#candle chandelier iron

[tessabryan]

Charlotte Kitchen Dining Example of a mid-sized transitional medium tone wood floor and brown floor kitchen/dining room combo design with gray walls

[perennialyouth]

Traditional Kitchen - Kitchen Example of a large classic galley medium tone wood floor eat-in kitchen design with white cabinets, granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, an island, an undermount sink, shaker cabinets, beige backsplash and stone slab backsplash

[saisa-sound]

Rustic Wine Cellar Wine cellar - large rustic slate floor and gray floor wine cellar idea with diamond bins

[crappyassdrawings]

Traditional Entry - Mudroom

Ideas for a mid-sized, traditional entryway remodel with a dark wood floor, gray walls, and a blue front door

[irikon]

Shabby-chic Style Dining Room - Dining Room Ideas for a sizable shabby-chic great room renovation with beige walls and no fireplace

[shiftingbikeculture]

Guest Bedroom Louisville Bedroom - small transitional guest dark wood floor bedroom idea with purple walls

[americanpipedream]

Patio Fountain in Vancouver Inspiration for a mid-sized transitional backyard concrete paver patio fountain remodel with a roof extension

[undertale-kissycutie]

Guest Bedroom Louisville Bedroom - small transitional guest dark wood floor bedroom idea with purple walls

[moonlightrafe]

Out Of The Woods

summary: The war is over and Rhaenyra’s daughter gets a fresh start in The North.

pairing: Cregan x Targaryen!Reader

word count: 842

warnings: Description of pain & childbirth, grief, RIP Jace <\3

note: Sooo……. It appears that I’m in Cregan Simp Mode

It is a brighter day than usual when your labors start. The sun even begins to peak behind the clouds, casting a gorgeous gleam over Winterfell. It has been six months since the civil war between your family has ended and it seems as though the smoke-like grief that clouds your mind is finally beginning to clear. After all of your pain and suffering, you are now far away from Dragonstone and even farther away from King’s Landing. As your younger brother sits the Iron Throne, you have a hope for a peaceful realm. As well as hope that you and Cregan will finally be able to start anew.

Things are different in Winterfell, especially now that the dance has ended. There is no pressure for your babe to have silver hair or violet eyes. No pressure for it to be born with a cock. All that matters is that the babe is healthy. Your child will not suffer the same hardships as you and your siblings once did.

You can hear heavy footsteps outside of the chamber as Cregan paces restlessly. While you endure another hour of labor, you try to keep your mind elsewhere. Your gaze is fixed on the flicker of the candle that sits in the chandelier above your head.

One of your earlier memories is your mother being in labor with Joffrey. You remember wincing at her screams and placing judgement on the names she called her midwives. Now you don’t blame her. You even admire her for going through this so many times. You miss her terribly.

Your hand grips tightly onto the wooden headboard as you try your hardest to listen to the instructions of your midwife.

“Push into the pain,” she advises you, “when the pain is at its worst, that’s when you will want to push the hardest, my lady.”

Your knees are at your chest, a thin layer of sweat covers your entire body, and your once white nightgown is now stained red. You inhale deeply as you brace yourself for another painful contraction.

And just like that, it’s happening again. It begins as a dull ache in your spine that eventually overtakes you completely. It feels as if you were being torn to shreds. Your muscles begin to spasm and each wave of pain is worse than the last.

A particularly loud scream echoes out into the hallway and it has Cregan bursting through the door into the room, his auburn brows furrowed.

“This is not the place for men, my Lord,” your midwife sternly warns him.

“I do not care! What’s happened?”

“Nothing!” you bark at him, your teeth gritted. This is a pain he is unable to comprehend.

“I’m fine, we’re fine. It just hurts. That’s all.”

Cregan frowns at you as he comes to stand at your side.

“My lord—” your midwife tries to interject once again.

“I’m staying.”

He keeps true to his word and remains at your side for the rest of your labor, despite your midwife’s wishes — earning him many dirty looks.

Another painful contraction comes and the pain is mind blowing. But it seems to be the light at the end of the tunnel. You bring your chin down to your chest and push with all of your might. You push as if your life depends on it, because it does.

“That’s it, my lady! Perfect. I can see the babe already, a full head of hair,” she states.

Just when you swear you cannot push anymore, you feel sudden relief and loud cries fill the room.

“It’s a boy,” your midwife declares, and Cregan squeezes onto your hand tightly.

“And he is one healthy pup! With quite the set of lungs!” she adds.

About an hour later, once you are moved from the birthing bed and all cleaned up, you sit in your large bed that you and Cregan share. Your babe is cozily bundled up and suckling at your breast, his tiny gums gnawing at your flesh.

“Do we have a name for him?” Cregan asks you as he comes to take solace beside you, peering down at the tiny babe.

“I’m not quite sure yet,” you reply, your mind still hazy, your heart full, “did you have something in mind?”

“I was thinking… he holds a striking resemblance to your brother. What do you think?”

You glance down at your newborn son. An angelic face matched with tiny wisps of dark hair that threaten to grow into a thick head of curls.

“Oh,” you coo, “yeah… yeah, he does, doesn’t he?”

Cregan smiles widely at you, in a way that makes your heart want to burst right out of your chest.

You and Cregan both held great love for Jacaerys. It was something you bonded over when you were first getting to know one another. After spending so much time with him at the beginning of the dance, Cregan began to care for Jace as if he was a brother of his own.

“So it’s settled then,” he states with pride, “we’ll call him Jacaerys.”

“Jacaerys,” you breathe out in agreement as your husband places as gentle kiss on your forehead.

[schlafloo]

Salt Lake City Loft-Style Ideas for a sizable, traditional living room remodel in the loft style with beige walls, a standard fireplace, a plaster fireplace, and a wall-mounted television.

[squiddy-god]

kiss me till my lips fall off

Malleus x reader.

Honestly i have been slowly consumed by twst once again, and i fully believe that malleus deserves to be written like a gothic novel so hear is yet another overly describes malleus fic for your enjoyment. This is inspired by the song “kiss me til my lips fall off” by lebanon hangover 

Cw : desperate malleus, he's weird (what's new), reader is the prefect, king! Malleus, set after the main story. Reader is gn

1.4k

Iron would scorn him less than such torment. The ache of your absence weighs heavy on a heart so fragile, so paper thin embers of affection set it to burn. Why? The warm ghost of your touch fills his mind slowly drop by drop until it is flooded with the memory of you. Yes, his mind, a solitary tower constructed to protect his fragile heart and blackened by the flames of his ire. Set against the pricking, twisting, gnarled thorns of bramble it stands alone against the torrent of thoughts. Thoughts of you. 

You have cursed him, this fowl curse of longing that grips him. Cold chains that bind his wrist to stone, an iron ring that sears his skin like a brand against his very soul, a simple kiss shared so very long ago…so close yet inexplicably far from his perceived reach, his child of man, his friend. Stone walls cold and smooth to the touch surround him as he perches upon his throne. Tall and imposing, consisting of sharp spikes and spires, two identical seats sit side by side. One remains untouched and empty. Black silky upholstery illuminated by the green flames of the wall sconces bringing out every crevice of the throne. It mocks him, the empty seat. A pitiful reminder of the loneliness that looms over him. 

Rain patters against the lancet windows, running across the patterns and peaks carved into the stone and set with glass. The woven banners of emerald and deep tekhelet violet seem to shake as lightning traces across the storm ridden skies. The sun has not yet graced the skies, not yet bathed the mountain snow in the blankets of pink and cream hues that kiss the castle at dawn. The jagged black peaks, like talons and claws, remain ever cold and glossy in the night as it cradles the briar valley. This knowledge does nothing to quell his restless mind, already driven far too frantic by your absence within the walls of his castle. His long cape drags behind him, the only sound that echoes through the high ceilings. Muscles tugging his face to a grin, his unnatural green eyes crinkle at their edges gleaming with mirth. 

Surely lilia would agree with him? That this cloying ache in his heart needs to be soothed, that only your presence by his side would suffice in placating these memories of you. Yes, the man would simply chuckle at such a sight, perhaps remark on the childish nature of such night time activities with a wiggle of his brow before taking his leave. So he lurks there in the treeline before your cottage. The simple structure with its charming thatched roof reminiscent of a fairytale, the thought brings a smile to his cold lips. He is no knight returning from war to his love nor is he a prince taken by your charm. He is a shadow, an ever present entity that haunts the steps behind you…yet you welcome him where others flee, and so he is no monster. He is a king, and he thinks for a hopeful moment that you will see that is close enough to the princes of fairy tales. With a strike of lightning caressing the skies above he is by your bedside peering at your sleeping form with those gleaming eyes. 

