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fioiswriting · 1 year ago

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Reunion | Sequel

[Part 1]

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral f receiving, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, anxiety, Reader has a child, grief, fluff, pregnancy, not proofread.

Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

Words count : 9150

Author's note : Hello everyone!! Sorry for the wait, I've been very busy, but here's part two of Reunion (or at least the first part two, let's call it part 2.1 hehe). Thank you again for all you kind comments and the love you've given my fanfic omg!! Spoiler alert: this is the happy alternate ending! But I've got another bittersweet alternative ending planned 😈 If you think the first part was good enough on its own and the sequel may break the vibe, don't force yourself to read!! But if you need a happy ending, here it is <3 The plot still doesn't make any sense, but hey, we're here to have fun so enjoy ❤️

English is still not my first (or second) language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes <3

When you wake up, the first thing you feel is the reassuring embrace of his arms around you. You don't want to move, not even when the sunlight tickles your face through the opening between the wooden shutters, trying to make the moment last endlessly. But the growing anxiety in your stomach chases away the illusion of your fleeting happiness.

You close your eyes a little tighter. Perhaps if you try again, perhaps if you try harder, the world around you can fade away.

Perhaps you can wake up again, in a different reality.

But it's inevitable. You know that now you're awake, it's only a matter of time before the two of you have to say goodbye forever. Your breathing becomes heavier, and you have to fight the tingling sensation at the corners of your eyes.

Why have the gods decided to be so cruel to you? They grant you one last taste of his skin on your lips before taking it from you, again.

Haven't you given enough?

Could they not show you mercy?

You who had forgotten him, you who had begun to turn a new page, to seek comfort in the arms of the cold, far away from the fire and the ashes, why did you have to touch the poison that would once again stain your soul?

Behind you, Aemond buries his long nose in your hair. His hand absently caresses the skin of your thigh, just where the edge of the linen tunic you put on sometime during the night when you were cold ends. The fabric is pulled up, revealing the outline of your bottom, and you can already feel your uncle hardening between his thighs, but you don't move.

If you move, you'll make everything more real. Tangible.

You'll speed up the process of losing him, of him slipping through your fingers.

How can you let him go, now that your heart is full again, now that you feel complete in a way you haven't felt for over three years?

How can you let him go, now that your body has retrieve the extension of itself in the arms of the man who was the cause of your torment, your moments of joy, your pain and, paradoxically, your happiness?

"I know you're awake."

You hold your breath and Aemond inhales into your hair. His hand moves down the inside of your thigh, along the hollow that joins it to your groin. He doesn't venture any further.

His thumb rests there and brushes your skin, trying to arouse the desire in you with gentleness.

Subtly.

He doesn't want to hurry, he doesn't want to rush you.

Not when he's been harbouring the impossible fantasy of waking up with you in his arms since the day he nearly died.

He presses harder against you, as if he doesn't want to let you go, as if he wants to be one with you again, and you feel him pulsing against your buttocks, under the linen cloth that has been pulled up a little higher. He says nothing, but he is pleading, needy, in his gestures, which is rare for him.

Something has changed, after all, and perhaps something has changed in him too.

"I am awake, indeed, " you whisper in a voice that is still half asleep. The lump in your throat betrays the feeling of anxiety gradually creeping into your body, and Aemond seems to notice. Under your tunic, his hand moves up along your belly until it nestles against your chest, close to your heart. His thumb draws small circles, once again trying to bring you back to him.

Trying to calm your mind.

"Let us forget for a little longer," he whispers, his clenched jaw resting over your head. "Please."

And you know he never begs.

Aemond takes and doesn't ask.

Aemond believes he is owed everything and never gives in return.

Hearing him beg breaks something inside you, because this is the first time he does so.

Usually it was you, it was always you, begging for peace, begging for more, begging him not to leave you.

Part of him is as desperate as you are; part of him also dreads the moment when you will have to part again. Forever. It's comforting to know that his feelings are sincere, just like yours.

" Make me forget, then." You reply, moving your lower loins back against him, giving him tacit permission to explore your body once more. His fingers move down to your breasts, which he covers softly with his hand, his thumb skimming over a nipple to make it hard. You let out a gasp between your parted lips.

His hand slides lower, his palm flat against your lower belly, his fingertips brushing the light patch of hair at the top of your mound. You feel the familiar warmth growing between your thighs, in your core.

He sighs against the back of your skull, his head tilted forward. His lips search the skin at the nape of your neck, behind the long hair that has become tangled during the night, while his fingers intimately explore the secrets of your body that he knows all too well. The remnants of last night's lovemaking still smear the insides of your thighs and folds, but it doesn't matter; his fingers easily find the little bundle of nerves that they tease until you close your eyes, until your hand grips the damp, shabby sheet that covers the ragged mattress in the inn where you've spent the night.

Just the both of you, in the comfort of anonymity.

"Let me taste you". His voice, still husky, tickles the back of your neck and you feel him shift behind you. When you feel the warmth of his bare chest, against which you're nestled, leave your back, your body automatically tries to move back against him. You still need him. You still need him to chase away the lump of anxiety in the pit of your stomach and the voices that keep reminding you that you're only postponing the fateful moment. Your hand slips under your white tunic and wraps around his wrist to force him to stay there, to hold his fingers against the source of heat spreading from your core. Your hips are demanding, grinding against his hand. "On your back," he insists, and stands up on his forearms.

With reluctance you turn over. You obey, lying on your back, your hair spilled around your head on the flat, uncomfortable pillow on which you slept badly. The white tunic that serves as your nightgown is pulled up, crumpled, just above your crotch, which it barely conceals.

Aemond has swung over your body, silvery strands loosening from the braid that holds his hair behind his head and sliding down his shoulders, falling in loose loops on either side of his face, tickling your cheeks.

His lilac-tinted blue eye glows with a predatory gaze, a ray of light catching in the sapphire he hasn't removed from his socket.

He captures your lips with his own, begging for access. Aemond marks your jaw and throat with light kisses, sucking at your collarbone to make the violets of possessiveness with which he likes to adorn your body bloom. His lips travel down your chest, playing with one of the two small nipples raised by the cool air and by desire, and continue their journey past your navel.

Your heartbeat quickens as he settles between your legs, spreading your thighs to admire the part of you he covets so eagerly. At the same time you bend your legs, your gaze falling on him, on his unravelled hair, on his eye that locks with yours. He is so close to you, so close to your warm centre, and you know that between your folds the sweet nectar that your uncle longs to taste is already flowing.

But his lips trace the inside of your thighs instead, where the skin is soft and tender, and gradually they reach the hollow that connects them to your most intimate part. He takes a malicious pleasure in building up the tension, in savouring every millimetre of you like a fine delicacy, with only the tip of his lips brushing against your skin.

His thumbs spread the tender flesh of your womanhood and then he places a chaste kiss on the very centre of you. His tongue is shy at first, tracing the slit that connects your entrance to your little knob, collecting the evidence of your desire.

As his tongue wraps around your nub, your hands grip the sheets, knuckles white.

Aemond drinks from your essence like a thirsty man, his nose buried between your folds, rubbing your pearl.

The tip of his tongue catches what drips from your opening, and then the flat of his tongue tastes your slit, working its way up to the little nub gorged with desire.

He maintains the same rhythm, revelling in the moans that escape from your half-open lips. Soon his middle finger begins to draw circles against your entrance, the first knuckle sliding inside, then the whole finger. Your head is thrown back and immediately your hand buries itself in his silvery hair, gripping his braid in a messy bun behind the top of his head. Forcing his face against the most intimate part of your body, forcing his lips to work on your wet warmth, you seek more contact.

Aemond adds a second finger. He can feel you tighten around him as he searches for that particular spot, as his tongue continues to play with your bundle of nerves.

As he devours what is his, utterly his.

His fingers, the ones that aren't buried inside you, close around the flesh of your hip in a possessive grip. "Come for me," he whispers against your womanhood, his eyes lifted to you. "I know you can do it."

Your breathing becomes more erratic, faster too. You tighten the grip of your fingers in his hair, your thighs pressing either side of his face, and he collects the sweet taste of your release on his tongue with a hum.

You feel like you're floating. The waves of warmth still wash over you, less and less intense, your breast rising and falling as you catch your breath.

Your hand tucks a lock of his hair back behind his ear as Aemond lifts his face towards you, and you rest your hand against his cheek. His parted lips still glisten with your desire smeared across the lower part of his face. He stares at you without moving, his deep, regular breathing the only sound to break the silence that has followed your release. You stay like that for a moment, his gaze burning into yours. At any moment he might pounce on you. At any moment he might close the tiny distance separating your mouths and press his lips against yours like the starving man he is.

It's you who makes the first move. You taste yourself on his lips and your tongue entwines with his in a fiery, demanding kiss.

Straightening up, Aemond creeps between your legs, his hand on the underside of your thighs, holding them apart. He is still completely naked from the night before, he has not bothered to get dressed after your lovemaking, so you can catch a glimpse of his erect manhood, slightly curved. He wraps his hand around to guide it towards your still sensitive wet entrance.

He slides into you easily, in one slow movement. The haste of the night before, the urgency of the reunion, has given way to the tenderness and laziness of the early morning, and Aemond rocks inside you slowly. His hips undulate, punctuated by long, deep thrusts, in an illusion of domesticity.

But the damp sheets, rough against your skin, the discomfort of the hard mattress beneath your back, remind you that your lovemaking is anything but domestic.

For Aemond is still the enemy, for Aemond is supposed to be dead.

For your family is probably looking for you at this very moment, worried that you have not returned home for the night.

But you push those thoughts away. The weight of your uncle's body on top of yours soothes the knot that forms in the pit of your stomach at the thought of time slipping away, at the thought of having to leave him again, at the thought of this being the last time you will taste his lips, his skin.

Aemond is gentle, and that is rare enough to be worth mentioning. He has never been so gentle, so soft, in the limited time that you have been married.

Between you, there had been the devouring, consuming passion, the power play that in your submission had granted you dominance.

Between you it had been raw and devastating more than gentle and tender.

His fingers run the length of your body to your core, combining his slow, deep thrusts with the movement of his fingers against your clit.

There are only few words exchanged between you, as if you were both afraid to break the grace of the moment.

His panting, noisy breath echoes in the silence, skimming the skin of your throat, then mingling with yours as the shadow of his lips brushes against yours. He rests his forehead against yours, your hand cupping his cheek, sliding behind his neck, and you are transported into a cocoon of intimacy where nothing else exists around you.

There is only his body against yours, warm and reassuring.

There is only him inside you and the slow movement of his hips.

There is only your breathing, blending in the space that separates your mouths.

"Do you know how much I've missed you?" He whispers against your lips as you close your thighs around him. "How much I dreamed of this tight little cunt?" You swallow his words. Your hips meet his as he pushes against you. He is reaching deep inside you. Despite the intimacy of the moment, his body oozes power and darkness, and you can't help but be drawn to that side of him that complements yours so well.

You can't stop your body from aching for him.

"You could have been my queen," he says as his movements grow stronger. He won't last long, but neither will you. He's inside you, where you like to feel him, and your walls clench around his member. "And I would have set the whole world on fire for you." He thrusts. "Burned it to the ground" He thrusts again. "All for you." And again.

The old wood of the bed creaks with each of his movements.

You seek out his lips, just to brush them against yours.

Without sealing the kiss.

"And I would have accepted," you answer with a whimper. "I would have been your queen, qybor." In another life, you think you would.

In another life, in another universe, you would have been his queen.

A grunt escapes his lips and lands in the hollow of your ear. Aemond straightens on his bent elbow, right next to your head, and he plunges into you one last time, with more power, more vigour, just as his new position allows.

You close your eyes.

A second wave of warmth is about to engulf your body.

And you wait for it, you welcome it.

"Look at me when I come inside you," he growls hoarsely as his seed pours deep inside you, into the most intimate part of your body. "Look at me as I fill you up."

Your eyes lock with his, fiery as ever. A final moan escapes between your lips and you seal them to your uncle's in a feverish, wet kiss. You hold him in your arms for a moment longer, as if to allow yourself the luxury of illusion for a brief instant.

You delay the fateful moment a little longer, fighting the minutes that inevitably slip through your fingers.

"Stay inside me just a little longer," you whisper, burying your head in the hollow of his neck where you can feel the rapid rhythm of his pulse. His arms close around you, holding you tight against him, and you hear him purr against the hair on the crown of your head. He rocks you gently.

The silence welcomes you both into its embrace and you savour it like a treasure. Your body aches in the sweetest way, your insides throbbing around his softening manhood.

And around you, nothing exists anymore.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

"I've changed, you know." His hoarse voice vibrates against you, but you refuse to meet his eyes. You keep them closed.

You're not sure if Aemond has really changed. Aemond is ruthless, cold, brutal, calculating, merciless. Cruel. You're not sure if Aemond can ever change, but he shows unusual tenderness, and maybe, just maybe, you allow yourself to doubt. You indulge in the illusion.

