gentle at bedtime. the bell’s hush is the soundtrack to her naps.

big blue — navy plush, extra-long ears, tag that says ‘love you forever’. appeared the night daddy first said “my daughter” and meant it. haeun snuggled so deep into this bunny she left a line of drool across its nose.

espresso — deep brown, tiny glasses perched on its nose. from jeno, who told haeun “even princesses need study buddies.” she immediately tried to eat the glasses.

honeybell — soft gold, sun embroidered over its heart. back to you!yn stitched “brave” inside its ear for haeun and tucked in a note she’ll only open when she’s older.

moon dancer — pale lilac, tiny tutu with pearls. from karina, who spun the bunny and made haeun giggle so hard she hiccuped for ten minutes.

pirouette — white, sparkly shoes, lavender ribbon. shotaro and ryujin chose this ballerina bunny for their honorary stage manager.

strawberry — blush-pink, tiny felt seeds on its ears. mark and areum picked this out at a farmer’s market when they took her out for a day—now, when haeun squeezes it, it plays a tiny recorded giggle.

mango — yellow-orange, fuzzy stem, sleepy embroidered eyes. from donghyuck, chenle, and ningning, who chipped in their night-shift tips and sang a mango bunny lullaby while tucking her in.

juniper — green and white stripes, a tiny ‘j’ on its foot. from junie, her cousin, who left it for her with a whisper: “so you always have a friend on brave nights.”

every bunny in haeun’s crib is a talisman—proof that her first year of life was stitched together by dozens of hands, all trying to mend what the world tore apart. sometimes it seems like too many, a ridiculous kingdom of softness and floppy ears spilling from her bed, but everyone who meets her finds themselves needing to add to the collection. maybe it’s superstition, maybe it’s guilt, maybe it’s just the way she looks at you—eyes wide as galaxies, fingers reaching for comfort, babbling, “bun-bun? more bun-bun?” until you surrender whatever small token you can.

 her bunnies are her sentries and her storytellers, her friends when the ward is empty at night and the world outside feels too sharp. she tugs them into a pile, wrapping her chubby arms around as many as she can, pressing her nose to each one in turn as if cataloguing their secret scent: lavender from the laundry, bubblegum from the volunteer’s perfume, the faint ghost of antiseptic and sunshine. sometimes she can’t choose, so she drags them by the ears—wobbling and triumphant—across the floor to show you, babbling, “look! all mine! bun-bun happy!”

there’s a reverence to the way she holds them, a kind of royal gravity, as if she knows they’re not just toys but proof: she’s loved, she’s wanted, she’s survived. staff joke she’ll need a throne just to keep them in order, and when you ask her, “how many bunnies is enough for one sunshine bubba?” she presses a fist to her chest and declares, “all! more! all bun-bun for haeun!” on soft afternoons, you catch her curling her whole body around her favorites, mouth sticky with milk, drowsy from laughter, whispering to their stitched faces: “night-night, bun-bun. night-night, sunshine.” and as she drifts off, it’s not hard to believe these bunnies are more than fabric and fluff—they’re a living constellation, proof that a girl who started alone can become the center of her own universe, warm and wanted, swaddled in the softness of a thousand small acts of love.

her favorite, always and forever, is lemon drop—the impossibly long-limbed, floppy-eared bunny that jaemin picked out himself on a rare day off, dusty cream with butter-yellow paws and a threadbare ribbon that never sits quite straight. he’d handed it to her with the awkward tenderness of a man new to gentleness, muttering, “don’t lose this one, bubba,” and from the first second, she refused to let it go. lemon drop is her shadow and her shield: she drags him by one soft paw on every adventure, cuddles him against her cheek through every nap, and if you ask her, “who loves you the most?” she’ll squish noodle to her chest, eyes shining, and say, “dada and bun-bun. always.” it isn’t the fanciest or the brightest, but it’s her talisman—the one she holds tight on the hardest days, the one who always comes with her when she’s wheeled down the corridor for another procedure, the one who still smells like her daddy’s cologne. in a kingdom of bunnies, lemon drop is the crown.

cute ballerina, sunshine haeun and her bunnies 🐰💗🥹

[nightshadewine]

For the Bedbound Expert

thumbing through printouts

with a coffee-stained thumb

is the way you anchor yourself

to the reality of the old life:

in printing there is the silk smooth

of facsimile leaf, which is

bought credit from its origin,

and in round glasses perched

on the end of your nose

you try to pretend you have need

to see further than the eight

inches from your lips to the paper.

there are thousands like it,

stapled journals around the room,

and they are starting to amass

like the coffee grains spilling

over the pot onto the counter

because you keep buying more,

don't you, even though you never

these days have guests, do you?

you click add to cart and wait

with the spoon in your hand

waiting to pile the brown dust

on top of the dust you already own.

and that only to pull your mind

from the cobwebbed corners

and out into the fresh of snowdrop

dew where you can read again,

and take in the abstracts of two,

maybe three hundred abstract papers

telling you about the pain deep

in your bones which you can feel

but not pin down to a pathway,

which alpha beta gamma acts

on the neuron, muscle, rod.

but open the blinds and let

sunlight filter through golden,

because with the violins playing

on the vinyl spinning record -

which you haven't changed in days;

it's too much to bend that far -

you could almost be paid to do this,

couldn't you, at the table

sipping coffee and leafing through

papers that will never cure you?