A single memory replays in his head, spinning endlessly to the same tune, a perpetual music box that mocks his beating tender heart. You stand amongst glittering lights, candles in their intricate gold stands and chandeliers, the gleaming pearls on your attire reflect beautifully in the light, and while your visage is obscured by the mask fastened to our face you are no less captivating. Every spin, every twirl, every misstep is engraved in his mind. The memory is written on every stone of the tower that is his mind. 

I've spent a million days, I've had many darker days.

I’ve tried everything to block out the pain.

But it just seems to haunt me in every possible way. 

The outfit for the masquerade is ill fitting, the result of it being lent by noble bell collage, the colors and patterns that make up its rich embroidery depict flowers and intricate details. Your hand rests in his outstretched palm and he leads you to dance…it feels so distant now, a sweet memory bathed in regret over what he could have said.

He remembers how warm your lips were. He remembers the inquisitive leap in his heart and how he ceased to think or breath as such an innocent gesture overtook him. He had already been hopelessly and irrevocably in love, yet to describe love as anything other than an endless pit where one is forever falling deeper into fathomless depths would be a sin upon itself. He marvels at the goosebumps that arise on your skin at his chilled touch, his slender fingers ghosting over your arms feather light like all those years ago. Without further hesitation he gathers you in his arms, the white fabric of your sleepwear pools around your form like water. The cotton is thin and ghostly against the inky black expanse of his chest and own clothing. Malleus takes care to note your exposed legs, you would be warm soon enough. And all that is left in his wake is the gentle glow of fireflies and an empty bed.

The heel of his shoes clicked against the smooth tile and stone of the long expansive halls until he was met with the imposing wooden doors that lead into the throne room. He would allow himself this one indulgence, a small prize for being so good. He was entranced, even in such simple sleep wear you looked ethereal in the low light. He walked with purpose in his stride as his legs carried him closer to the very twin thrones that mock him. With a sense of reverence he placed you down where you belonged. Your limp body settles into the cold throne and melts into its surprising plush feel…you are a vision bestowed unto him, a beauty in sleep and a proteus jewel in your waking hours. 

Do you dream of him sweetly now? As you sit on the throne besides his own where you have always been meant to sit? So you dream of those sweet memories as he does? His head rests in your lap, careful to not disturb you with the curve of his horns. One hand trails devoutly against your calf as the other reaches towards your tilted head and cheek. 

Perhaps this is some divine moment of weakness, perhaps the tower in its eternal and solitary expanse has come crumbling down to expose his fragile heart to you. An uncharacteristic cowardice battles the possessive intensity of his longing as he whispers to you those words he longed to let slip years ago. 

“Kiss me till my lips fall off”

“Kiss me till I start to rot”

“Kiss me till kingdom come…”

“Forever…forever…”

He repeats it quietly, relentlessly, endlessly until the mantra dissolves into a desperate plea in his throat. Begging and hoping that one day you will embrace him sweetly, kiss him endlessly as he so desires. In his stupor he had not noticed how your eyes fluttered open at his touch, how you sat stunned into a breathless halt and he whispered those desperate cloying words to you in the comfort of your resumed slumber. 

“Kiss me till my lips fall off”

“Kiss me till I start to rot” 

“Kiss me till kingdom come”

“Forever… forever…” 

But as you breathed once again your hands found their way to his hair. Stroking through the soft black tresses and caressing the slopes of his horns, he finds himself captivated by your eyes and their beautiful hue. This is truly where you belong, he thinks, next to him on this throne, next to him in the expanse of his bed and in his arms. So he rises to his imposing height and dwarfs your form in the shadowy expanse of his presence.

Your lips are so soft, so gentle against his own he can hardly pull himself from the sensation enough to return your kiss with fever akin to a burning pyre. He would rot in your arms if it meant he never had to break away from you, he would kiss you until the walls of his mind crumble into sand and the bramble blooms with white flowers if only another second spent with you.

[k0yaz]

(I don't do requests often, so I read your rules like three times out of nervousness 😭)

Could you write an Il Capitano x fem!reader where the reader is forced to walk home by her family after a ball. While walking back, Capitano picks her up and offers to take the reader to where she lives. Maybe toss in some soft/kind Capitano?

Thank you so much, I hope this is an ok request!

pitch black.

Pairings: capitano x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, assy family members, written before natlan, so capitano might be slightly ooc, can be read as platonic or romantic, yum frostbite yay, ngl id cry myself to sleep if I was in snezhnaya bc I can’t handle cold weather, probably an iron deficiency, lazy writing at the end again AUUUUGHHHH, freakytano my glorious king, not proofread.

A/N: HIHIHIHI ALSO IM SORRY IF I MISREAD THE FAMILY THING BUTTTT I ACTUALLY WROTE ON A WEEKDAY YAY also guys should I do like a special for 1k cause my followers are eating rn ok but seriously thank u so much for all the support love yall!! 🕯️

Cold swishes of air circled the pitch black sky faintly illuminated by a star or two, ruffling the silky fluff of a heavy coat adorning your figure. You firmly tightened your grasp around the lapels of the large coat, fabric wrinkling and dragged between the clutches of your paling knuckles tinted a soft pink from Snezhnaya’s biting cold.

Hollow crunches of your footsteps simply rang aloud in your years as your father’s words piled up in your mind. They were merely harmless, yet the intent behind your family’s dismissal stung like a sharpened blade spearing into your chest. But of course, it wasn’t anything new. A gust of wind howled into the canal of your ear sharply, ringing the ill memory of your family spitting the venom laced words of ordering you to trudge home in the nation’s burrowing winter. They didn’t even bother to provide a coat or furnish your body in any way, simply shooing you off as if they were desperate to make you keep your distance from them.

You had been awkwardly situated next to them, the chatter making you shift uncomfortably in an off putting stance, similar to that of an upright statue. Their exasperating laughs bellowed throughout the ballroom obnoxiously, catching an occasional glance of a person or two eyeing them. If hunching your shoulders in embarrassment wasn’t enough, their attitude was more than enough for you to have a strong urge to pray for the Tsaritsa’s wrath to be bestowed upon them.

People had noticed your huddled stance, tracing the rim of your glass in circular motions in hopes to distract yourself from the growing oddity of your placement in the ball. And without hesitation, they would of course begin to approach you. Possibly out of pity? Perhaps even the goodness of their heart wanting to accompany the girl who wasn’t very engaged in the celebration. Each person would approach you, friendly smiles stretching their face as they’d attempt to greet you—only for it to be cut short by your parents’ attention snapping to the guest stood before you, slicing the conversation short as they’d beckon the person to come speak with them instead.

Tremors of disdain pooled inside of you upon seeing your family members so obviously attempt to shove out any possible chance of a trail of hopeful socialization paved on your direction. Your isolation only grew more and more frustrating as indistinct chatter bounced off the walls of the ball, your eyes following the sound of the echo trailing from the marble structure to the intricate chandelier and candles flickering. At this moment, you purely felt alone. Isolated from everything as you mentally stood still in a pitch black void, with drowned out voices clouding the lonesome darkness.

“(Name). I think it’s about time you headed home.” Your father rasped out, not even making eye contact with you as his gaze was locked onto the champagne bottle and glass snug between his hands. “The ball is over anyway. We’re only staying for extra drinks. Your mother and I will be out meeting some other relatives at the nearby restaurant.”

“Father, it’s too cold for me to walk back home. You know how-“

“Oh, (Name). You’ll be fine. I raised you to be an independent woman. You’ll find the way home just fine.”

Pushing past your father, your mother pokes her shoulder out as well, casting you a glance as she chimes in to the conversation.

“He’s right, dear. Go ahead and head home for the night. I trust you’ll fare just fine without us accompanying you home.”

“Mother, that’s not what I-“

“(Name). That’s enough. You should head home. End of discussion.”

You knew you couldn’t properly explain to them. They’d always toss you aside and swat off your remarks as such. You bit back your protest, swallowing as you scanned the ballroom for a spare coat anywhere. There were a few harbingers around, so a raggedy stray coat shouldn’t be too uncommon.