Perhaps Vhagar's death has broken something in him.

Perhaps it's true, perhaps he's not the same man anymore.

He's not sorry for what he has done. He never will be. He's too proud, even if you can catch the glimmer of remorse that colours his icy eyes when he is not looking at you.

Does he think of your little brother? Is he haunted by the memory of him, as you have been for so many years?

Does he think of the innocents he killed without flinching, the blood he spilled in the Riverlands that now stains the burned grass?

Is his sanity slowly being eaten away by the atrocities he has committed with his own hands?

He has changed. You are not sure if he's changed for the better or for the worse, but he has indeed.

Daemon has changed too. So has Rhaenyra. So has Jace.

You too have changed.

For war changes people, war makes them weary and wary, it shatters something in the body that will never be the same again. It hollows out the roundness of the cheeks, it deepens the dark circles under the eyes, it fades the sparkle of childhood that remains in the eyes.

Aemond seems to be waiting for an answer, but the words remain stuck in your throat. I know, you want to whisper, I know, but suddenly you've forgotten how to speak. His thumb draws the soft line of the underside of your breast.

The future terrifies you more than ever. You had made peace with your past, you had come to a conclusion that, even if it pained you, had given you some respite.

Seeing your uncle alive had reawakened your demons.

Spending the night in the embrace of his arms had revived everything you had buried deep, deep down.

The past had returned, creeping towards you, gnawing at the corners of your heart and at what remained of your sense of stability and certainty.

Now you are plunged into doubt.

Just as you were a little over three years ago, when you were informed of his death, when you had to learn to live with the choice that had never really been given to you.

Just as three years ago, when you noticed a familiar lilac-tinged blue in Rhaegar's eyes.

Like when you had to live with the memories that haunted you, that were slowly eating away at what little sanity you had left.

Like when you finally decided to leave for the North.

Aemond seems to sense your anguish, because his fingers get lost in your hair.

"What are we going to do now?"

Finally, you dare to utter the inevitable words that have been hanging on the tip of your tongue since you woke up, words you've swallowed so many times this morning. You immediately blame yourself.

Saying them only makes them more real.

They tear at something in the imaginary cocoon you've built for yourselves. You bury your face against his skin, breathe in his scent, as if you never want to forget him.

For you know how fleeting memories can be.

You remember how his face faded with each passing day.

You don't know if you'll ever be able to experience it a second time.

"We could leave," Aemond replies, as his fingers venture to your jaw, caressing the line of your cheeks with the back of his knuckles.

He's so pragmatic, as always.

Even in this situation.

Even now.

It makes you want to shake him.

"We could run away," he says again. His gaze, fixed in the distance, falls on you at the same moment. "To Essos. Pentos. No one would know who we are." You close your eyes, and let his hoarse voice lull you into silence. "To start our own family, the three of us."

You know he is not serious. Even though he looks at you with such insistence, with that flame that flickers in the centre of his iris.

You relish his fantasy, this impossible dream.

But you can't leave your family; Essos is not Winterfell. There, they knew where to find you. They knew you were safe. They knew you were sheltered between the walls of the northern castle, under the heavy furs, under the protection of Cregan Stark.

Essos is the unknown.

You cannot let your mother lose her only daughter, not after everything she has already lost.

The itch is familiar, tickling at the corners of your eyes. There was a time when you thought you'd lost that sensitivity. When you thought the war had left you cold, incapable of feeling anything. Incapable of crying.

"You know I can't." Your nose rubs against his milky skin, made clammy by sweat. You keep your eyes closed because you feel the weight of his cold gaze on you, his furrowed eyebrows as he stares at you blankly, his lips pursed in a long, thin line. You don't have the courage to meet his accusing gaze, let alone the wounded look on his face as you crush all his illusory dreams into dust.

When did you become the more pragmatic of the two?

When did you become the one responsible for bringing Aemond back to reality?

It used to be you, the one who filled your mind with unrealistic dreams, the one who dreamed of stories and fairy tales, back when you could still dream. "They need me, you know that."

A sneer stretches across your uncle's lips as he swallows a chuckle that sounds more like an ironic growl. You feel his whole body tense against yours, a sign that he's holding back his annoyance.

A sign that he has something to say, that he's upset, but doesn't quite know how to put it into words.

"Like they needed you back then?" he replies scathingly, bitterness on the tip of his tongue. "When they used you as a bargaining chip to achieve their ends, hm?"

Your red cheeks burn with shame, as if he'd slapped you. You don't move, merely swallow hard. You know there's something right about what he is saying, but you don't want to admit it.

You've done your duty.

You've done what is expected of you as a daughter.

It was not a question of them using you. It never was.

It was your duty, only your duty, what you were always meant to perform, wasn't it?

And yet a small voice in the back of your head had already given you a similar speech, a few years ago, but you had tried to silence it.

You refused to let Aemond admit it. You refuse to allow him to do it. He had no idea, no right to criticise your family when he'd acted like that.

When he has done what he has done.

He has no idea what it is like to be a daughter.

You don't answer, and silence falls between you again.

You wish so desperately that he could go home with you; that he could tell them that he's sorry.

You wish it were easier.

There is no one left to wait for Aemond but you, but his son, you know that. His family has been decimated, as has yours in some ways, though you still have your parents and your older brother.

For your uncle, there's nothing left but the shadow of his existence, the shadow of who he once was, long ago.

You let your hand trace the side of his throat, your nose buried against it, your lips hovering over his skin. You lean against him, your body on top of his, pressed together as if you were afraid to let him go.

"You could come with me instead," you whisper, but you refuse to meet his gaze. There's something shameful in the words you've just spoken aloud, something naive, and your burning cheeks are proof of your embarrassment.

Almost imperceptibly, he clenches beneath you, holding his breath. This is a bad idea and you feel stupid. Naive to have dared to suggest something like this.

His voice purrs in a hm that vibrates against you. He's about to say something. He searches for words. "You know that -"

"I know." You cut him off sharply - a little more than you would have liked, your eyes raised to silence him.

You know what he thinks.

He thinks that Rhaenyra will never be his queen. He thinks he will never bend the knee to his eldest sister and her authority, which he doesn't recognise.

He thinks that with the death of Aegon, with the death of the children his brother fathered with Helaena, the throne belongs to him.

And you are aware of his ambitions. You know how perfectly the conqueror's crown fits his head. You know how it sets off the sapphire embedded in his eye socket. You remember the look of greed in his eyes every time he stared at the Iron Throne, you remember the look of pride on his face every time he scorned anyone who dared to question his decisions as Prince Regent.

You know how mercilessly he made the soldiers at Harrenhal kneel, forcing them to contemplate their impending deaths. You know the terror he has sown throughout the Riverlands.

Even in the Seven Hells you could have found more mercy than at the hands of Aemond Targaryen.

Aemond may have changed, but you're not sure he's changed enough to put aside the pride that is consuming him from within.

You take a deep breath. "You don't really have a choice, qybor."

Fearing his reaction, you curl into a fetal position, your back to him, your knees drawn up to you. You close your eyes. You wait for his frustration.

You wait for his sentence.

You know that he is aware that he has no choice.

He has only two options: swallow his pride or sink back into the abyss, disappear into the dark meanders of oblivion.

Rhaegar needed his father, of course, but you found him a father in Cregan Stark.

That was a sacrifice you were willing to make.

There was no way you would give up what family you had left.

For Rhaegar needed his grandparents and his uncle even more.

Behind you, you feel your uncle's hand slip under your tunic and around your body, pulling you against him. He presses his bare chest against your back, tucking your head under his chin. His hand caresses your stomach, then his fingers brush the base of your breast.

"You know she will never be my queen. You know the throne belongs to -" But he lets the words drop without finishing the sentence, the knowledge of what he was about to say hanging in the air between you.

As long as he remains alive, will the embers of war never truly be extinguished?

You don't know, but you accept the risk.

You close your eyes, as if you're about to jump into the icy depths with both feet.

"The rest is up to you, Aemond," you whisper, barely audible. "And if you have truly changed, then you will know how to make the right choice."

He says nothing.

You savour the last few minutes of illusion you have left.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

The fear of making the wrong choice never really leaves you, but your mother chases your fears away, as she so often did when you were a child, tucking one of your dark curls behind your ear. She has her distinctive little smirk on her lips, the one that pulls the corner of her lips up towards her nose.

The same one Lucerys had, you think sadly.

You still miss him, even after all this time, and sometimes you wonder what kind of young man he would have become.

"You're a clever girl, my sweet clever girl," she whispers against your forehead as she cradles you in her arms. She's as beautiful as ever, as gentle with you as ever, despite the years, despite the wear and tear of war that has hardened her features and hollowed her cheeks. "And I know you have made the right decision." She lifts your chin with her forefinger to look into your eyes, and you feel like you're turning back into that shy, insecure girl who disappeared somewhere in the violence of the war all those years ago.

"And if it should turn out that you were wrong... Daemon will be there to intervene. You know he is just waiting for that." You roll your eyes at her attempt at humour, and she plants a kiss on your forehead.

For a split second, you truly are that carefree little girl again.

But behind your mother's humour lie fragments of reality that make your laughter bitter.

The news of your husband's survival remains a hazy blur in your mind. Sometimes you're not sure if this conversation really occurred or if you're dreaming.

You're not sure if what's around you, if the night you spent in Aemond's arms, is real or an invention of your sick mind.

Sometimes you're not really conscious of the events or how long they lasted, the lump in your stomach grows back, and once again you're destined to carve half-moons marks in the palms of your hands to soothe the tension in your body.

You told your mother first because you knew she'd be more understanding. As a mother, as a woman, she knows the meaning behind certain silences, the weight of words, the unspoken words that float between sentences.

You know she can understand your pain and your doubts, but also your love and your compassion.

She was shocked when you told her that her younger brother was still alive. She smoothed her dress, paced back and forth, then took the time to sit down, her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes riveted to your face, looking for clues that would betray what you were thinking, what you might be hiding. She was afraid that he had hurt you. She was afraid that he would rip you away from her, just as he had once ripped your little brother away from her.

Her fingers had gently taken your hand and her thumb had drawn little circles on the back of your hand to comfort you. She listened to you first as you confessed everything.

Where you were that night when you didn't come home.

Who you were with.

And then she took you in her arms. She reassured you. Soothed you.

You had been so afraid of disappointing her, of disappointing all of them, that the tension paralysing your body had finally loosened and you burst into tears.

Things had proved more complicated with Daemon. When he learned that his nephew was alive, that he wasn't forgotten forever in the deep waters of the lake near Harrenhal, he refused to believe you. He was furious. He said he had seen him fall, that he was the one who had taken his life, tearing the sky apart.

You didn't know where to look, and it was in your mother's eyes that you sought support, comfort, anything in the face of your stepfather's rage. You could feel on you the look of disappointment of your brother, Jace, as he held his shoulders up and his chin high. He wanted to prove that one day he would be a good king. With his jaw clenched, he said nothing, looking at you as if you were suddenly so foreign to him. He probably didn't know what to say, for fear of being clumsy, for fear of unintentionally hurting you, even more than by his lack of support.

You know it wasn't his fault.

He simply couldn't understand.

The words stuck in your throat and you found yourself unable to speak, pearls glittering in the corners of your eyes while you waited impatiently for the final blow.

The final death knell that would seal your disgrace in everyone's eyes.

After all you'd endured.

Daemon stood before you, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes hard. He was staring at you as if you'd committed the ultimate treason, and you knew he was controlling himself to keep his anger from exploding. "You're going to bring him to me," he had hissed, his hand closing over your shoulder.

" You will lure him here and he will be put to the sword." His tone left no room for argument. With the tension growing in your stomach, you sought your mother's compassionate look to calm you. You could see the fury in your stepfather's eyes, and also a mixture of fear and feelings of betrayal. You knew that, deep down, he was afraid for you because he considers you his daughter. Because Baela and Rhaena are like sisters to you.

It was his reaction you feared most, not your mother's. His fingers dug into your skin, the floor slipping out from under you, the room swaying dangerously, and your mother had come to your rescue, trying to calm things down with her usual diplomacy.

You can't quite remember the words your stepfather said; in anger he muttered something that sounded like are you really thinking of becoming his whore again? and the words hurt like hell, but you tried to swallow the pain.

Endure, hold your head high. That was what you had learned.

Your mother had suggested you go back to your room or spend some time with Rhaegar, her fingers gently stroking your dark locks, and as soon as you left the throne room you could hear their voices echoing through the door.

They were arguing.

Over you.

Because of you, again.

You took a deep breath and returned to the gardens, where your two stepsisters were making your son laugh by playing with him. They had fun running around in the damp grass to the applause of Baela's little daughter, who clapped her little hands in delight.

Your fingers were still trembling when you joined them.

In the end a solution was found, for your mother feared losing you a second time.

She remembered what had happened to Laenor, your father, when he had grown tired of the court.

She remembered what had happened to Helaena, your sweet aunt, when she could no longer bear to suffer.