“Sorry. I’ll be heading home now.” You submitted under your breath, masking your mixed irritation dissolved into your tone. You only further grimaced slightly as your mother smiled and leaned over to place a faux affectionate kiss to your forehead. With one dismissive wave once more, her and your father turned their back to you to exit the ball, shouldering through the heavy spruce doors packed with people crowding them.

You blinked, fervent shivers making you tremble against each flake of snow that brushed along the exposed parts of your skin as you realized you had just stepped midway through. The searing cold made your head spin as you began to lose yourself, frostbite clouding your senses and enveloping the tips of your fingers slowly. No matter. You could make it home if you simply stopped spacing out and thinking about your shitty parents. Just then, a loud crunch resounded with the howling wind, heavy clanks of metal being heard in addition to the crunches.

The heavy thuds only seemed to become clearer as they grew closer and closer, a light drag of chains shuffling behind you as well. Your heart nearly pounded out of your chest in anticipation, a sense of apprehension overtaking you as you clutched the coat draped over you tighter in a pathetic attempt to shield yourself using the thick fabrics. The thuds came to a halt as your eyes slowly roamed over the man who halted before you. His figure loomed over you, as his towering frame was quite intimidating to the least.

The metal lining of his mask enshrouded his face in a sightless black, cloaking his face completely as it seemed like an empty void bore into the gap of his helmet. Streams of jet black hair along with that adorned along the cheekbone of his mask and down his shoulders, a few stray strands of his long hair edged along the sharp steel edges of his mask. On top of that. A thick white coat with black fluff was draped along his shoulders, the small fabric emblem in the corner pertaining to that of the Fatui. If he was wearing this coat, your best bet was he was definitely a Fatui harbinger. Likely a strong one at that.

Backing up slightly, your eyes wandered over the man’s figure as you stood neatly frozen in place, the wind swaying his streaming hair while the harbinger looked down upon you.

“Is something the matter, ma’am?”

His low voice cast the illusion of protruding through the thickened frozen air, a faint muffle present in his speech considering he had spoken through the hollow opening of his seemingly endless mask.

“I was just walking home..”

“You seemed to be troubled, though.”

You simply wanted to scoff, yet you only tilted your head away from the harbinger in shame. Had your family humiliated you this much to the point where a figure of such high status took pity on you?

Sucking in a breath, you slowly turned your head back towards him, his body frozen in place, and looking down at you like a great statue. His gaze remained locked on you—yet you couldn’t tell due to the hollow blackness pitched into the carving of his mask. “Your name?” He hummed lowly, his body still enveloped by his large coat, and arms hidden under the sides of the thick pale silk.

“(Name).” You replied bluntly, clearing your throat and lowering your voice almost immediately after as to not give a rude impression. “Yours?”

“Il Capitano.”

Capitano seemed to follow your lingering gaze as he spoke, tracing each spot your eyes transfixed on periodically. However, there was one particular spot you couldn’t take your eyes off, and he didn’t take long to notice you focused on the Fatui emblem at the corner of his harbinger coat. “First of the Fatui harbingers.” He added, sensing that you had been wondering his relation to the infamous organization serving under the Cryo Archon dispersed across Teyvat.

Sensing your evident shifts and subtle kicks of your feet, he didn’t take long to pick up on your troubled state fidgeting before him, as if you were afraid of a train of emotional danger clouding your judgement to even think properly—much less walk in such bitter conditions.

“Where are you off to so late, miss (Name)?”

“I’m just walking home…it’s important family business.”

You immediately added that last part as an audible afterthought, not wanting to involve a harbinger in your personal affairs. Capitano wasn’t stupid, however. The clouds of tension and fear were palpable amidst the indifferent expression of yours, flaked white from the occasional crystals of snow fluttering onto your face. Heavy clanks followed your words as he stepped forward carefully, not wanting to startle you as he made his way directly beside you.

The black fur lining the neckline of his coat brushed against your collarbone as he stood closely shoulder to shoulder with you, head kept high. He continued to stare off into the distance ahead of him, as if the burrowing fog wasn’t enshrouding the entire vicinity before the two of you and dimming your line of sight.

“Do you mind if I accompany you home?”

You blinked out of pure surprise. A harbinger? Walking you home? At first it was too much, you couldn’t possibly accept this, much less waste his time like this! However the chilling thought of walking alone at night so late sent a shiver down your spine, and it was definitely not just from the cold.

“Not at all, Sir Capitano.”

He shook his head, stepping forward as he beckoned you to catch up to him.

“No need for formalities. Just Capitano is fine.”

Nodding, you briskly walked beside him to match his pace. The two of you were purely silent as he walked into the swirls of fog patterned along the vicinity clouding the array of homes lined up on either side of the street. Shuffles of chains and howls of wind were the only noticeable sound echoing along the empty night roads, inducing a rush of calmness that replaced your previous anxious state. Halfway through, you proceeded to extend your arm out, pointer finger fixing ahead of you at a slight angle.

“My home should be around there.”

Capitano simply nodded, shifting his path in the direction of your finger’s aim as he slowly headed toward the squeezed space of homes cluttered along the sides. Once reaching your doorstep, he halted at the hardened spruce topped with a silver knocker situated above the center, as if he was awaiting your next words. You delivered him a sincere and thoughtful smile, folding your arms as you didn’t know what exactly to do with them. The freezing steel of the knocker uncomfortably brushed along the exposed skin of your shoulder, which was not effectively covered by the ragged coat, making you hunch over upon contact embarrassingly.

“Thank you, Capitano. I don’t think I could have reached home quick enough before passing out on the streets..”

He let out an affirmative hum once more, looking down at you through his helmet framed by his long hair which was now a bit unkempt from the winds mixed with the fog. But it was only a strand or two off anyway.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss (Name).” He paused briefly, before adding once more. “If you’re in any trouble that requires my assistance, don’t feel afraid to call me.” His words were sweet, yet they made you laugh faintly, making you biting your tongue at his low tone questioning what was so humorous about his statement.

“Ah. It’s nothing, Capitano. It’s just…we met under a few hours ago..”

“It’s not the time we knew each other that’s the matter. Rather, it’s the fact that it’s obvious you’re clearly going through something, (Name). I don’t mean to pry, I just want to do what is just for you. And I can tell you’re a good person.”

His words only brought that faint elated smile back onto your face, an unexplainable disappointment drooping within you when he steps away from the door to head back. You wave to him, and he gives a quick nod, turning his back to you and heading back to god knows where. That smile remained on your lips for quite a bit, even when you rocked open the door slowly into the comfort and warmth of your home.

What a respectable and kind man.

A/N: it’s 1 am and I have a quiz tomorrow morning LOLLL

Anyway I’m so happy I got this done yay

[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; tensions rise as you take a stand during dinner, voicing long-held truths and setting the stage for change within the coven. meanwhile, the pack finally confronts leah, each grappling with the weight of their choices and the path forward.

⚠️ warnings; none

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

The grand dining room’s dark wood-panelled walls and deep burgundy drapes lent the space a sombre atmosphere. Flickering candles set in wrought-iron candelabras cast dancing shadows across the intricate carvings of the mahogany table, which gleamed faintly in the dim, golden light of the chandelier above.

The faint rustle of skirts and the soft clink of silverware on porcelain marked the presence of the maids, moving with quiet precision as they served the meal. Their dark uniforms blended seamlessly with the subdued decor, their heads bowed respectfully as they placed steaming dishes before each of you. One paused briefly to pour wine into your glass, her hands steady despite the tension that permeated the room.

Sybil lay curled at your feet, her snow-white fur stark against the dark, polished floors. Her head rested lightly on your foot, her large, intelligent eyes occasionally flicked toward the maids as they moved about, her tail thumping faintly when one of them dared a soft smile in her direction.

Cath Palug lounged on the armrest of your Mother’s chair, his sharp eyes following the maids’ every move with a predatory stillness. Barghest lingered by your Mom’s side, her sleek form almost melting into the shadows cast by the heavy drapes. 

Your Mother sat at the head of the table, her posture rigid, the sharp lines of her profile illuminated by the soft glow of the candles. She addressed the room with the measured authority that left no room for deviation.

“The preparations for your ascension are nearly complete,” she began, tone clipped and commanding. “The wards have been strengthened, the ceremony will commence as planned, and the council has been informed. They await your formal acceptance of the position.”

The weight of her words pressed against you like the very shadows that clung to the room. The maids, having finished their task, withdrew quietly, the faint creak of the heavy doors closing behind them leaving the space cloaked in an uneasy silence.

You stared at your plate, the rich aroma of the meal doing little to stir your appetite. Your Mom sat to your left, her usual warmth tempered by an undercurrent of unease. She sipped her own drink delicately, her gaze flicking between you and your Mother, though she remained silent.

“We will resume your training tomorrow,” your Mother continued. “There is no room for error, and you will—”

“I’ll do it.” Your voice cut through the air, quiet but resolute, halting her mid-sentence. Her sharp gaze turned to you, her brow lifting slightly in surprise. “As promised, I’ll assume the position.”

For a fleeting moment, the room stilled. Even Cath Palug paused, his ears pricking forward as he regarded you intently. Barghest raised her head from where she lay by your Mom’s chair, her dark eyes gleaming with curiosity. Sybil shifted slightly at your feet, her tail brushing lightly against your leg as if grounding you.

Your Mother inclined her head slightly. “Good. Then—”

“But,” you interjected, your voice gaining strength as you straightened in your chair. “It’s my turn to speak now.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, the flickering candlelight casting shifting patterns across the table as everyone stilled. Your Mom’s fingers trembled slightly as she set her utensils down, the soft clink echoing in the tense space. 

Your Mother’s lips thinned, her gaze sharp enough to pierce. “Very well,” she said, her voice low and measured. “Speak.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the oppressive air thickening as you prepared to finally voice the words that had been lodged deep in your chest for so, so long.

You took a deep breath, your voice steady but carrying the weight of years of unspoken truths. “My time away gave me time to think,” you began, each word sharp and deliberate. “And I’ve come to realise a few things—things I didn’t have the courage to say before I left.”

Your Mother tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable but the tension in her posture betraying her irritation. “Go on,” she said, her voice clipped, as if daring you to falter.

You met her gaze, refusing to look away. “Your suffocating expectations—your constant need for control over every aspect of my life—are the reason we’re in this mess in the first place.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t interrupt, her silence more cutting than words.

“You’ve created an environment so stifling, so oppressive, that it’s not just me who’s suffocating,” you continued, your voice rising slightly. “The coven itself is choking under your hold. Families are leaving. Women are moving away just to avoid sending their daughters here. They don’t see the protection of the coven anymore—they see a prison. And it’s because of you.”

A flicker of something—discomfort, perhaps—passed over her face, but she quickly masked it, her jaw tightening. Cath Palug’s tail swayed, his sharp pale eyes fixed intently on you.

You shifted your attention to your Mom, whose face had paled slightly. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles tight against the dark wood. “And you,” you said, your tone softer but no less pointed. “You’re kind and nurturing, yes. But you’ve overlooked everything to appease her.”

Your Mom flinched, the words landing like a solid blow.

“You’ve turned a blind eye to how much damage she’s done—to me, to the coven, to the very people we’re supposed to protect.” Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed on. “You tell me you love me, that you care about my well-being, but when it mattered most, you did nothing. You let this happen.”

The weight of your accusations hung heavy in the air, the oppressive silence only broken by the soft rustle of Sybil shifting at your feet. 

“So yes,” you said finally, your voice firm and resolute, “I will take over the coven. I will assume the position you’ve prepared me for my entire life. But I won’t do it in your image.”

Your Mother stiffened, her lips pressing into a thin line, while your Mom’s eyes filled with unshed tears.

“I’ll change everything,” you continued, your words like a hammer striking an anvil. “I’ll rebuild the coven into something better, something kinder, something people can actually trust. And I’ll do it so thoroughly that no one will even remember your names.”

Your Mother didn’t rise from her seat as you had expected. Instead, she picked up her wine glass, the deep crimson liquid catching the flicker of candlelight, and took a measured sip. The faintest curve of a smile touched her lips as she set the glass back down with deliberate precision.

She leaned back slightly in her chair, her sharp gaze fixed on you. “Well,” she said, her voice calm and cold, yet carrying an undertone of something you couldn’t quite place. Was it satisfaction? Amusement? “There you are.”

Her words lingered, cryptic and cutting, as though she had been waiting for this moment all along. She folded her hands neatly in her lap, her poise unshaken, and her expression—though cool and composed—betrayed a flicker of something almost... pleased.

Your Mom, however, looked far less composed. Her hands trembled as she wiped at the tears staining her cheeks, her warm gaze flickering uncertainly between you and your Mother. Though her lips tightened in disapproval, she followed your Mother’s lead, forcing herself to pick up her utensils and return to her meal, though her movements were stiff and mechanical.

The silence of the dining room pressed against you like a weight, the flicker of candlelight casting dancing shadows across the richly adorned walls. As you ran your fingers absently through Sybil’s soft fur, your thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the pack.

It was their presence in your life—the good and the bad—that had brought you to this moment. Their kindness, their laughter, and even their flaws had shown you what it meant to belong somewhere, to feel valued not because of your lineage or your role but simply for being yourself. And yet, it was their involuntary betrayal, their failures, that had lit the fire that now burned within you, giving you the courage to face the people who had shaped your life in a different but no less suffocating way.

A sad smile touched your lips as you stared down at your untouched plate. If things had been different, you thought bitterly, how satisfying it would have been to have them here, watching as you told your Mother off, as you shattered the chains of expectation she had bound you with. You could almost see Johnny’s grin, hear Gaz’s low whistle of approval, feel Ghost’s quiet, steady presence at your back, and see Price’s sharp nod of acknowledgment.

But it was just a pipe dream—a fleeting, wistful fantasy that dissolved as quickly as it had formed. You knew better than to hope for their presence now, to think they could ever be by your side again after what had happened. The pain of their absence twisted in your chest, a dull ache you’d long grown used to but never fully accepted.

Sybil nudged your leg gently, pulling you back to the present. Her dark eyes gazed up at you with a silent understanding that made your throat tighten. You reached down, brushing your fingers over her head, drawing strength from her unwavering loyalty.

The dinner continued in tense silence, and as the clink of silverware filled the void, you swallowed down the lump in your throat, sitting a little straighter in your chair. Whatever heartbreak lingered in your soul, whatever pieces of yourself had been scattered along the way, you were here now. 

You had spoken up. And for once, you hadn’t been silenced.

. . .

The tension in the hallway was unbearable, thick as the heavy air before a storm. Johnny paced back and forth, his bare feet thudding against the floorboards, the frustration radiating off him in waves. His hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, and his face was flushed with barely contained anger. His hand covered his nose and mouth as if to shield himself from something he couldn’t bear to acknowledge.

“I’m not going in there!” he snapped, voice raw and desperate. “I’m not doin’ it. You can’t make me.” He turned sharply, pointing an accusatory finger at Price, his brows furrowed in a mixture of fury and panic. “You shouldn’t even be askin’ me to!”

Price stood firm, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The faint smell of cigar smoke still clung to him, grounding but stale in the oppressive atmosphere. “We need to,” he said firmly, his voice low but resolute. “Together. As a pack.”

“It’s not a bloody pack if it’s falling apart!” Johnny shot back, his words biting. His hand gestured wildly toward Ghost, who sat slumped in a chair by the wall. His face was pale beneath the shadow of his hood, his mask absent. The dark circles under his eyes and the hollowness in his expression made him look like a man already half-broken.

“Look at him!” Johnny barked, his voice cracking. “He’s the one who—” He stopped himself short, clenching his fists as if the words were too much to speak aloud. “And you want us all in there? Together? With her?”

Gaz, leaning against the opposite wall, pinched the bridge of his nose. His leg bounced anxiously, but he stayed silent, his jaw tight as he glanced toward Ghost, then to Price.

Price exhaled heavily, his frustration evident but controlled. “None of this is easy,” he said, his voice calmer but no less firm. “But we need answers. And she’s the only one who might have them.”

“She’s innocent,” Gaz added, his voice quiet but strained. “She didn’t ask for this.”

Johnny shook his head violently, his ponytail swishing with the motion. “Doesn’t matter. I can’t—” His voice broke, and he covered his face with his hands, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint creak of the house settling. For a moment, no one moved, the weight of the decision pressing down on them all.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, Ghost spoke. His voice was low and hoarse, like it had been dragged from the depths of his soul. “Let’s do it.”

Johnny froze mid-step, turning to stare at him. “What?”

Ghost straightened slowly, his movements stiff and deliberate. His gaze, though dull, was steady as he looked at Price. “I’ll go in,” he repeated, his voice firmer this time. “We need to. I need to.”