It was her worst nightmare to see you torn from her again, now that she had the chance to hold you in her arms every day, to protect you again, to see you grow again.

It was her worst nightmare to see her only daughter, her only daughter and the second of her only surviving children, taken from her.

You and Jace were all she had left of her own blood.

After long negotiations with Daemon, you had managed to bargain for your husband's life in exchange for strict conditions; increased surveillance, no bonding with a new dragon, no carrying of weapons, and the assurance that he would be executed if there was the slightest doubt about him. You proposed that you and he leave the capital, with your son as well. To return to Dragonstone. To start over on a new, blank page in a book that was already too damaged.

For you, it was also a way to ease the tensions between your family and Aemond, and perhaps find a more intimate life with your husband and son.

Rhaenyra had declared that this was the best solution: a guarantee for her to have you by her side again, a guarantee for her that you would be there.

You had been afraid of Aemond's reaction, afraid that his ego would not bear it; that he would refuse, that he would rather sentence himself to his own death than to an existence as a prisoner within his own family, condemned to live as a shadow of the man he had once been in exchange for seeing his son grow up.

But in the end, wasn't he doomed to live as a shadow of the man he had once been, anyway?

He would never be the rider of Vhagar again.

He would never be the ruthless Prince Regent again.

He would never again be the second in line to the throne, the second son greedily waiting for fate to turn in his favour.

He hadn't been all of that for a good three years, lurking in the cold, gloomy corridors of Harrenhal like a lonely monster.

And if he went back, if he rejected your proposal, he would have condemned himself to eternal solitude at the side of a witch you would rather forget.

He had no choice, for he would never be that Aemond again.

When you joined your husband at the meeting place, you were relieved to see him swallow his pride and accept. It was difficult, but you convinced him.

For Rhaegar, for his son.

Aemond had suggested that you run away, far away from everything, and you almost hesitated. Running away would have allowed you to forget, of course.

But your deepest wounds had begun to heal. You had begun to be able to face the ghosts that haunted King's Landing, the ghosts that haunted Dragonstone.

To stop there was tempting, and yet so frightening at the same time.

The unknown terrified you. You needed familiarity now, something to fall back on, for you were so tired.

Now you can't help bringing your thumb to your lips, nibbling the skin at the corner of your fingernail with the tip of your teeth as you walk away from Rhaenyra. A handmaiden brings you Rhaegar, and you struggle to breathe.

You inhale.

You exhale.

The thick tuft of brown hair makes you smile. The sight of your son is enough to give you the courage to walk with a more confident stride. It's as if you were filled with new strength, for you know that he needs you more than anyone else. And for him, you've promised yourself to stay strong.

As soon as you reach him, you kneel and plant a kiss on his plump cheeks.

He's growing up so fast that sometimes you wish you could stop time.

"There's someone who'd like to meet you, sweet boy," you explain, and you can recognise your mother's inflection in your own voice. Sweet boy. Rhaegar looks at you with big, round, questioning eyes, and you wonder if he senses your anxiety, because he takes your hand between his tiny fingers.

"Who, muña ?" he babbles, striding down the cobbled path in the middle of the gardens, hopping on his clumsy little legs, and you smile at his carefree attitude. He stops to watch the bees foraging, bends down to pick up a flower and gives it to you. He's always so curious, so full of life. He's a ray of sunshine that brightens your dull days. You finally understand your mother, the agonising fear she has of losing you. You finally understand the horror she experienced when she lost her four other children.

You also finally understand why Helena threw herself from Maegor's Holdfast.

The thought of what Daemon did still revolts you, and you can't imagine anyone hurting your boy like that.

You turn around. Rhaenyra is still there, in the distance, her crown on her head, her hands crossed in front of her on the heavy fabric of her dress, watching over you. She won't move, a comforting, discreet presence.

A stone bench awaits you by the fountain, on which two cushions have been arranged. A dessert buffet has been set up under the gazebo and you immediately spot your favourite cakes, the strawberry one, the blackberry jam one, and you look down at your son. He hasn't noticed them yet, or he would have already run over, dipped his finger in the whipped cream and stolen a blueberry from one of the tarts, his innocent expression on his face.

He is definitely a lot like you. Mischievous and clever. An angelic air. He is an easy-going child who never throws a tantrum.

Who understands quickly, too.

"I love you. I love you more than anything, you know that, don't you, young boy?" your tone is soft, and you kneel down in front of him, your hands on his small shoulders to emphasise the seriousness of your discussion. You search for your words, hesitating. How do you tell a three-year-old that his father, his dead father, is back from the dead and about to meet him?

Of course, Rhaegar knows that his birthfather was valiant, that his birthfather rode the greatest dragon in the world, that his birthfather died in battle.

But there is so much he doesn't know, so much he will inevitably learn as he grows up, and it is precisely that future that frightens you. You hug him as if you're afraid of losing him.

"Princess."

The deep voice of your sworn protector echoes behind you, and you straighten your skirt.

You know he is there.

You know you will see him the moment you turn around.

Your heartbeat quickens.

Aemond Targaryen stands behind your sworn protector, surrounded by two guards. His hands are bound in front of him.

It is so strange to see your uncle in this vulnerable position. He who for so long has been on the other side, he who for so long has been the one who bent others to his will. He looks at you harshly, and you almost feel the need to apologise.

But you know it is a matter of caution.

You know that Daemon, you know that Jace and even your mother would never have agreed to bring him in if such precautions hadn't been taken.

You admire his resilience, his determination. You admire his ability to hold his head high, to be confident, despite the fact that he is being treated like a common prisoner, about to be sentenced to death.

You struggle to swallow the lump that has formed in your throat.

"Who's that, muña?" Aemond's eyes leave you and immediately drop to the small figure that has appeared beside you, reaching for your hand, huddling against your leg, shy and worried.

Immediately, your husband's icy gaze, his lilac-coloured eyes, soften.

"Thank you, Sir Rowan. You may leave us."

Despite the worry on his face, your sworn protector nods, unties his prisoner's hands and walks back to your mother, accompanied by the other two guards. You watch them leave, and a strange silence fills the space between you and your uncle.

He doesn't look at you; his eyes are riveted to your son, whom he observes with wonder. He looks as if he is admiring the most beautiful and fascinating discovery he has ever seen. You look down to see Rhaegar's reaction, and he seems as intimidated as he is hypnotised by that gaze, by that blue and purple eye so similar to his owns, by this man looking at him as if he were one of the most marvellous things in the world.

"Gods, he's perfect," Aemond murmurs as he looks up at you, emerging from his trance. He comes closer to embrace you. And for once, there is something other than his usual brutal possessiveness and ferocity when his arms close around you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond is shy at first. Awkward.

He's shy and amazed as he follows your son's every move with his good eye. From time to time, his gaze rests on you, as if to make sure he's not dreaming. As if to make sure he is doing right, seeking your approval.

Rhaegar is shy too, at first.

When he sits on your lap, he snuggles up to you, buries his face in your neck, one of your locks curled in his chubby little hand and he rubs it against his nose. From time to time, he turns to give his father a curious look, recognising his own eyes in the unfamiliar face before him.

Aemond's expression grows gentler, a softness never seen in his features before.

Once he has tamed the stranger, the little boy pecks at the blueberries in the tart in front of him. He shakes his legs, hitting your knees in painful little jabs, and your arm wraps around his body to hold him down.

Rhaegar loves cake, and the sugar may be coaxing him, for he's regaining his appetite for talking.

"He really does have my eyes," Aemond whispers incredulously, and his voice, still foreign to his son's ears, causes the little boy to lift his head.

" It is definitely the only thing he has inherited from you," you reply, teasing him with a small smile at the corner of your lips.

Soon Rhaegar finishes the blueberry tart, the cream smeared over the bottom of his face and the tip of his nose.

"He inherited that from you, that is certain." Aemond grins, pointing with his long chin at the boy's voracious appetite for cakes and pastries.

You have to pinch yourself to make sure you're not dreaming. That your husband is really standing in front of you, with your son, like a normal family.

That he was truly trying to tell a joke.

This form of domesticity is so alien to your relationship, and yet so pleasant, that you find yourself thinking that perhaps you have made the right decision, indeed, if every day can be like this.

"Your muña deserves some cake too, what do you say, little one?"

Rhaegar giggles. Aemond cuts a slice of your favourite cake, the one with the strawberries, and puts it on your plate.

You blush. After all these years, he hasn't forgotten which one is your favourite.

You can't even really whisper a thank you because this apparent domesticity, this feeling of completeness, this interlude of happiness makes you uneasy. Anxious.

You have the feeling that at any moment you'll be plunged back into the horror of what you went through all those years ago.

You have the feeling that at any moment the Gods will be cruel and snatch away this happiness that you've barely been able to taste, leaving only the memory of its sweet taste on your lips.

You breathe in and out, as you often do when you feel your palpitations rising in your chest.

"Do you... do you want to take him on your lap?" you ask your uncle with shyness, your hand stroking Rhaegar's thick brown curls. Aemond looks at you as if you have spoken in a foreign language. Lips parted, he is about to say something, but not a sound escapes his lips. His lonely eye travels from you to your son, from your son to you, in silence.

"I don't know if -"

You can hear the doubt in his voice, and it's almost touching to see him lose his confidence in front of his own son, to see him so nervous and unsure of himself.

You let out a little laugh, not in mockery, obviously, just full of tenderness.

You know what he's thinking.

He's afraid of frightening him.

He's afraid of harming him.

"You won't hurt him, Aemond."

He answers nothing. He still doesn't like to look vulnerable, unsure, and you know it has to do with his childhood. With all he has kept bottled up inside him all these years. He will need time.

Your eyes fall back to the little boy sitting in your lap, and you draw his attention to yourself by stroking the curls on his forehead.

"Do you want to go to Aemond for a while? To kepus?"

you correct yourself immediately, and Rhaegar nods in agreement.

You are amazed at how easily he slips off your legs to run to his father, to pull himself onto his lap, when only a few hours ago he was so intimidated by the presence of this stranger with the eyepatch.

Your uncle automatically puts his arm around his waist to make him feel comfortable, his new role taking root in him. His fingers reach for the cloth on the table, and he wipes Rhaegar's face, who can't help but burst out laughing at his father's clumsy gestures.

For a split second you are lost in contemplating the horizon, the stillness of the sea. You taste the sea breeze on your face.

And then you turn your head towards the cobbled path where the guards and your sworn protector are still stationed.

Your mother is no longer there, and you notice that you have not at any time felt the need to seek comfort in her presence.

You smile, for in the end you know you've made the right decision.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Dragonstone, 6 months later.

When you walk the corridors of the place that saw you grow up, you are no longer haunted by the ghosts and their incessant cries. A kind of peace has settled over you, a return to the pleasant familiarity you've waited so long for.

You still think of Luke, of course. Of Luke and Joff and little Aegon and Viserys, your brothers you will never see grow old.

But you no longer feel their disapproving glances at every step you take. You are no longer kept awake by their cries, by their tears, by the remorse that twists your stomach.

You no longer blame yourself.

Perhaps you've finally learnt to make peace with yourself.

The heavy door of the bedroom you share with Aemond is half open, and you slip your head into the doorway, piqued by curiosity.

Snuggled on your husband's lap, Rhaegar is staring at the pages of a large book, the corners of which you can guess are horned, the cover worn, from being carried everywhere. You can imagine the jam stains that mark the paper with children's fingerprints. You know exactly which page is missing, the one you and Aemond accidentally tore out and hid so the Septa wouldn't notice, so many years ago.

It is a book about dragons, the very one the two of you used to read hidden under the table when you were so young and innocent, long before the torment of war.

Without a sound, you lean against the doorframe and contemplate for a moment the perfect vision before you.

You don't have the cruelty to disturb them.

"This one is Vhaegar!" shouts Rhaegar, and you hold your breath, searching Aemond's face for any hint that might betray his reaction. The mention of his former dragon is still a sensitive subject for him, you know it.

"Yes, that's Vhagar." he pauses. "She was brave."

From the corner of his eye, Aemond spots your silhouette in the faint glow of the corridor, and his attention lingers on you for a moment. He's almost embarrassed to be caught in such a vulnerable, intimate moment, but you smile tenderly to encourage him.

"And big!" the little boy adds, energetically raising his arms to the sky to emphasise his words.

"Yes, and big." There's a suspended moment of silence where the words hang in the air, and then your husband gently ruffles his son's hair. It's a tender sight to see them bond like this, and your heart fills with happiness.

Taking a step forward, you step into the light of the room and Rhaegar expresses his joy at seeing you. You smile back at him and approach the chair where Aemond sits, your son on his lap.

Your uncle's hand instantly rests on the curve of your belly, which he still stares at with the same protective instinct, the same fascination, as the day you told him the news. His eyes sparkle.

"Your daughter is restless today."

He looks up at you, not without lingering for a moment on your breasts and their new shape.