Johnny opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. For a moment, he looked torn between anger and something else—something softer, almost pitying. Finally, he cursed under his breath and turned away, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

Price nodded, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “Alright,” he said, glancing at the others. “We do this together. No more running.”

With that, he stepped forward and pushed the door open, the hinges creaking loudly in the stillness. Inside, the room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to block out the fading light of day. Leah sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She looked small and fragile, her face pale but calm, her eyes shadowed by a deep weariness.

Laswell stood nearby, her expression neutral but her posture stiff. She glanced at the pack as they entered, her sharp gaze sweeping over each of them in turn. “Took you long enough,” she said dryly, though there was no bite in her tone.

Ghost was the last to step inside, his heavy boots barely making a sound as he moved. His gaze flicked to Leah for the briefest moment before dropping to the floor. His broad frame seemed even more imposing in the confined space, but his hunched posture betrayed the turmoil within him.

Leah looked up slowly, her eyes meeting theirs for a fleeting second before darting away. Her hands tightened on her lap, her knuckles turning white.

Laswell broke the silence, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “Alright,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “Let’s get this over with.”

The room seemed to tighten around them as Leah began to speak, her voice trembling but steady enough to command attention. Her fingers twisted in her lap, her knuckles white against her pale skin as she glanced nervously between the pack members, Laswell, and the floor.

“I live in the city,” she began quietly, her words measured and slow. “It’s not far from here, just a few hours’ drive. The last thing I remember was…being out with my friends. We went to a club—one of those trendy places everyone talks about.”

Price leaned forward slightly, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable, though his sharp blue eyes bore into her, urging her to continue.

Leah hesitated, her brow furrowing as she tried to piece together the fragments of her memory. “I was having fun. Dancing, drinking, laughing. And then… this man approached me.” Her voice faltered, and she swallowed hard before continuing. “He was… handsome, I think. Hypnotising. He just had this presence. It was like… like I couldn’t say no to him, even if I wanted to.”

Johnny shifted uncomfortably where he stood, arms still crossed tightly over his chest as if trying to shield himself from her words. Gaz glanced at Ghost, but the latter remained still, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor.

Price’s voice was low but commanding when he finally spoke. “Can you describe him? Anything you remember about how he looked?”

Leah��s lips parted, but she hesitated again, her face twisting with frustration. “I… I can’t,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly. “It’s like there’s this wall in my mind, keeping me from remembering him properly. I can almost see his face, but it’s blurry, like I’m not supposed to remember.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, the implications clear. Whoever this man was, he had gone to great lengths to erase himself from her memory.

Price frowned, his jaw tightening. “Alright. What about anything else? Details about the club, the people, anything out of the ordinary?”

Leah bit her lip, her gaze distant as she searched her mind. “There was… a logo,” she said after a moment. “On the wall behind the bar. It was… strange. A skull, I think? But not a human one—something else. Maybe a snake or… something reptilian. And there was a sword or a knife stabbing through it. That’s the only thing I remember clearly.”

Price exchanged a glance with Laswell, whose brows furrowed slightly in thought. “A logo like that isn’t exactly subtle,” she said. “It could narrow things down.”

“It’s not much, but it’s a start,” Price muttered, his tone grim. He turned his gaze back to Leah. “Anything else? Anything at all?”

Leah shook her head, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of her fractured memories was too much to bear. “No. That’s all I remember before… before everything went black. The next thing I knew, I was....here.”

Price straightened, his expression hardening. “Alright. We’ll figure out what that logo belongs to,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “But this man—whoever he is—knew what he was doing. He didn’t just pick you at random. This was deliberate.”

Leah’s lips trembled, but she nodded, clutching her hands tightly together as if trying to hold herself together. “I just want this to be over,” she whispered.

“We all do,” Price said firmly. “And we’ll get to the bottom of it. But it starts with finding him.”

For the first time since this ordeal began, they truly looked at her. She was undeniably beautiful, in a way that felt deliberate—her features delicate yet striking, her presence almost magnetic. It was easy to see why someone would choose her as the host for a curse like this.

Price’s mind churned as he pieced together Leah’s account with Alejandro and Rudy’s earlier explanations. Curses like this worked best with hosts who could draw people in naturally, breaking down their defences before the magic took over. Leah’s appearance, her charm—it all made sense now. She had been chosen intentionally, not just for her beauty but for her ability to disarm.

And yet, as they stood before her now, there was nothing. No pull, no compulsion, no lingering feelings of obsession. The spell was broken, and what remained was just a frightened, broken young woman, stripped of the influence that had ensnared them all.

Leah’s voice wavered, and her composure finally shattered. Tears streamed down her face as she broke down, her shoulders shaking with sobs. “I’m so sorry,” she choked out, her voice thick with genuine remorse. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t even know—” She covered her face with her hands, her words dissolving into unintelligible cries. “I’m so sorry… to all of you.”

The pack said nothing.

Gaz’s jaw tightened as he looked away, his face shadowed with guilt and unease. Johnny’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as he stood frozen in place, clearly fighting the urge to bolt. Ghost, who had been silent the entire time, finally moved. He turned sharply on his heel and walked out, his boots striking the floor with heavy, deliberate steps. He didn’t say a word, his exit leaving an echo of finality in the room.

Gaz followed soon after, his steps slower but just as weighted. Johnny lingered for a moment, his gaze flicking toward Leah with something that looked like conflicted anger before he, too, left without a word.

Price stayed behind, his presence steady but heavy with unspoken judgement. Leah’s sobs softened into hiccups, and she glanced up at him, her tear-streaked face pleading. He didn’t meet her eyes, instead turning to Laswell.

“She stays with you for now,” Price said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’ll cover her relocation, but until we’ve sorted this out and gotten every scrap of information we can, she doesn’t go anywhere else.”

Laswell nodded, her sharp gaze sweeping over Leah before softening slightly. “Understood. I’ll handle her.”

Leah sniffled, looking between Price and Laswell with wide, tear-filled eyes. “I’ll do whatever you need,” she said shakily. “Anything. Just… please, I want to go home.”

Price’s eyes flicked to her briefly, his expression unreadable. “You’ll stay safe with Laswell,” he said curtly. “That’s all you need to focus on for now.”

With that, he turned and strode toward the door, his shoulders squared as if bracing against the weight of everything they’d just heard. Laswell lingered behind, her hand resting lightly on Leah’s shoulder, her sharp gaze following Price’s retreating figure.

As Price stepped out into the hallway, he cast a quick glance down the corridor where the pack had disappeared. Ghost’s silhouette was barely visible at the far end, his shoulders hunched as he walked away, the weight of his guilt and silence heavy in the air.

Price exhaled sharply, the faint glow of his cigar ember casting fleeting light against his weathered face. This wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

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[prettyshinnythings]

The Offering.

Story Idea: What if Sauron had been successful? What if he'd taken all of Middle Earth and obtained everything he ever desired? What if he still desired something more?

Warnings: Implied future smut. Arranged marriages. Slight torture (main character is injured).

Chapter One:

The iron shackles around my wrists were so heavy I felt as though I would collapse to the ground beneath me. It is all I can think of as I keep my eyes forward, my breathing heavy, and my body stiff as a board. The shackles grip into my skin as the man before me pulls the chains he holds in his grasp. He does not need to say a word, the gesture is enough for me to know what he asks of me. 

Keep moving.

My eyes cast down to the floor below me. The dark stone of the castle entrance hallway is beautiful and strong, a reflection of the castle’s master, Sauron. 

He had succeeded in taking over all of Middle Earth. His order and his reign of terror kept every living thing strictly under his thumb. The men, elves, and dwarves of Middle Earth bent to his whim. All across the land, no one could defeat the Maia who once lived in Morgoth’s shadow. He now surpassed his former master, a full eclipse of power no one dared to rival. My village of crescent elves, elves who were one with the stars, was directly outside the castle in Mordor. My people had constant dealings with Sauron, but I did not know what to make of the deal they wished to use me for. 

An Offering. 

My body for his pleasure. 

My Village wished to maintain the peace he had offered them in his rise to power. 

An elven princess of the celestial elves. Elves that were never royalty, but an eclectic village. The virgin daughter of our leader, untouched and unmarked by another. The perfect offering for a dark lord. Or at least that is what they thought. I did not know what Sauron would make of me. If he would accept the offering or be offended by it. All I could do was continue moving forward, wrists bound, body in a sheer black dress that would reveal every curve to the ruler of Middle Earth. All of me had been dressed up to be a pleasing presentation. My eyes remain on the stone beneath my feet, ignoring the eyes of the Uruks that line the entrance hall on either side of the walls. They stood, posted between the flickering torches on the walls. Crude remarks fall from their lips. The ugly and dark words of Black Speech are harsh to my elven ears. The man leading the way stops us at the end of the hallway, right in front of the doors of what I assumed to be the throne room. 