"My daughter?" he asks, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"I'm convinced it's a girl. You reply, smiling wryly, and take a seat in the armchair next to the one where Aemond and your son are sitting, facing the fireplace. "And she took after her father, given her temper," you tease him, your hand on the top of your rounded belly to soothe the baby growing there.

Rhaegar's eyes close slowly. Nestled against the chest of the man who, just a few months ago, was still a stranger, he fights sleep, he fights to stay awake, but tiredness quickly overcomes him. And then he falls asleep, his mouth half open, the movements of his breath making his chest rise and fall rhythmically.

Aemond finally gets up. You follow his movements with your eyes as he approaches you, the child in his arms, and he plants a kiss on the top of his head.

"I'm going to put him to bed. I'll be right back." He straightens and lowers his voice.

"I wouldn't fail in my duty and neglect my wife." The heat rises to your cheeks, turning them red at the implication of what awaits you tonight. You're already wet between your thighs at the thought.

But you nod in agreement and watch him walk away.

You are left alone in the silence of the room. The only sound around you is the steady crackling of the fire.

It's strange, you think, to be back on Dragonstone, in the familiarity of the stones you've spent most of your life between, after getting used to the idea of not surviving the war.

To the idea of dying from a broken heart.

To the idea of dying, the umpteenth victim of the vicious spiral of conflict that has torn your family apart.

And yet here you are.

With your own family.

For once you have hope for the future. You hear the cries of your little brother, lost in the storm so long ago, but they are quickly replaced by the laughter of a happy memory.

And finally, you have the absolute confirmation that you have made the right decision.

*** *** *** *** ***

Thank you so much for reading!! <3

Tag list : @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis (I'm tagging you since you asked for it ❤️)

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x niece!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic

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whateversawesome · 2 months ago

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Spy x Family AU Fic Recommendations

It's been a while since I've done fic rec list. There are so many good fics out there, so I thought it was time. For this list, I will focus on my favorite Alternate Universe fics!

After Peace by @unhappy-sometimes : My current favorite AU, also named by someone else the "midwestern au" for its vibes. In this fic, Twilight is no longer the best spy of the West, but an agent forced into retirement in small town in the middle of nowhere because of a terrible injury. As you can imagine, he's quite depressed without a purpose until a little girl named Anya enters the picture.

Tactic & Strategy by Puolain: In which Twilight and Thorn Princess are forced by their agencies to get married. Twilight is undercover as Lionel Reiss, from the national guard. This fic is not only beautiful but also very exciting.

Hidden Under the Roses by @sister-cna-reader : This is a mafia AU that has plenty of fluff and plenty of spice! In this story, Yor is the Garden's heir and must marry Loid to ensure an alliance. Also, did I mention Anya is a baby in this universe?

As Time Goes By by @nightofnyx8 : In this AU, Twilight is a spy and an American pilot that crashes near Yor's garden. After nourishing him back to health, they face the terrible Captain Winston Wheeler, who won't rest until he captures that spy. This story is incredibly exciting and also sweet.

Green Eyed Monster by Bigbruja: If you like jealous Twilight, this is the fic for you! Here, an old friend of Yor's returns with the intention of taking her away from her husband, but Twilight is not going to let him do that so easily.

Air by @cantareincminor : In this AU, Twilight and Thorn Princess meet during a mission gone wrong. I can't say much without spoiling it! Just know that it's very sweet and you can feel the strong chemistry between those two! Major flirting alert hehehe.

The Cat, the Key, the Cook, and the Queen by @lpham2525 : If you like fairytales, this fic is perfect for you. In this universe, Queen Yor must marry, so she creates a clever competition to find the right man for the job!

Lo que se hace en el primer día by @gijipaw : Yes, I am aware this is in Spanish but, do you want to see Loid and Yor as boyfriend and girlfriend? Then you have to read this fic! If you speak Spanish or if you know how to use Google translate, give this short and sweet fic a try.

The Five Times Loid Forger Went Topless In Front of His Wife and the One Time She Reciprocated" or "Bare-Chested in Berlint" by Talik_Sanis: Ahem...yes, I am aware of the title and what can I say? This list needs a crack fic! This is probably the funniest fic I have ever read (the title says it all) so I encourage you to read it and have a good time. And when you get to the ice cream scene come back and tell me what you thought about it. It's my favorite scene in the whole fic hehe.

The following is not a fic per se, but an exciting, ongoing multichapter fancomic that has become a staple in the fandom and is definitely worth checking out. I'm talking about none other than...

Doppelgänger by @buf309 : Without giving too much away, in this AU there's a man who looks exactly like Twilight going on a killing rampage. Twilight will have to face his worst nightmare and do everything he can to save his family. This is an amazing story!!

And finally, the list wouldn't be complete without some shameless self-promotion 😆

My Enemy : A war fic AU in which the Briars are forced to host a Westalian high-ranking officer in their home. As an Ostanian, Yor hates this man, of course! However, little by little Captain Loid Forger wins her over and, despite being enemies, they end up falling deeply in love. Riddled with exciting twists and turns, this story is also full of fluff and spice.

Love Is...: A non-traditional omegaverse in which Twilight is a shifter (a person who can shift between Alpha, Omega or Beta) who experiences his first rut after a kissing practice with his wife. This fic has plenty of fluff, plenty of angst, and some spice too!

Eden's Ball: If you like Eden AU, you're going to love this fic! In this story, Loid Forger, president of the student council, is in charge of organizing a ball at school. His intention is to ask Yor Briar to go with him but things go terribly wrong!

That's it! If you like these recommendations, check out my Spy x Family fic compilation and my previous fic rec lists (part 1 and part 2).

#spy x family #twiyor #sxf #loid forger #yor forger #anya forger #spy x family fic #loidyor #spy x family fic rec #spy x family fic rec list #spy x family fic recommendation #loid x yor #twiyor fic #spy x family fanfic #twiyor fanfic #spy x family fanfiction #artists on tumblr

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viking-raider · 7 months ago

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Syverson Family War

Summary-> You've just gotten off a 12-hour shift at the hospital, only to return home and get swept up into a Syverson Family War, between your husband and three children.

Pairing-> Austin "Sy" Syverson/Reader

Word Count-> 3.2k

Warnings-> PG: FLUFF, Cotton Candy Fluff, Light Teasing, Soft!Sy, SAHD!Sy, Nurse!Reader

Inspiration-> This Instagram Video (If this isn't Sy vibes, idk who Sy is!)

Author’s Note-> This is a work of Fiction!

Divider by-> @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER

You were more than excited to be home after a nearly twelve hour shift at the hospital. Your back throbbed and your feet were screaming at the top of their arches from running up and down the ER department. You didn’t even bother gathering up your tote of stuff, as you got out of your car, since you had the next two days off. So, they would wait until a two hour long bubble bath and a nap with eternity.

But upon entering your modest, two story Ranch house, you were bombarded by silence. Your eyes narrowed as they scanned the dining room to your left and living room to your right, ears pricking up for the slightest movement from the bedrooms upstairs.

Something was clearly off. It was almost never this quiet in the Syverson household.

There was always some sort of ruckus or chaos in motion. Your husband blasting music in the garage, where he had set up a small work-out area or telling off whatever game was playing on the enormous tv in the living room. If it wasn’t Sy, it was a combination of your three kids. Your two boys wrestling each other over a toy or giggles, or your daughter discovering a new, little critter from the backyard and bringing it in, before promptly losing it. Or all three kids getting into mischief with each other somehow.

But when it was silent, you knew there were real shenanigans afoot.

You drew in a deep breath, mustering what energy you had left inside yourself, for Syverson Madness. “Guys! I’m home!” You called out, swinging the front door shut with a little more strength than usual, as you moved a step deeper into the powderkeg. “What are you nuts up to?” You mumbled to yourself, moving towards the living room, still trying to keep yourself alert for any kind of trap or scare.

Little good it did, as a strong hand suddenly grabbed your elbow and yanked you backwards into the dark portal of the laundry room door, with a yelp. The hand shifted to your mouth and the door closed with a soft click.

“Ssshh.” Sy cooed at you, moving his hand away. “Gotta keep quiet, Sugar Butt.” He chuckled at you.

You could hear the smirk on his bearded face, before he clicked on the tactical flashlight he was carrying. You looked him over in the dim light, discovering him in his full Army tactical gear, minus his bare feet. He even sported his night vision goggles clipped to his helmet.

“What in the he-” You were about to demand, scanning him again, but spotted one of your son’s Nerf Rifles strapped to his back. “Give me that!” You huffed, gobsmacked, as you took the light and started checking him and the laundry room out. “Good Lord, Almighty!” You laughed, shaking your head.

He had a Nerf pistol in his thigh holster, a pump gun on the dryer, a blaster beside that, and copious amounts of ammo on the washer, with pop grenades. Which you knew were filled with either baby powder or flour from the last time a Syverson War had been declared on the house.

You looked up at your husband, bottom lip trapped between your teeth for a moment. “How long has World War Syverson Seven been going?” You asked, completely amused by how lost Sy got into playing with your kids, and how much they loved it when he did.

Sy looked at his watch. “Since just after breakfast. Myles chose violence and shot Ada in the back, while she was trying to color a picture. Tears ensued, which caused Colt to declare revenge on Myles, in Ada’s name.”

“You got roped into this, how?”

“Ada got in on it, insisting she didn’t need a man to defend her honor…”

“That’s my girl.” You chuckled, smirking.

“It is.” Sy laughed back. “But, in defending her own honor, she shot me in the leg, while I was trying to get them to chill out.”

You nodded your head, seeing all the pieces fall into place. “Which, obviously, by the Syverson Code, requires you to defend your own honor.”

“Obviously, Angel!” Sy answered, faking outrage. “You should know that, after fifteen years!”

“Fifteen years, and I’m still jotting things down in the Syverson Code of Conduct booklet!” You laughed, shaking your head, there were a lot of things Sy lived and would die by.

They were many of the things that made your heart swell with love for the burly, ex-Army vet.

“So, how do I configure into this madness?”

“You just got home from a super long shift, Sugar.” He answered, brow pinching. “You’re an innocent bystander. I just had to save you before one of those hellions out there shot you.”

“My savior.” You cooed, pushing up on your toes and kissing him. “My back and arches appreciate you.”

“The Lair is off limits, per usual.” He informed you. “We just have to make it out of here and upstairs.”

“Quite the way.” You commented, mentally mapping your and Sy’s route out of the laundry room, through the living room and entryway, then finally up the stairs and home free to the master bedroom, which was referred to as the Lair, where you could rest without having to worry about the family war.

“All right, Captain, what’s the plan?”

He gave you the Syverson wink and reached over your head, there was a sharp click and from outside the laundry room, you heard the kids’ screech. Sy had thrown the power switch to the house, plunging it into the darkness. You chuckled, smirking, understanding his tactic now.

“Stay close.” He whispered to you, clicking his ammo to his vest on, before moving to the door. “The enemy is sneaky and uncivilized.” He said, pressing his body against it, listening carefully to the other side.

“Like their father.” You mumbled under your breath with a snort, huddling yourself against his back.

“I’d say more like their mama.” Sy commented back, reaching back to pop you on the bum, then slowly cracked open the door.

You shuffled out after him, casting glances over your shoulder every few seconds. It was easy going, getting through the living room. Sy had defended it mightily throughout the day, so the kids had become shy about entering their father’s domain. You trusted Sy to protect you, from everything, your kids included. Silly as that was to think.

“We have movement at 12!” Sy called out, catching your nine year old, Myles, through his night vision in his fort, consisting of the dining table and chairs that he was hunkered down underneath, belly crawling from one end towards the other, closing the gap between himself and the entryway. “He’s under the table. A sneaky little sniper boy.” He snickered, shouldering the Nerf-AR resting against his side.

You scrunched yourself up behind Sy’s wide and muscular back as Nerf Darts started whizzing by, striking the scuffed wood floor or sticking to the walls. Both Sy and Myles laughed maniacally as they shot at each other; tossing weak insults on top of it.

“Milk drinker!” Myles shouted, hustling to reload.

“Lizard eater!” Sy shot back, smirking.

“Now, boys!” You scolded weakly, snorting.

They continued their assault, Sy guiding you towards a pocket the bottom stairs provided coming down into the foyer, allowing you to take cover and him to shoot through the bars of the steps.

“Are you hit?” You asked, playing along with the game.

“Nothing I’ll die from.” He answered, reloading his weapons. “But, you can be a good nurse and kiss them all better.” He said, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“That’s cheating!” Myles yelled out.

“Well, If I was over there, I’d do the same thing to you, Bud!” You called back, planting a kiss on Sy’s cheek, his well-groomed beard tickling your skin.

“An aid relief truce then?” Myles suggested, poking his head out from under the table.

“Certainly not!” Sy barked back, popping a Nerf dart off over his son’s head, sending him scurrying back into his fort. “She’s my nurse! I found her out wandering the battlefield, unprotected. If you wanted her to be your nurse, you should have found her first, yourself!”