He speaks low to the Uruk posted at the door. Words that are unworthy of trying to hear. It is only when I hear the creaking doors open before me that I dare to look up from the floor beneath me. I force myself to look forward, my face serious whilst I am dragged forward. The shackles dig into my wrists, causing a pain that sets my teeth on edge. But even still, I try not to let the pain reflect upon my face. 

The torches and the candle-lit chandelier light up the throne room. An almost comforting and warm light shone over every inch of the beautiful room. Here, there was no hint of the evil that had been done to acquire such a wealthy looking home. There was no blood, no darkness, and no terror that I tended to associate with Sauron. Instead, I felt peace and comfort in his home. It was as if I had been created by the Valar themselves. 

My eyes take in the room around me until they settle upon the throne directly before me. The throne where he sits. My breathing hitches at the sight of the dark lord before me. Despite his cool exterior and devious gaze, he is beautiful. His long blonde hair was sleek beneath the crown upon his head. The very same crown that had once been his former master’s. 

I cannot look away from his beauty and he knows it. I can tell by the slight smirk that plays on the corner of his lips. A quiet contemplation passed over his face while silence hung between the two of us. I feel a shiver move up my spine when he stands from his throne before stepping towards the stairs. He travels down each step at a tantalizing pace, eyes never leaving mine. Each movement he makes is calculated and drawn out for his amusement. For he knows how terrified I am at this moment, under his gaze with my hands bound in shackles. The nameless man who had paraded me in here like a dog on a leash shifts nervously beside me. He doesn't like that Sauron has moved closer to us any more than I do. No matter how beautiful he may appear, I knew his reputation preceded him. He reaches the end of the stairs far quicker than I would've liked and when he does, his gaze moves from me to my shackled wrists. His brow furrows for a moment when he sees how bloodied and bruised they'd become in my journey from my village to his castle. 

His lips purse into a look of frustration as his eyes dart from my arms to the man still holding the other end of my chains. 

"I thought I had told you not to damage her."

The nameless man's face falters at Sauron's words. He looks down at the mess he had made of my wrists. His lips part and he feigns innocence before his master even though I know that I had begged him most of the journey here to stop tugging on the shackles. I had begged through pain and tears but my words only fell on deaf ears. It was only now that he cared that the cargo had arrived damaged. The nameless man's voice attempts to escape him but when the faintest sound of words falls from his lips, he is silenced. 

In one swift moment Sauron's right hand flicks from left to right and when he does this the man's neck snaps. His lifeless body falls to the floor mere seconds later and I am too stunned to move. Even though I am fully aware that my eyes widen and water at the sight. Elves cared for all living things, even the ones who weren't kind. The choice to kill was always a last resort not the first. 

"You need not be frightened little one. I shall not harm you." 

Sauron's voice is so gentle and cautious as I pull my gaze from the body on the floor to the man I had been delivered to. His face is as innocent as he can make it, his long blonde hair framing his fair form in a way that made him look as gentle as he sounded. To anyone else, he would look like a God come to life, but I could see the darkness that tugged at the corner of his eyes. A dark mischief that seemed eager to corrupt anyone willing to give themselves over to him. 

"What shall you do my king?"

I whimper the words when he takes a calculated step forward, his hands up in defense as if that would make him seem harmless to me. His hands reach for mine once he closes the gap between the two of us. Out of air he conjures the key to the shackles, sliding the key into the keyhole. For a moment I fantasize about running the second I am free, but I know better. My village offered me up to him like a pig for slaughter. Out of sheer desperation and hope for goodwill from their dark King. If I ran it would mean certain death for my village and for myself. Something I couldn't risk. 

A faint chuckle brushes passed his lips when I think this. It is only then that I remembered that Sauron could see into my mind. A talent he had used to his advantage countless times if the history of his success was to be believed. So he knew as well as I that I could not run from this. He was my destiny even if I did not want to admit it. 

He frees both hands in quiet haste, dropping the heavy and oppressive metal shackles to the ground in carelessness. As if they weighed nothing in his grasp. I expected him to let go of my hands once he's freed them, but he does not. Instead, his hands lightly trace the bloodied state of my wrists. His touch is so light that I do not flinch away from him. Instead, my eyes watch his hands in silence unable to focus on anything else. 

"You have been offered up to me as a wife. As a way to forge goodwill between myself and the people, I rule over. As a way to strengthen my power and my claim in this world. I shall do whatever I please with you." 

The entire time that he speaks it is barely above a whisper, his voice continues to be gentle and the mischief in his eyes only seems to grow the longer he looks upon my face. His words should concern me, but there is a tenderness within them that I find oddly peaceful. 

"Are you displeased with your offering my king? Do you accept me or shall I be another body dead at your feet?"

I do not sound as confident as my wording, but my candor amuses my dark king. Another chuckle escapes him while his hands travel from my wrists to my arms, pulling my body in against his once he's cleared the painful bruising on my wrists. His touch is firm yet cautious once my chest is flush against him. He peers down at me, his figure towering over mine. 

"I am very pleased. Do not worry your pretty little mind. I will have you at my feet but not as a corpse. No, I intend to fuck that pretty mouth of yours while you kneel at my feet. While you submit yourself to your husband as all good wives do." 

My breathing hitches at the words, but I feel my stomach flip with intrigue and horror all at once. I had remained untouched by another, for the very purpose of keeping my virtue for my husband to take. I had never had words with a man, much less the experience to do as he asked of me. Sauron's smirk grows when he sees how flustered I have become in the wake of his words. 

"Do not worry my dear wife. We shall start small and work our way up to that point. Do not fret, I will take good care of you." 

I do not doubt that he could take care of me. Surely he had countless maidens in his time. Plenty of practice easing someone into whatever dark and twisted perversions he would expose me to. His amusement remains evident on his face while he studies me closely. One hand holds me against him, firmly in my place, while the other grasps my chin for a better viewing of my face. 

"When will we be wed?"

I ask, my voice shaking as his lips near mine. I want his lips to brush against mine, I want to feel him and the hunger that was suddenly bubbling within me. 

"Are you eager to be fucked little one? Do you hunger for me the same way I do for you? We do not have to be wed to do what our bodies desire. I am the King, there are no rules that can touch us."

I wish I could say that I was not hungry for him. I wish I could say that I did not find his vulgar words deeply enticing, but I did and all I wanted was him and he could sense it. Not even a day in his grasp and I was starting to betray my values for his dark desires. I was hopeless and I shuttered to think of what else would become of me if I stayed here forever. 

"Morals?" 

He whispers as he reads my mind. His head dips down so his forehead can rest against mine, his lips so close I can almost feel them. 

"I- I- I am sorry my King. It is not that I do not want you. I do, but I am already going to give you everything. Can I, at least, keep this tiny piece of myself for now? Just until we are wed and then I will never ask for anything else."

Sauron stands silently before me, body unmoving while he ponders my request. There is a part of me that wonders what he will say. If I have upset him or if he cares about my wants at all. For all I know he could do whatever he wanted with me and I would have no say in the matter. He could retaliate in some way for my nerve to question him. These are all the things that I worry about while we remain in each other's embrace. My mind races in anticipation, but every dark worry that crosses my mind fades into nothing the moment he places his lips against mine. 

His lips are tender, cautious, and careful as he kisses me with the deep passion of a longtime lover. My hands are on his chest in an instant, tugging at the fabric, desperate to feel his skin beneath my fingertips. But he doesn't let me get far before taking my hands in his to still my actions. Instead, he deepens the kiss and slowly explores my lips with his. His tongue meets mine and we move together like two pieces that were always meant to go together. I can feel my heartbeat quickening and my body is suddenly quick to forget the values I had previously professed. But he does not forget and the second a whimpered moan brushes past my lips, he pulls away from me. 

His lips, slightly swollen, smirking down at me. As though he is satisfied with himself. 

"We will be wed on the morrow little one. Until then you will be led up to my bed chambers. Well, I suppose they will be our chambers come tomorrow. Go take a bath and rest. After tomorrow, rest will be harder to come by."