“I almost did! Before you kidnapped her!” Myles huffed, hotly. “You’re holding her hostage!” He suddenly insisted. “Don’t worry, Mama. I’ll rescue you!”

“Oh my, a hostage situation.” You sighed, licking your lips. “I appreciate your devotion, son.”

“Ha.” Sy scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, boy. I’m escorting this lovely lady to the Lair.”

As Sy and Myles argued over who was going to have the pleasure of accompanying you upstairs, you caught a slight movement behind you and Sy, lurking in the darkness of the living room; moving slowly. It vanished behind the couch, and for a moment you thought it was just Aika, but when something popped up over the back of the couch, then quickly ducked down again, you were then positive it wasn’t the old girl. But your Daddy’s girl, Ada. Of all the children, six year old Ada was the most like her father. She’d been attached to Sy’s hip from the moment she left your womb. Hanging on Sy’s every word, movement and action, that sometimes it spooked you.

So, watching her stealth around in the dark of the living room was both impressive, amusing and a tad terrifying. Especially since you knew the little hellion was coming for revenge on her father and brother. There were no alliances between them during a Syverson war. You were the only ally allowed to go between the four of them. Mending wounds, mostly pretend ones, but sometimes there were real ones. Sometimes, you’d team up with one of them, to take on the other three.

“On your six! In the living room, babe!” You warned, snagging the Nerf pistol from Sy’s thigh holster as he reacted, purely by instinct, removing one of his baby powder pop grenades, tossing it behind him without looking, trusting your instruction.

Ada startled, surprised that you had noticed her, followed by a cloud of baby powder obscuring her view. She came to a halt, upon hurdling the back of the couch, in an attempt to overtake you and Sy. You took aim and fired, the Nerf dart hitting her square in the chest.

“Nice shot, hon.” Sy nodded, patting your leg, then called out to his daughter. “Sorry, Cricket, but that’s a kill shot.” He told her, his voice soft, but uncompromising.

Ada huffed, pressing her lips together. “Not fair, Mama isn’t supposed to shoot us! She doesn’t have anything to avenge!” She protested, crossing her arms.

Sy chuckled, cocking his head at her. “Mama has her own special rules in our Wars, you know that, Cricket.”

“I’ll come kiss it better, but you know Daddy’s five minute rule.” You chimed in, feeling bad about it, you honestly hadn’t meant to hit her, it was just a lucky shot.

But rules were rules. You could go and kiss her boo-boo better, allowing her to enter the War game again. However, Sy had made a rule that anyone hit with a Kill Shot had to be dead for at least five minutes, before you could render aid to them.

“All right.” Ada sighed, before flopping to the floor with a dramatic sound.

“Where were we?” Sy asked, then nodded. “Right, Myles, kindly allow me to escort my Nurse upstairs.”

“No deal, Pops.” Myles replied, shaking his head.

“Can I just go upstairs on my own?” You asked, peeking at your son through the spindles of the stairs.

Myles was quiet for a moment, considering. “Only if I get to keep you to myself for an hour!” He finally answered.

“Oh, he drives a hard bargain, that son of yours.” You teased Sy, tickling the back of his neck.

“That he does.” Sy agreed, shivering, as he brewed over Myles' offer. “You can have her for thirty minutes!” He negotiated with him.

“Thirty minutes!” Myles barked in outrage.

“You have to go to bed in two hours, boy!” Sy reminded him.

“So, give her to me for an hour!”

You smirked and pressed your palm to the base of Sy’s neck, leaning in close, your lips brushing against his ear, so only he could hear you. “Let him have me for the hour, Austin. I’ve been gone for twelve hours, and they have to go to bed in two. It’ll give me a little bit of time with them.” You reasoned with your husband. “We’ll have all night together after they're asleep, and the next two days, when they're at school.”

Sy nodded, rubbing his lips together. “You’re right.” He whispered back to you. “All right, you can have her for an hour, after you let her go upstairs and do what she pleases.”

A muffled yes came from the dining room. ��Deal! You’re free to come out, Mama!”

“Thank God! I have to pee really bad.” You chuckled, kissing Sy, before scurrying out of your hiding place with him and started up the stairs, as you reached the top, you wondered where your middle child, Colt, was.

The seven year old was oddly missing in action the whole time the rest of you were battling and negotiating downstairs. As you reached the top, a cry filled the air, startling the life out of you, before a fury of Nerf darts peppered you all over.

“COLT!” You howled at the boy, dashing for your bedroom door and taking cover behind it.

“Colt Nero Syverson!” Sy’s voice called up the stairs. “You know the rules about firing upon your mother!”

“I’m sorry, Mama.” Colt’s soft voice whimpered in the dark to you. “I didn’t know it was you.”

“It’s fine, little man.” You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Just mind yourself.”

“Okay, Ma.” He smiled, ducking back into his hiding place; his room.

“Oh, this family.” You sighed again, closing the door and rushing for the en suite, tugging off your shoes as you went. “Ooo.” You cooed, enjoying the feeling of the icy tile on your bare, throbbing feet.

Bladder empty, you splashed some cool water in your face, then got out of your nursing scrubs, replacing them with a comfortable pair of shorts and a tank top. You laid down on your and Sy’s enormous bed, dozing off for a couple minutes before getting back up to fulfill the promises you made to Ada and Myles.

“Colt, I’m coming out, please don’t shoot me.” You called through the crack you opened in the bedroom door.

“Okay, Mama!” He called back.

Coming out of the room, you stood at the top of the stairs, but frowned and turned, heading down to Colt’s room. “What are you doing, buddy?” You asked, peeking around the doorframe, seeing he had made a little barricade and was hunkered down behind his bed. “Why haven’t you come down to challenge your dad, brother and sister?”

“Oh, I have, Ma!” He answered, his smile showing off the two front teeth he lost a month before. “I’m just waiting for the most opportune time to go back downstairs to finish off whoever is left.” He sat up on his bed a little more, eyeing you. “How many of them are left?”

You smirked at him, slyly. “You know I’m not allowed to give away information to someone, especially if I’m not teamed up with them, little man.”

“Poop.” He huffed, slapping his mattress and sitting back. “Do you wanna be on my team?” He asked, hopeful.

“Sadly, your Papa had to bargain me off to your brother for an hour, so I could go to the Lair and change.” You informed him, giving him a sympathetic smile. “But, how about this? When it’s bedtime, I’ll come and read to you, whatever you want.”

“Eragon!” He gasped, enthralled again.

“Deal.”

“Deal!”

“All right, wee man, if I don’t see you before then, I’ll see you at bed time.” You cooed at him.

You headed back downstairs, pausing on the middle landing. “I’m coming downstairs, don’t shoot!” You announced to Sy and Myles.

“All clear!” They both called back.

You joined them downstairs, finding them just as you left them.

“Mommy, can I be alive again?” Ada called to you from her spot behind the couch.

“Yes, love, I’m coming right now to fix your boo-boo.” You replied, crossing the entryway and leaned over her, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “There, sweet girl. All healed and alive again. Off you trot. Why don’t you watch a movie on your tablet, until bedtime?”

“Thanks, Mama!” She giggled, hugging your waist, then ran off.

With your daughter resurrected, you joined Myles in the dining room, and despite the soreness in your body, got under the table with him. “Just you, Colt and your Papa now, big man.” You told him, propping your head up on your hand. “Tough crowd.”

“But I got you, Mama.” Myles countered. “You can heal all my wounds.”

“Mm, that I can.” You nodded, casting your eyes past the table legs and made out Sy’s outline. “But, that’s about all the energy I’ve got for you. Bringing your sister back to life took a lot out of me. So, I can’t help you fight either of them.”

“That’s fine. I can finish them.”

You reached out and brushed your fingers through his tamed, black curls. “I have all the faith in the world in you, my sweet boy.” You cooed at him, lovingly.

“Moooom!” He groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Time’s wastin’, kid!” Sy called out.

“You stay here, mom. I’m gonna sneak around.” Myles said, wiggling back up the table towards the back entry of the kitchen.

“I’ll be here.” You replied, propping your head up on your hand, eyes drooping for a moment.

At least, you thought it was for a moment, until you felt a pair of strong hands grab your ankles and yanked you out from underneath the table, startling you awake from the nap you dozed into.

“Jesus.”

“Naw, just me, Angel.” Sy grinned, helping you up.

“Where’s Myles?” You asked, rubbing at the sleep in your eyes and noticing he wasn’t in his tactical gear anymore, but just a pair of shorts.

“Out cold in bed.” He answered, steadying you with his hands on your hips.

“But…” You frowned, glancing at the stairs over your shoulder.

“Colt came down not long after Myles tried sneaking around me through the kitchen.” Sy explained to you, a proud little glint in his blue eyes. “Took out both of us, the little rascal.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “We found you asleep and they understood you had a long day, and would spend time with them tomorrow, after they came home from school.”

You pressed your forehead against his chest. “What in the world would I do without you?” You cooed, sighing heavily.

“I don’t know what we would do without you.” He replied, encasing you in his muscular arms and resting his chin on top of your head, rocking gently. “Let’s go to bed, love.” He whispered, scooping you up off your sore feet and carried you upstairs, to bed.

You moaned softly, sinking into the mattress as Sy tossed the blankets over you and kissed your temple, before joining.

#henry cavill #henrycavill #viking-raider fics #Syverson #captain syverson #syverson x reader #syverson fluff #cpt syverson #syverson fanfiction #Austin Syverson #Syverson x You #Syverson Family War #Syverson Family War *fic*#Stay at Home Dad!Sy #Soft!Sy #Nurse!Reader

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royalsweetteaa · 1 year ago

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sadbucksblog asked: Ok here’s a thought that’s been running through my head. 1940s steve forcing himself on shy!innocent!reader and forcing her to marry him. Later when reader found out that he ‘died’ (during the plane crash), she was secretly glad. But surprise surprise Endgame steve came back to return the infinity stones n decides to stay with his widow for good.In my head, endgame steve is meaner & more jaded 😈

Oh, definitely!! Endgame Steve gives the most dom vibes out of all his previous versions. If reader thought Steve was bad in the 1940s, she has another thing coming when he returns. His stay in the modern age has corrupted him more and made him kinkier. Like imagine the things he would do against 40s reader now that he knows how to pleasure a woman, because I know for sure they didn’t care about that stuff in the 40s.

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

WARNING - Following contains: non-con, explicit smut, forced marriage, misogyny, 40s gender roles, dom/sub dynamic, dom!Steve, unbalanced power dynamic, mentions of somnophilia, slight bondage, dumbification, loss of virginity.

Title: His return

I imagine with this scenario, Steve liked Y/N a lot before he received the serum. You were so sweet and actually nice to him unlike the rest of the girls, but whenever he asked you on a date, you would reject him, saying you only saw him as a good friend.

And so after he got his super soldier strength, he expected you to like him back, because all women love strong and masculine men who can protect and provide for them (at least that’s how the gender norms were back in the 1940s). So imagine to his surprise when you kindly reject him even then after he has become a living female fantasy.

He literally cannot contain his fury and forces himself on you the same day, ignoring your pleas when you beg him to stop because you wanted to save yourself for marriage and give your virginity to someone you love.

“Don’t worry, my love. It’s not a sin if we end up getting married. You will take me as your husband or I’m going to tell everyone how much of a whore you are for spreading your legs so easily for me.” Steve threatened.

You were so scared, and knowing you had little authority in this situation, you did as he said. You knew no one would side with you if you were to protest against the new hero of the country; Captain America.

A month later, the two of you married and became husband and wife. Steve made you into his little house wife, and for each mission he came home from, he would fuck you for hours until you passed out. You were so clueless of the things Steve did to you sometimes, like whenever he would thrust inside of you in a specific angle causing you to feel an arising sensation from your abdomen. You didn’t know what it was, but it felt good no matter how shameful you were of it.

Whenever you accidentally dropped something, like a plate of food or when you burned dinner in the oven because you forgot the time, Steve would punish you by harsh spanking, telling you how bad of a wife you are for messing up your husband’s food. You would cry and apologize profusely until he stopped and left you with a sore butt.

He would also take you when you were fast asleep. You were a light sleeper, and only would you wake up when he jackhammered into you, causing a burning feeling around your sore pussy. Steve was huge due to his bodily enhancement, and it took a while for you to get used to his size. He would hardly talk when he fucked you as his only mission was to cum for relief. Steve was a busy man after all, with the war still ongoing. The weeks he was gone were the most peaceful times of your life ever since Steve took claim of you.

One fateful day, a military personnel visited you at your house and gave you the unfortunate news of the Captain’s loss. You shedded tears, but not because of Steve’s death. It was rather because the nightmare of a life was finally over. You felt relieved knowing Steve could never put his hands on you ever again.

2 years pass by, and you have all forgotten about Steve Rogers. You would occasionally see his face on posters and articles, and while it brought back some of the trauma, you always reminded yourself that he was gone for good.

At least, you thought he was.

It was a day like any other in your small little suburban house that you moved to after selling Steve’s house, and you suddenly heard the doorbell ring to your front door. You shouted ‘coming!’ to whoever was waiting outside, and turned off the temperature of your oven where there were freshly baked cinnamon rolls waiting for you later.

You open the door, and it’s like your whole world shatters before your eyes. There he was, your unmistakably still alive husband standing there. He looked more older, and it was only 2 years ago he was announced dead.

“Hello, my love. Have you missed me?” He asked darkly. You shrieked and tried to escape through the back door, but it was too late. Steve ran after you and grabbed you around your waist and held you down on the floor, preventing you from struggling away.

“That is no way to greet your husband after thinking he was dead for such a long time. I expected better from you, my wife. Maybe you have forgotten who you belong to and I need to give your dumb little brain a reminder.” He said, and carried you upstairs to your bedroom.

He threw you onto the bed like a rag doll and started to tie your wrists with velvet ropes he had brought with him to the headboard. This was new to you from all your previous experiences of having sex with Steve, and it scared you. “S-Steve, what is this?..what are you-!”

“I’m going to fuck you so hard and make you wish you never pulled that little escape stunt earlier. Silly woman, thinking you stand a chance against me. You’re mine, and I’ll do everything in my power to make sure your dumb head understands that.”

He ripped your clothes off harshly, and he unbuttoned his trousers to free his cock from the restraints. You expected him to penetrate you like he always did before. That was the only type of sex you two were familiar with. But this ‘new’ version of Steve had different plans.

Your eyes widened when his face lowered at your pussy, causing you to feel distressed. “W-Wait, don’t do that!…I-It probably smells, I don’t want you to get too close to it!”

“Oh, Y/N, my sweet wife. You’re so clueless. What I did and did not do before I disappeared was when I was a boy. But I’m a man now, and I’m going to teach you so many things of how we can pleasure each other.”

His tongue stuck out of his mouth and he licked a stripe of your cunt, causing you to cry out a moan. You have never felt anything like this before. It almost felt unreal. It only got worse when his tongue glided between your pussy lips, gathering all your juices for him to savour.

“You taste delicious, my love. There isn’t a thing that’s more tastier than your sweet pussy…” he mumbled into your sensitive skin.

Steve never talked like this during sex, and somehow you preferred him not to talk because it made it easier to not enjoy it. This Steve however was making it harder to hate it with each new thing he did, and it made you feel horrible about yourself.

Suddenly, Steve used what felt like his thumb to rub at a particular spot. It caused your whole body to jolt at once like you were electrocuted, and you felt an overwhelming heat spread across your whole body.

“Do you know what this little pearl is, doll? It’s called a clitoris. It’s your most sensitive part of your pussy, and it will only be recognized as what engorges your wetness and surrounds your vagina in 2009 - about 70 years from now on. It also has about 8,000 nerve endings, which is why you become so sensitive when I touch it. Isn’t that fascinating, my love?”

You didn’t pick up a word of what he was rambling about because you were too out of it from his circling motion of rubbing your pearly nub. You couldn’t stop moaning and panting. Again came that familiar feeling of a rising high. Before you knew it, the feeling hit you like a wave and you felt your hole quivering.

“Aaaww, you just came. How cute….” He cooed, with a victorious grin. “Now, let’s get to the main course of this session. Haven’t been in this pussy for a loooong time. And I’m sure you’ve been a good girl not having anyone else inside you, right?”

You didn’t respond to that question, still pretty out of what had taken place moments earlier.

He slapped your cheek lightly but harsh enough to take you out from your daze. “Answer me, whore.”

“N-No! I haven’t, Steve! No one has been inside of me since you disappeared! I promise!” You answered with frantic.

He smiled again. “Good.”

He aimed his cock at your hole and shoved himself in with little care. He groaned loudly, sounding so content with the current feeling. “Oh, I’ve missed her…missed your pussy so much…I’ve missed you..” he said followed with a grunt. “I’m so glad I’m back. Back together with you.”

For the rest of the evening, he would torture you with new tricks of his that opened a new world of sex for you. By the end of the night, Steve had you wrapped in his strong arms, whispering the most obscene things and promises in your ear. Most of them were connected to one promise that made you dread for the future.

A promise of never leaving you ever again.

Note from author: this turned out a lot longer than I originally planned but I really enjoyed the concept and couldn’t help myself. I’m a hoe for endgame AND 40s Steve.🧍Anyways, thank you @sadbucksblog for sharing your idea! <3 Hope you enjoy it!

(This has been reposted here as I have deleted my old account!)

Hearts & Reblogs are very appreciated! <3

#dark steve rogers x reader #40s steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #steve rogers x female reader #drabble #chris evans fanfiction

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graciereadshannigram · 6 months ago

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hey fam, welcome to the May 2024 roundup of the best hannigram fics i've read this past month! i read several million words worth of fics, and these were the cream of the crop. i also managed to rewatch the show for the fifth time!! (unemployment has its perks lmao)

as a reminder: the ingredients for a five star rating typically (but not always!!) include some combination of a.) believable characterizations of both Hannibal and Will, b.) compelling plot and/or character arcs, and c.) high quality smut.

that being said, my judgment of the aforementioned ingredients is powered almost exclusively by vibes. as such, it is incredibly subjective.

you can find past rec lists below:

February March April

and if you have any recs of your own for me, PLEASE SHARE.

anyway, in no particular order, let's go!

Overcoming by purefoysgirl

Word Count: 547.5k Summary: A Victorian A/B/O romance in which Hannibal Lecter is the future Duke of Westvale who has been away at war for the past ten years. His Grandfather has made good on a contract made shortly after Hannibal's birth to procure him a wife. It was supposed to be easy. Naturally, with the Omega, Will, given in the place of his twin sister, it is anything but, because if there is one thing Hannibal Lecter despises, it's Omegas.

This fic had me holding back tears when it ended (after sobbing a couple different times). This was... incredible. What a fucking UNDERTAKING this author committed to, and despite this being a doorstopper of a fic, the plot did not miss a single beat. Just... wow. For the love of god, please read this.

Falls the Shadow by littlesystems

Word Count: 72.4k Summary: "You're a psychiatrist," Will says. "Between your personal and professional lives you must have met thousands of people, you must know dozens of different flavors of pathology. Do you know anyone who would take me as I am? Who would be able to love me," he gestures in a sweeping motion, from his messy hair to his stained knee, "just as I am?" "I do." Bedelia's words shock Will into stillness. “Really?” AKA an AU where Bedelia is Will’s psychiatrist instead of Hannibal, Will makes a series of increasingly questionable life choices, and no one should ever take Bedelia’s advice. Ever.

GIMME MORE STARSSSSSSSS. Bedelia as Will's psychiatrist was brilliant, holy shit. And Will understanding Hannibal and completely accepting him? This is something I see so rarely done in fics. Will always makes him be a lot less manipulative, or at least goes through heavy angst over it. But in this? Will was immediately endeared because that's just who Hannibal is.

Bram Stoker's HANNIBAL by DBMars

Word Count: 586.7k Summary: Love Never Dies. "I have crossed oceans of time to find you." Hannibal + Bram Stoker's Dracula + the classic novel = a new version of the seductive vampire legend. Count Hannibal Lecter loses the thing most precious to him -- the love of his life. God is beyond measure in wanton malice, and matchless in his irony. And so Hannibal renounces God, and becomes an immortal monster that feeds on the blood of the living. 400 years after losing his beloved, Count Lecter meets a man who looks exactly like the husband he lost -- reborn and returned. But who could learn to love a monster?

@dbmars you are a fucking genius. I am honestly still processing and figuring out how to communicate just how amazing this fic was. Do yourself a favor and go read it NOW.

the book of jonah by zipegs

Word Count: 18.1k Summary: A sudden breath of hot wind presses through the trees. For a moment, it feels fresh, alive, and then the dust—the pollen—comes along with it, a parasite hitched on the back of the breeze. Will is ravenous. --- After the fall, Will and Hannibal sojourn in a remote, decrepit cabin in South America while they await Chiyoh’s return. But something here is afflicting them, and it’s only getting worse.

Okay, bear with me. THIS WAS FUCKING AMAZING. I haven't felt this way after consuming a piece of media since I watched Guillermo del Toro's The Autopsy episode. Psychological horror mixed with body horror mixed with smut??? I guess that does it for me. I literally can't stop thinking about this fic. It's been two weeks and I am STILL thinking about it.

Wrong by HotMolasses (@snazzymolasses here on tumblr)

Word Count: 4.2k Summary: Will roughly rubbed his arm across his mouth again, trying to rub it off. Rub off the scent of Alana, after they’d kissed. After she’d kissed him. Or he’d kissed her? It was mutual. Until it wasn’t. Until Will breathed in her scent, so familiar, so Alpha, so…wrong. He’d pulled back forcibly, unable to hide the expression of revulsion on his face. “I…I need to go.” he said, sweeping his coat off the back of a chair on his way towards the door. “Lock up when you leave.” The weather was crap, and it probably wasn’t smart to drive in the snow while he was in pre-heat, but Will didn’t know what else to do. He needed to figure this out, he needed to talk to the only person who understood him. He needed to talk to Hannibal.

So ummmmmmm what do I need to do to turn this into like a whole AU?? As always, this was a total home run. Every single bit of it was perfect.

as soft, as wide as air by BlackKnightSatellite

Word Count: 193.9k Summary: After surviving the fall, Will finds he has far fewer hesitations about joining Hannibal than he would have guessed. Character death, but not Will or Hannibal.

Well shit. I read this immediately after a full rewatch of the show (in four days no less) and THIS is my new season 4 canon. It's brilliant and actually reads like a proper season would. And I love how it gives all the characters a concluded story line. Aside from Will and Hannibal. I also loved how much this explored Will's instability and how his mental state would be affected after he finally slung off all the guilt and allowed himself to fully enjoy killing. All around very good.

The Dispersal Method by @victorineb

Word Count: 16.9k Summary: It’s a normal fall day in the forest for Will Graham. Dead body in front of him, cannibal psychiatrist behind him, the usual. Then Will brushes against the wrong flower, and suddenly neither he nor Hannibal can keep their hands off each other. Now, Will must navigate his way out of the crime scene and Jack’s scrutiny while also trying not to jump Hannibal’s bones at every opportunity. Well, one out of three ain’t bad. Set nebulously in s2, post-Will's release from the BSHCI. Will’s a conflicted honeypot, Hannibal’s a (not-so) secretly-besotted asshole, and nobody has brought enough lube.

THIS IS THE BEST SEX POLLEN I'VE EVER READ. Seriously. The BEST out of pretty much any fandom (at least so far).

Between the Shadow and the Soul by raiast

Word Count: 48.7k Summary: When Will decides to stop taking his suppressants neither he nor Hannibal can deny the attraction between them. After nearly a decade of running from his biology, Will is faced with his primitive Omega urges full force. As if navigating his hormones wasn't enough, there is a killer at large with a very specific motive that seems to only be targeting preteen boys.

This might be my new favorite ABO fic? And one of the better case fics out there.

Sleepover by EarthsickWithoutYou

Word Count: 70k Summary: Set in Season 1, after "Fromage." Will is still confused about his kiss with Alana and seeks romantic advice on how to date and be more "smooth" from Hannibal. Little does he know that Hannibal is madly, passionately obsessed with him, and desperately jealous. Needless to say, Dr. Lecter is all too happy to teach Will everything he knows about love and dating.

This was pretty fluffy, tender, and fun, and it was exactly what I needed after finishing a heavier fic

Alana Finds Out by @victorineb

Word Count: 32.1k Summary: A series of one-shots in which Alana Bloom discovers, in the midst of various tropes, that her boyfriend Hannibal Lecter's feelings for Will Graham run far deeper than friendship. Basically a chance for Alana to shout at the pair of emotionally-repressed idiots whilst still indulging in much Hannigram loveliness.

Oh I loved all of this. This scratched that itch in my brain that loves when Alana realizes that Hannibal has wanted Will all along. And some of these one-shots are genuinely hysterical. Love.

Doctor's Orders by JSinister32

Word Count: 29.2k Summary: “He’s dead on his feet, Jack. I do not understand how you allowed him to come when he’s so obviously ill. There have been too many hours in service of your needs, so many that it seems to have affected any sleep that he may have gotten over the past few weeks. From what you and I have discussed, he has a difficult time shutting his mind down under the best of circumstances and this case today has clearly gotten to him.” The doctor stepped closer to the profiler, peering into his eyes as Will tried to focus. “Will? Can you hear me?” Will Graham has never been particularly good at taking care of himself. When he comes down with a severe cold while working on a string of murders, the new psychiatrist on retainer, Doctor Hannibal Lecter, offers to care for him. Will he be able to keep his feelings in check while Hannibal is in his home? Hannibal Lecter can't get the profiler working for the Violent Crimes unit out of his mind. When given the opportunity to care for him when he's ill, will his feelings for the other man come to light?