He gives me a wink before peering behind me to whoever is going to lead me to his room. When I look at the mystery person I am met by an elf. Nameless as the man before him had been. This elf is graceful and beautiful, but he wears a chain around his neck and through his beauty, there is a darkness that should never befall an elf. It is only then that I remembered that the man I had been kissing, the man I was to marry, was the reason for such darkness. 

And I could not help but realize that same darkness would come for me too.

Let me know if you would like me to keep going with this story!

[the-fiction-witch]

Yes My Lords

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Jacaerys Velaryon & Cregan Stark Couple - Jacaerys X Reader + Cregan X Reader Reader - Y/n (Winterfell Maid) Rating - 17+ (Playful flirting/ playful spanking/ lap sitting) Word Count - 1114

The summer snow swirled fiercely across the expansive hills of the north. The ancient castle of Winterfell loomed majestically over the pristine, snow-covered fields, its weathered stone walls reflecting centuries of history and resilience from the onslaught of winter. From every window of the castle, flickering flames casted a warm, golden glow.

The hearths crackled with life, their heat radiating through the thick walls, creating a comforting sanctuary from the bitter cold. Heavy wooden doors were bolted tight, ensuring that the howling winds and the biting chill could not invade the warm embrace of the castle.

Within the sturdy stone walls of the ancient castle, there lay an intimate chamber nestled high in the south tower. The room was steeped in a shadowy gloom, illuminated only by the flickering light of a handful of carefully placed candles. Above, an iron chandelier hung ominously, its numerous arms dark and cold, neglected in their duty to bring brightness to the room.

The faint crackle and pop of a fire danced in the fireplace, sending occasional bursts of sparks into the air as it consumed the dry wood. The warm flames flickered across the stark stone walls, creating shadows that leapt and swirled in a chaotic ballet. In the centre of the room, were two sturdy chairs, draped with soft, worn furs. Between them lay a thick, luxurious rug, shielding the floor from the chill that seeped through the castle’s ancient stones.

Despite the harsh winter storm raging outside, the air was filled with the joyful sounds of boisterous laughter and lively conversation, harmonizing in cheerful defiance against the howling wind and the crackling fire.

In one chair sat Lord Cregan of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell. Stripped down of his cloak and armour to only his leathers.

On the other sat Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon, Heir to Queen Rhaynera Targaryen. Having also removed his snow-covered cloak now only in his fine black and red clothes.

Both held in their hands goblets of winter mead, bringing them to their lips often.

Jacaerys had arrived just a week prior, to propose an alliance and suppose of House Stark for his mother’s claim to the Iron Throne. The two had found a fondness for one another, the two cut from the same cloth, a mutual like and desire to be taken seriously and seen as men when the world around them saw them only as boys, even in the brief time they had together the two had felt like brothers. They had travelled to the wall together, trained in Winterfell's courtyard together, dined and drank together.

Now they sat beside the hearth, deep in their drink. Joking back and forth, telling tales and drunken jokes.

The only other soul in the room, was a young maid girl. Who was working late into the night as the two’s cup bearer coming with her large jug of wine to refill their cups whenever they demanded her. Which was often.

“…So then he says, well how was I to know the frog would jump out!” Jacaerys finished,

The two then burst into a rush of laughter,

“You are too much my prince,” Cregan laughed,

“You must relax every so often my lord,” Jacaerys laughed in return tapping his goblet to summon the maid,

She nodded and headed over to refill his goblet,

“Some of us have not had such pleasure to relax,” Cregan reminded,

“I suppose you’re right,” Jacaerys nodded his eyes falling from the goblet to the maid who filled it, he looked her over a little glancing at her well-braided hair pinned up on her head, her simple northern clothes and the body that lay beneath them, his eyes trailed over her and he captured his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes took their time over her stopping at her arse, “You’re very pretty,”

The maid was taken back surprised he spoke to her, “Oh- M-Me My prince?”

“Yes, you.” He nodded, “I hardly meant Lord Stark now did I?” He laughed,

“I feel somewhat offended my prince,” Cregan laughed,

“You’re very pretty too, Cregan” Jacaerys told him,

“Thank you,” He agreed sipping his goblet,

“But, you are very beautiful.” Jacaerys smiled to her, “A very very, pretty girl.”

“T-Thank you, My prince,” She nodded sheepishly,

Jacaerys gave her a soft stroke down her back and pushed her over to Cregan, “Isn’t she lovely,”

Cregan happily held his goblet for her, so she began to fill it for him, his eyes trailed over her more aggressively than Jacaerys had, and far less covertly,

Her eyes remained on the floor very aware of how the two were looking at her,

“She is isn’t she,” Cregan smirked, “Hello little thing,” he cooed giving her a firm smack on her backside,

“Ohh! My lord-” She gasped standing up straight and tall in her panic,

“It’s alright little maid, we won’t hurt you.” Jacaerys cooed leaning forward in his chair, “What’s your name?

“Y/n, My - My prince,” She blushed,

“Y/n… a very pretty name for a very pretty girl,” Cregan smirked giving her arse another smack,

“Ooh!” she gasped almost falling forward from the strength of the slap, fighting the urge to rub her skin to soothe it from the slap,

“She’s a bit jumpy,” Jacaerys laughed,

“She is, isn’t she?” Cregan laughed, “Sweet little Y/n, our guest is not used to these northern snow storms. Go and keep him warm now.”

“Y- yes my lord,” she nodded setting the wine jug down and going over to Jacaery’s chair, she stood sheepishly unsure what she was to do but he smiled up at her,

“Do not worry sweet thing, This dragon does not bite.” he cooed, setting his hands on her hips and pulling her onto his lap,

Y/n softly squealed at the shock of being so suddenly pulled, her body slightly trembling as she felt herself over him, “My- My prince I-”

Jacaery’s smirk only grew, he guided her hands to his shoulders and smiled up at her, “There we go, that’s more secure isn’t it, don’t worry sweet thing, you won’t fall. I’ll make sure of it.” he growled leaning back as far as he could in the chair, his fingers digging into her hips,

“That better my prince? Warmer for you?” Cregan laughed leaning his elbow on his knee watching with a sly grin,

“Much better my lord, much better.” he nodded slowly guiding her hips on him forcing her to shift against him,

“You’ll stay a while longer, won’t you y/n?” Cregan asked but spoke like an order,

Y/n glanced back and forth between them, and gulped,

“Please sweet thing, it would be so much more fun if you stay.” Jacaerys pleaded,

“Y-Yes my Lords.” She nodded,

“Good girl.” Cregan Growled,

[littlefreya]

Summary: Whatever madness drove this woman to board a pirate’s ship of her own free will was beyond comprehension. Yet there she was, in velvet and silk, marching toward certain danger and the sinful desires of the monstrous Captain August ‘Blackbeard’ Walker.

Pairing: AU! Pirate August Walker x OFC (no mentions of body type or ethnicity)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: 18+. No smut, but sexual themes are mentioned, as well as dark themes - he is a pirate. Possible historical inaccuracy. This is not the real Blackbeard. Mentions of kidnapping.

A/N: Not beta’d. Many thanks to @agniavateira @luna-aestas and @wolvesandhoundshowltogether for the support, and thanks to @geralts-yenn because this story started as a 15-minute challenge, and I ended up writing a whole shot. There might be a part 2, and this might turn into a series. We will see after my anxiety runs its course :D

Thanks for reading, and please reblog and comment if you enjoyed :)

Neptune's Snare

The soggy wooden platform creaked beneath her feet as she climbed onto the main deck. Each step eliciting s husky wail - a sorrowful hymn to the lost maidens of the sea - those who would never return, those devoured by the sinful desires of monstrous captain August ‘Blackbeard’ Walker. 

Whatever madness drove women to go there willingly was beyond comprehension. No more than a tomb, the ship alone looked like a carnivorous maw; black iron spikes stood firmly at the bow, and the sheer size of it was enough to strike fear at the heart of even the bravest sailor.

Yet, there she was, draped in a black velvet cloak and an ivory corset dress, willingly marching toward grave danger. 

Dozens of ragged men welcomed her onboard, filthy scoundrels, all drenched in an exotic mixture of sweat and alcohol. Hungry, their eyes gnawed at her tender flesh, but none would dare touch her. If August’s crew knew one thing, it’s that some fates are much, much more worse than death. 

It didn’t stop them from taunting. Suckling their lips, they followed the girl on her march toward the captain’s cabin. Cheer and chortle in their voice as they imagined the obscenities their captain was about to perform on this naive girl. 