TENDER. I want like 70k more words of this. Especially Hannibal putting Jack in his place. Especially Hannibal washing Will's hair. Mmm. There's just something so good about Will letting Hannibal take care of him.

The First Condition of Immortality is Death by OneHandedBooks

Word Count: 92.5k Summary: Hannibal’s heart stopped for the first time after he’d dragged himself and Will out of the frigid ocean onto the rocky shore at the bottom of the bluff.

Oh this was GOOD. Very tender, good characterizations, and loved how Will's hallucinations were portrayed. This was just all a really good exploration of how their relationship could have progressed. This author also is incredibly good at showing the scenes in a way that I could watch them unfold in my head. This felt like a crystal clear movie.

What Do The Dead Know? by OneHandedBooks

Word Count: 7.6k Summary: He looks up at her, haloed by the sun. She could be anyone. No one. St. Abigail, patron of lilies and last chances. AU: What if Will joined Hannibal willingly after the Uffizi Gallery and they shared a few tense weeks in the world before Mason's men finally ran them down? In which Will writes, hallucinates, and succumbs to the dark side and Hannibal is a manipulative, brainwashing, bastard.

cw: Abigail/Will. But does it really count if it's a dream sequence? Regardless, this was something else, off the charts, big fan. The author NAILED the hallucinatory vibe that made this entire fic work so so well. Also, just Will working through his grief for Abigail this way made it that much more intense.

chimera of the chapel by bleakmidwinter

Word Count: 211.5k Summary: When Will Graham wakes up from a coma three months after the fall, Jack reveals that Hannibal Lecter didn't survive. Outside the realm of Hannibal's influence, Will decides to discover the full truth behind the world's sudden and seeming falsehood. Everybody seems to hold their own opinion on Hannibal's fate, but Will knows better than anyone that trust and honesty are as elusive as death.

The "presumed dead" trope might just be my new obsession. I adored this fic so much, the plot was incredible, the development of their relationship was spot on, and there were just some very tender moments.

wear my silence like a mask by bleakmidwinter

Word Count: 32.k Summary: After running into Hannibal at a Bass Pro Shop, Will is invited to a Masquerade Ball at his estate. Jack encourages him to attend for an opportunity to catch the Ripper. Extenuating circumstances tempt Will down an even graver path; Romance with the Ripper.

Three words: masked anonymous sex. That's all.

The Voices and the Shadows by darlinghogwarts, MaddyHughes

Word Count: 114.6k Summary: “The Chesapeake Ripper? The serial killer? That's a grisly thing to find at the bottom of a drink. Most people say oblivion ...or possibly sex.” Hannibal sips his wine again. “Why are you thinking about a murderer on your birthday, Will? Is it part of your degree?” “He is a part of my degree by my own choice. My supervisor didn’t approve, but…” He sighs. “I insisted.” AU where Will—a Masters student studying the Chesapeake Ripper—gets drunk on his birthday and meets an intriguing man at the bar.

Man, I wish I had had Hannibal as my thesis supervisor in grad school, hot damn. (Mine was pretty much too busy to help with anything, ended up doing it all myself – would not recommend.) This was was damn near perfect. I needed some good old fashioned angst. With a good and fluffy ending. This was a good AU!

Chasing Thoroughbreds by HigherMagic

Word Count: 42.8k Summary: After the fall, Chiyoh rescues Will and Hannibal and takes them to the Lecter home in Lithuania. When Hannibal wakes up, his memories of everything - Will, being the Ripper, everything since Mischa's death - are gone. Will's only problem with that is that killing Hannibal won't be nearly as satisfying if he doesn't understand why. Wrestling with his own feelings, or what's left in the tattered mess of them after the fight with Dolarhyde, Will stays, hoping that Hannibal will recover and give him the opportunity he's waiting for. But there are others who remember what Hannibal did, all those years ago, and they have their own bone to pick.

Ugh pretty sure I love almost everything HigherMagic writes and this did not disappoint. This was fantastic. I was absolutely captivated by Will's development through this and Hannibal was just as good.

Volto Larva by TreacleA

Word Count: 39k Summary: Will is having trouble unwinding after work. Hannibal helpfully suggests somewhere that may assist with that, with absolutely no ulterior motive whatsoever.

So ummmm I'm still blushing (in the best way) over parts of this fic because FUCK this is scorching. Anyway. That's all I've got to say LOL.

#hannigram #hannigram recs #hannigram fics #fic recs #hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #murder husbands #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy #nbc hannibal #hannibal tv show #hannibal nbc #fannibals #dracula au #bram stoker's hannibal #overcoming fic #gracie reads hannigram

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summerclementine27 · 4 months ago

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Sign of The Times 🌹

Summary: Harry Styles is a Roman General who led his legions to many victories. He was favoured by the Emperor and known as an honourable General. Everyone also knows that he loves his wife, Y/N, more than anything, more than victory even, and dreams of seeing her again.

Time and place: Roman Empire sometime between 180 - 192 AD

warnings: bit of smut, breeding, and also old timey vibes due to roman era (so the smut is written in a funky old timey way but i decided to post it anyway).

notes: this is part three of my series of Harry Styles one shots that are inspired by his first album, I’m not doing the stories in order of the tracklist, and I also know that I am changing the meanings of the songs to fit the stories so for instance, sign of the times is about a mother who is dying while giving birth, but I changed it to be about a wife who is urging her husband to come back.

- pics of Harry or AI from Pinterest and the inspiration for this fic is gladiator lol.

The dust of Germania still clung to my skin, mixing with the iron scent of blood that had dried on my tunic. The battlefield had been ours, a victory to be sung by bards and etched into the annals of Rome. But as my men celebrated, raising goblets of wine to their lips, my thoughts wandered far from the camps and the spoils of war.

I could feel the ache in my side where the enemy's blade had found its mark—a shallow wound, they said. Easily mended with time and rest. Yet I craved neither the salves of the medics nor the comforts of the Roman city.

My thoughts were with Y/N, the woman who had waited for me through the years of war, who had kept my heart safe even as my body waded through the carnage of battle. The memory of her letters, the soft parchment that had borne her words across the miles, was a balm to my weary soul.

I cared for nothing as much as I cared for her, for all I prayed for during these years of battle was her safety. “Blessed father, watch over my wife with a ready sword. Whisper to her that I live only to hold her again, for all else is dust and air.” I recited every night, yearning to be in my ethereal wife's embrace once more, where the weight of the world would melt away in the serenity of her seraphic presence.

One of her last letters had arrived not long before the battle. I could still hear her voice in the words she had penned, a voice that had carried me through the darkest nights. I drew the letter from my belt, the parchment worn from too many readings, and let my eyes trace the familiar lines:

“My dearest Harry,” the letter began, “as I write this, I can feel the sun warming my skin, and I think of you, far away in the cold lands of the north. I miss you with every breath I take, and I pray for your safe return each night before I sleep. The fields here are flourishing, the olive trees heavy with fruit, but without you, this bounty feels hollow. The land awaits your return, as do I. I long for the day when you will return to me, when I can hold you in my arms once more, and we can live in peace, away from the horrors of war.”

Her words were sweet, like honeyed nectar upon the lips of a lover, gentle and soothing at first. Yet, as I read on, they grew earnest and urging, the ink heavy with her profound concern. My eyes were drawn irresistibly to the portion of her letter that held the deepest weight for my heart:

“Yet I know, as you read these words, your soul is entrenched in the depths of war, I understand that your mind is consumed with thoughts of victory, that your heart beats with the pulse of battle. But remember, my love, that while you fight for the glory of Rome, Rome shall endure, as she always has. It is you who may not, and it is you I fear to lose.”

Her words were like a gentle whisper, coaxing me back to the world beyond the battlefield. "I beg you, take care of yourself and do not tempt death, for you cannot bribe the door on your way to the sky, you cannot offer coin to the gatekeeper of the heavens, nor sway him with silver as you ascend. You look good down here on this mortal realm anyway. Do not die for Rome, live for her.”

“What shall become of us if we never learn? We have been here before, me tending to the fields of Hispania and you running from the arrows and swords, yet the two of us with the same fate; always caught stuck and running from the bullets. I know what the emperor demands of you, and I know you have led many battles to victory. You hesitate to leave, but you must, my love; you must find your way back to me. Just stop your crying, for this is but a sign of the times.

Stop your weeping, and have the time of your life. Break through the atmosphere of war and bloodshed, things are pretty good from here, Remember, everything will be alright.

Come home to me, my love, come back.”

I closed my eyes, letting the words wash over me, a balm for my weary soul. Come home to me, my love. The phrase echoed in my mind, a mantra that had sustained me through the darkest moments of the campaign. It was these words that had driven me to push forward, to fight for Rome but also to fight for my retirement. To earn the rest of my life back and spend it with my divine wife.

As I rode back to the camp, the letter tucked safely away once more, I repeated the words to myself. “Come home to me, my love.” It became a rhythm, a beat that matched the thudding of my heart, the pounding of my horse’s hooves against the ground. Each step brought me closer to her, to the life we had built together, and to the future that awaited us.

The camp was abuzz with the clamour of soldiers and the scent of roasting meat as I entered, my body still bearing the marks of battle and the weight of victory. The Emperor, draped in his imperial regalia, stood amidst his entourage, his presence commanding the respect of every man within sight. I approached with the measured steps of one who has fought hard and earned his rest.

He turned his gaze upon me, his eyes as sharp as the glint of his ornate armor. “General Styles,” he intoned, his voice carrying the authority of the throne, “when was the last time you were home?”

I stood tall, the weight of his question a heavy mantle upon my shoulders. “Two years, two hundred and sixty-four days, and this very morning,” I answered, my tone steady and resolute. The Emperor’s eyes narrowed slightly, perhaps in surprise or contemplation, as he considered my words.

His gaze lingered on me with a mixture of respect and expectation. “You have led our legions with great skill and valor, General. Rome still has need of such a commander. I urge you to remain in your esteemed position, to continue guiding our armies with the same honor and prowess you have so richly displayed.”

A solemn silence fell over the tent, the air thick with the weight of his request. I took a deep breath, my thoughts drifting back to the letter from my beloved wife, and to the quiet promise of peace that awaited me.

“Your Excellency,” I began, my voice steady but imbued with the gravity of my decision, “I have fought and bled for Rome, and I have served with every ounce of my strength. But my heart and soul yearn for a different path now. I have earned this respite, this time to lay down my sword and return to the life I once knew.”

The Emperor regarded me with a measure of frustration, his fingers drumming upon the armrest of his gilded throne. “You have been a pillar of our military might, General. To leave now, at the zenith of your glory, seems a disservice to the empire that has benefited so greatly from your leadership.”

I met his gaze with unwavering resolve, feeling the echoes of my wife’s words in my heart. “It is not disservice, but rather a fulfillment of a promise I made to myself and to her. I seek not glory nor honor from further battles, but the simple joy of returning to my wife and the life we dream of. My time as a general has been an honor, but it is time for me to embrace a different chapter, one of peace and companionship.”

The Emperor’s expression softened, a flicker of understanding—or perhaps resignation—crossing his features. “Very well, General Styles,” he conceded, his voice carrying a note of reluctant admiration. “If it is your wish to retire and seek solace in the embrace of your beloved, then it shall be granted. Rome’s gratitude will follow you, and your legacy will endure.”

I bowed deeply, the weight of my decision finally lifting from my shoulders. As I walked away, I felt a sense of anticipation and relief wash over me, knowing that soon I would return to the fields of Hispania, to the life and love that awaited me.

"My lord," one of the younger centurions approached me as I prepared to leave camp, a bandage in hand. "We must bind your wound."

I waved him off, though I knew the pain would only worsen on the long ride home. "I'll let my wife take care of me," I said, the words tasting sweet on my tongue, like the promise of harvest in a fertile field.

The journey back to Hispania was slow, each day stretching out like the endless plains we crossed. My thoughts were full of her—Y/N, my beloved, my anchor amidst the storms of war. The land of our villa in Hispania, a sprawling expanse of olive trees and vineyards, awaited me. But it was her presence, her tender touch, that I yearned for with each passing mile.

As my horse’s hooves drummed against the sun-baked earth, I imagined her in the fields, the wind tugging at her hair as she worked, her hands—those skilled, delicate hands—tending to the earth as she did to me. I could see her smile, that secret curve of her lips that had the power to unravel me more than any barbarian’s sword.

Finally, the fields of our home came into view, the golden light of evening casting a warm glow over the land. My heart quickened as I urged my horse forward, a boyish impatience overtaking me.

As I dismounted my horse and set foot on the familiar ground of our estate, I saw her standing there—my beloved, just as I had envisioned, her figure framed by the setting sun, a basket of olives in her arms.

The moment our eyes met, a wave of joy surged through me, overpowering the aches and weariness of battle. Her face, illuminated by the soft glow of the setting sun, radiated a warmth and love that I had sorely missed.