“Pity, he never let us look…” whined one of the pirates while the other bood.

“Aye, you mad to come ‘er tonight. The cap’n hasn’t had his fill in weeks, lass. He would sure pillage each of you’ holes tonight.”

“He gonna paint her full of his sea foam!”

The entire ship roared with their laughter. The girl, however, kept a blank face and, without spending any minute longer, opened the door to the captain's cabin.                                                                                                                                                

Bright, golden luminance blinded Lizette’s sight as she entered the cabin. The walls were plated by ornaments made of gold, reflecting the sparkle of the hundred candles that burnt at the decorated candelabras and crystal chandelier. Fine works of art hung from each wall, and on a vast lacquered table stood a plethora of delicacies that made Lizette’s belly gurgle. 

She stared at the table momentarily, almost fooled by the obvious seduction. In complete opposite to the murky exterior of the ship, the captain’s chamber was a room fit for kings, sputtering style, elegance and riches. Perhaps this was how he lured them. The poor naive girls truly believed he would give them a better life. But Blackbeard was no king, nor was he a gentleman. He was the deadliest man the world has ever known - a serpent, nightshade - all he could give a woman was death. 

“Take off your cowl.”  

A deep voice called from behind, dark and mysterious as the ocean. It struck like an icy shard through her spine, making her shoulders jerk and stiffen. It was odd to know someone by hundred of myths and stories spun around them and have men mimic their voice in an attempt to portray them but never know what they truly sounded like. 

As it turned out, August sounds like a man one doesn’t refuse. 

Obedient, Lizette pulled the cowl from her head - slow as she would unwrap a much-anticipated present. Her gaze kept to the floor still, continuing to play the coy virgin the Captain wanted her to be, though if she had to be honest - she was terrified of whatever hideous monster she would soon have to face. 

There must have been a reason why the women who came here never left. Lizette was willing to bet every dime in her pocket that August was the most gruesome, repulsive creature, and the only way for him to keep people from knowing was by murdering each woman he bedded!    

“Shy, aren’t we?” Blackbeard murmured with a dry chuckle and began to circle her, observing his bounty from side to side.

“I quite enjoy shy,” he chuckled once more, his voice almost a groan. 

She forced herself not to flinch too much. She could sense his glare upon her, stripping her garment by garment, weighing what he earned tonight and considering all the ways in which he would pillage her body. It made her feel like she was one of the delicacies that rested on his table rather than a person. 

After gyrating around her and inspecting each crease of her body, August finally returned to his starting spot behind her and, in a low, delighted groan, demanded, “Turn around.” 

Doing as he commanded, she turned to him, still keeping her glance plastered to the floor, her breathing now shallow as the air in the room grew magically stuffy. She could spot his blurry silhouette from the corner of her eye; a tall and fit man, rather broad. It seemed that he was doing a loose white cotton shirt and dark trousers, and from his waistband - a gleam of silver winked back. 

“Are you a mute?” 

Another chill shot through her as he spoke. Absentminded, she swallowed. “No…”  embarrassingly, her voice cracked; she took a deep breath and reprimanded, “No, sir. Just nervous.”

“Captain,” he corrected. 

Lizette nodded but did not repeat him. She couldn’t. Words died on her tongue as the Captain made a bold step toward her, drawing dangerously near. He paused for a shy second, fingers laced together, contemplating, before he reached a fist beneath her chin and, in a ceremonious tenderness, lifted her chin.  

The air drained from her completely. Her lips parted in a mixture of fear and astonishment. 

It couldn’t be.

Perhaps she had the wrong man?

Grey, ocean-eyes peered at her through a face that women and men would damn themselves for. No! Even angels would. His jaw was sharp and profound, statuesque like cut marble - dashed with dark stubble and a thick raven-black moustache. His lips, though chafed from the salty sea breeze, were plumped and shaped to be kissed, and while some of his curls were streaked with silver, he still had a healthy mane of hair on his head. 

‘He could have been a decent man,’ she thought, ‘and yet he chose this?!’

There was an obscure attractive melancholy to his looks - almost tragic. 

August took another moment to study her face, a frown slowly forming on his ridged brow. “You look familiar…”

“I work the docks,” she answered almost immediately.

His stare deepened, eyes dropping to her cleavage momentarily before returning to pierce back into the back of her skull, “Skin too soft. Too shy to be a prostitute.” 

His fingers wrapped around her chin, caging it between his thumb and his index in a tight grip, making it hurt. He tilted his head, daring her to come up with another lie.  

“The tavern,” Lizette answered, firm and steadfast. She did not flinch from his touch, even though every instinct begged her to.

“And you came to me. Why?”

“What girl wouldn’t give everything for a night with the notorious Captain Blackbeard? The living legend… the king of pirates.” She softened her eyes as much as possible and offered a shy pout to reconcile him. 

August chewed on the inside of his cheek; storm clouds gathered on his pale eyes as he contemplated. They both knew she was flattering him to gain his trust and save her pretty little neck. It wasn’t a situation he hadn’t encountered in the past. They both also knew that he was stronger, bigger and armed and could snap said pretty little neck in less than a split second. 

“Are you a virgin?” He proceeded. 

She nodded, her throat clenching. 

August lingered on her response and, after what felt like an eternity, offered a small grin and pinched her chin sweetly as if to praise her before moving a step closer. Lizette smiled back nervously. She could sense his rum-drenched breath on her face. The scent was so pungent it made her moan invulnerably. 

Or perhaps it was the anxiety that was eating into her heart. 

“Ever sucked a cock, pet?” 

His question was answered by a small click that echoed through the quarter and the press of hard, cold metal against the bare parts of his chest. 

Not stepping back, he slowly, almost theatrically, spread his arms into a gesture of defeat while peering at the girl. No rage nor fear painted his face, and as he spoke, there was neither surprise in his voice. 

“Heh. So you ARE a whore.”

Lizette held the pistol determined, not saying a word.

“What is it that I do, pet?” 

Offering a sly grin, the pirate pressed against the barrel; the oceans in his glare darkened. As Lizette stared back, she could have sworn the many shades of blue in his sights shifted and swayed like angry waves. Quickly brushing the thought away, she cocked the gun in a warning, her little thumb grazing the trigger.

But to August, it was clear that the girl had never killed anyone before, and the longer she stalled, the more shaky her hand became. Taunting, he moved further into the barrel, which forced her to take a step back. 

“Do not move closer!” She finally spoke. 

August brushed her warning away, moving forward instead. He had been so nimble in his movement, fluid, like a sea creature himself. Only now she realised that his hands were no longer in the air. 

“Was it your dear mother?” He suggested. “Father? Sister?” He paused and offered a vicious smirk, “Ah… I see, A lover. Well, to that, I surely deserve to die. Go ahead, pet, pull the trigger.” 

His slender, heavily ringed fingers reached to envelop the barrel, holding the pistol steady for the girl. Every breath he took pressed the metal harder against his sternum. Lizette could sense his heartbeat pulsating through the barrel, the thrum of his blood nearly mingling with her own. No longer steady, her digit quivered around the trigger and in her throat, she felt the strenuous hold of anger, guilt and hatred. 

“You have taken everything from me!” She simply answered. 

Soon her sight became blurry, and wetness gathered beneath her eyes.  

‘Do it, do it now.’ 

Another click sounded in the room. Louder than the cocking of a gun. 

Lizette’s eyes flared in shock, and before she could pull the trigger, August had carefully veered the gun from his chest and, in a tenderness that was accustomed to lovers, snatched it from her hand. His other hand laid still on her neck, fastening the iron collar he granted her.

“Good girl,” he teased and then leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the forehead of the girl who was too struck by her own misfortune and stupidity to react. 

With the pistol safely placed in his waistband, the pirate stepped back, face alighted, eyes sparkling with starlight cascade, like a child who had just earned a new toy.  He clasped his hands together, ecstatic; thick silver rings chiming as they collided.

 “I haven’t taken everything from you, pet. but I am going to…”

With one last slanted grin, the pirate turned on his heels and marched toward the door, not bothering to bid farewell as he left and locked the door behind him.

Panicked, Lizette reached her hands to the iron collar, desperately trying to pry it off her neck despite knowing there was no logic in pulling at the heavy metal. 

“Please!” Tears trickled down her cheeks and chin, “no! No! No! Please!”

Through the open window, she could hear the captain's voice barking orders, commanding his men to lift anchor and set sail. 

****

Chapter Two