Without hesitation, she ran to me, her movements swift and graceful. The air seemed to hum with the electricity of our reunion. As she enveloped me in her embrace, I was struck by the intoxicating scent of her—lavender mingled with the faint, sweet aroma of the earth, a perfume that spoke of home and tranquility. It was as if every hardship and wound I bore dissolved in the presence of her love.

Her arms, tender and gentle, clung to me with a fierce affection. I could feel the softness of her skin against my own, a stark contrast to the roughened textures of my armor and the hardened scars of war. Her touch was both soothing and electric, a balm for my bruised soul.

As our lips met, her kiss was a sweet, fervent promise, a bridge between the years of separation. Yet, as I pressed closer, a sharp twinge from the wound on my side made me wince. She noticed instantly, her eyes filled with concern.

“Harry,” she breathed, her voice soft and filled with an anguish that mirrored my own. Her fingers, delicate and gentle, brushed against the tender spot on my side. “You’re hurt…”

“It’s nothing,” I murmured, my voice barely more than a whisper as I drew her even closer. I buried my face in the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply. The scent of her, the very essence of comfort and love, was a haven amidst the chaos of my return. “Nothing that your touch cannot heal.”

She led me inside, her movements tender and deliberate as if each step was meant to convey her deep affection and concern. The grand hall, though warmly lit by the flickering glow of the hearth, could not compare to the solace I found in her presence. As I sank into a plush chair beside the roaring fire, the heat from the flames did little to ease the persistent ache in my chest that only her touch could truly soothe.

I watched her with a heart full of gratitude as she worked with quiet diligence, her hands gentle yet skilled as she unwrapped the makeshift bandage and began to clean the wound. Her brow furrowed in concentration, each touch and movement imbued with a mixture of love and worry that spoke volumes of her care.

“You should have let the medics tend to you,” she chided softly, her voice a tender reprimand laced with concern rather than anger. The chiding was a balm, soothing and familiar, reminding me of the times we had shared before the endless battles.

“And miss the chance to be in your care?” I replied, my voice hushed but earnest. I reached up, my hand cradling her cheek, my thumb gently caressing the delicate curve. “I’d rather bleed out.”

Her lips curled into a small, affectionate smile despite her worry. She shook her head, her eyes reflecting a mixture of exasperation and adoration. “You’re too stubborn for your own good, General.”

“For Rome, perhaps,” I said, my thumb brushing tenderly against her skin, “but not for you.”

Once she was satisfied with the bandage, carefully wrapping it with a practiced hand, I drew her into my lap. The firelight danced in her eyes, casting a warm glow that made her seem even more ethereal. Her body fit perfectly against mine, the familiar curves and warmth a reminder of all that I had missed. As our eyes met, the hunger in mine was mirrored by the tender longing in hers.

“I’ve been gone too long,” I whispered, my lips finding their way to her neck. I trailed kisses along her soft skin, savoring the sweetness of her closeness. “I have missed you more than words can convey.”

Her hands wove into my hair, fingers trembling slightly as she tilted her head back, offering me more of herself. “And I you,” she whispered, her voice a soft melody that seemed to float between us, a song of longing and love that had played in my dreams during our separation.

I lifted her effortlessly, cradling her in my arms as I carried her towards our bed—the same one we had shared since our wedding night, a sanctuary of our love and devotion. The silks beneath us felt cool and luxurious as I laid her down, the gentle moonlight streaming through the windows, casting a silvery glow that highlighted the exquisite beauty of her form.

As I undressed her with a reverence that bordered on worship, I whispered against her lips, my voice a soft murmur filled with longing and affection. “I have won many battles,” I said, my fingers tracing the curves of her body with a tender touch, as if trying to memorize every line and contour. “But none so sweet as the victory of coming home to you.”

Her hands, delicate yet determined, moved to the laces of my tunic, undoing them with a familiar urgency that made my heart race. “Then claim your victory,” she breathed, her voice trembling with a mix of desire and anticipation.

I lifted her into my arms, cradling her with a gentleness that belied the strength I had honed on the battlefield. As I carried her to our bed, my heart pounded not from the exertion, but from the overwhelming love I felt for her. The silk sheets, cool beneath us, seemed to whisper promises of solace and intimacy as I laid her down.

The moonlight streaming through the windows cast a soft, silvery glow upon her, making her skin shimmer like alabaster. I gazed at her with a deep, aching adoration, my eyes tracing the graceful lines of her form. Her beauty was both a balm and a flame, soothing the wounds of my soul and igniting a fierce, tender hunger within me.

I began by brushing my lips against hers, savoring the sweetness of her kiss as if it were the nectar of the gods. The taste of her was intoxicating, a blend of warmth and familiarity that made my heart swell. I lingered there, lost in the softness of her lips, my hands gently caressing her face, committing every detail of her to memory.

Slowly, I trailed kisses down her neck, my lips lingering on her pulse point. The sensation of her warm skin beneath my mouth was a caress to my senses, and I felt the urgency of our reunion deepen with every touch. Her breath quickened, mingling with mine, as I moved lower, pressing my lips to the delicate curve of her collarbone.

With trembling fingers, I worked at the laces of her dress, the fabric white and pure, reminiscent of the gown she had worn on our wedding day. As I loosened it, the dress fell away, revealing the soft, flawless skin beneath. My gaze was ravenous yet reverent, taking in every inch of her with a fervor that spoke of my adoration and longing.

I kissed her shoulders with a devotion that made each touch a silent vow. My lips traveled down her arms, leaving a trail of tender kisses that made her shiver with delight. Each kiss was an offering, a testament to the depth of my love for her. As I reached her breasts, I pressed my lips to the soft curves, my tongue exploring with a reverence that bordered on worship.

My kisses continued their journey down her stomach, lingering at the gentle rise and fall of her ribs, tracing the lines of her hips. I marveled at the warmth and softness of her skin, my hands following the path my lips had taken, reverently mapping every contour. The sensation of her skin beneath my touch was a heady mix of comfort and desire.

When I finally reached her most intimate place, I paused, my breath coming in ragged whispers. My heart raced with a powerful mix of longing and adoration. The moment was charged with an intensity I had yearned for during the long years apart, and I could feel the heat of her skin beneath my lips.

With a deep, reverent kiss, I pressed my lips against her, my tongue gently exploring the softness and warmth of her. Her taste was intoxicating, and the sensation made my entire body shiver with pleasure. I heard her gasp, a soft, breathless sound that urged me on.

Her hands gripped the sheets, and I could feel her hips moving subtly, seeking more of the contact she craved. "Harry," she moaned softly, her voice a desperate whisper of desire.

I looked up at her, my eyes filled with devotion and love. "You feel so incredible," I murmured, my voice thick with emotion. "I want you to know just how much I adore every part of you."

She responded with a breathless sigh, her body arching instinctively towards me. "Please, don't stop," she pleaded, her voice trembling with anticipation.

My kisses became more fervent, turning into reckless licks, my movements ever so insistent as I reveled in the sweet, warm taste of her. The sounds of our pleasure filled the room, a symphony of soft moans and urgent whispers that only deepened my desire.

I was consumed with a profound longing for her, a desire that had only grown more fervent over the long years apart. Every moment of our separation had amplified my need to show her the depth of my affection, to make her experience the boundless pleasure that only I could bestow. I was keenly aware of the passage of time and wondered if she had discovered any means to reach such ecstatic heights as I would now bring her. The thought of her satisfaction, the notion of her feeling pleasure as intensely as I had imagined, drove me to the brink of my restraint.

With my touch, I sought to awaken her senses, my fingers caressing her with an ever-gentle firmness, the warmth of my hands mingling with her soft skin. My other hand began a tender exploration, slipping slowly, reverently, into her most cherished sanctuary. Each movement was deliberate, intended to elicit the utmost response from her.

“You like that, my dearest?” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion and desire, my breath hot against her ear.

“Yes, I do,” she replied, her voice a melody of pleasure and anticipation, her breath catching in soft gasps.

“I am determined to make you feel nothing but bliss,” I continued, my heart pounding with the intensity of my commitment. “I wish to taste and honor this sacred chamber of Venus, to give you pleasure that will leave you breathless and yearning.”

I leaned closer, my lips finding their way to her most intimate folds. With tender, loving care, I began to explore her, each kiss a testament to my devotion, each touch a silent vow of my love. My goal was to bring her to the pinnacle of delight, to ensure that every sensation was as exquisite and overwhelming as possible, so that she might feel the depth of my longing and the fullness of my return.

In the quiet sanctuary of our shared chamber, a question lingered on my lips, charged with both tenderness and longing. “Did you pleasure yourself while I was gone” I inquired, my voice a gentle murmur.

Her reply came softly, laden with devotion and a hint of wistfulness. “No, my love. I awaited your return.”

Her words stirred something profound within me, an awakening of emotions that had lain dormant through the years of separation. I felt a deep, aching desire to make amends for all the time lost, to bestow upon her the pleasure that had been denied to both of us.

“I yearn for you to find your release, my dearest Y/N,” I said, my voice trembling with fervent intensity. “Release it all, love.”

As her body trembled with the aftershocks of her climax, I could feel the shudder of her release against my tongue. The sweetness of her pleasure was intoxicating, a testament to the depth of our connection. In that moment, I knew that we both craved something more profound, a union that would fulfill the yearning that had grown between us over the years.

With a fervent determination, I slowly withdrew, my breath ragged and my heart pounding with a mix of longing and anticipation. I positioned myself above her, our eyes meeting in a gaze filled with mutual desire and unspoken promises. The need to be fully united with her, to deepen our connection, surged within me.

Her gaze was filled with trust and desire, and I moved with a tenderness that spoke of my deep affection and longing. Slowly, deliberately, I entered her, feeling the warmth and softness envelop me and savoring the way she wrapped around me, the way she sighed my name as if it were a prayer.

“Harry,” she moaned, and I grew concerned, fearing that the unfamiliarity of my touch after so long might be causing her discomfort.

“Are you alright, my love?” I murmured, my voice low and tender, brushing a lock of hair from her face. Her eyes met mine, filled with a mix of pain and yearning.

“Just... a bit,” she replied, her voice trembling with the effort to contain her emotions.

I continued to move with gentle persistence, my hands exploring her body, seeking to soothe her discomfort. As I found a rhythm, she began to relax, her moans growing more fervent, more eager. The shift from discomfort to pleasure was evident in the way her body responded, and I felt a deep satisfaction in knowing that I was bringing her the release she had longed for.

“Tell me, my love,” I whispered, pressing my forehead to hers as we moved together, “how does it feel?”

“It feels... so much better,” she gasped, her nails digging into my shoulders as her body arched beneath me. “Harry, yes…”

“I want to give you more,” I said, my voice rough with emotion. “A family, a future... I want to watch you swell with our child, to retire from the battlefield and spend my days here, with you.”

Her breath hitched at my words, and her eyes shone with a mix of desire and longing. “Yes, Harry… I want that too,” she whispered, her voice a melody of affection and need.

As we continued, I found a rhythm that was both passionate and tender, the connection between us deepening with every movement. I kissed her lips, my hands roaming over her body, savoring the softness and warmth of her skin. Her eyes fluttered closed as she lost herself in the sensation, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer intimacy of our union.

“I will plant my seed in you,” I vowed, my voice filled with raw emotion. “And you will carry our legacy. Our child will grow strong in your womb, just as our love has grown in this land.”

Her climax hit with a shuddering intensity, her body tightening around me as she cried out my name. The sound was both a release and an invitation, and I followed her over the edge, spilling into her with a groan that echoed my deepest feelings. In that moment, I imagined the life we would create together, the child that would be born of our union.

As we lay entwined in the soft embrace of our bed, the flickering candlelight cast a warm glow over our bodies. The silks beneath us were cool and comforting, a stark contrast to the heat of our passionate union. The scent of her, a delicate blend of lavender and the earthiness of our garden, filled the air and enveloped me, mingling with the aroma of our shared pleasure.

Her skin felt like silk against my fingertips as I traced lazy patterns across her shoulders and down her sides. Her breathing was slow and deep, a soft rhythm that matched the steady beat of my heart. Every sigh and murmur from her lips was a melody I’d missed more than I realized during our years apart.

“You look radiant,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion as I gazed at her. Her hair was a tangled cascade of dark curls, spread across the pillow like a halo. Her eyes, still clouded with the remnants of our passion, sparkled with a light that seemed to illuminate the room. “I’ve dreamt of this moment for so long.”

She turned her head slightly to meet my gaze, her lips curved into a smile that was both teasing and tender. “And I’ve waited for it just as long,” she replied, her voice a soft caress. “You’re as wonderful as I remembered, Harry. I’m so proud of you, all you’ve accomplished. And this house—” she gestured vaguely around us, “—it’s been my joy to care for it, to make it a place where you could return and feel at home.”

Her fingers traced a gentle path along my chest, sending shivers of pleasure through me. I cupped her cheek, my thumb brushing across her soft skin, and leaned in to press a tender kiss to her forehead. “I’m proud of you too, for everything. For holding our home together while I was away, for your strength and your love. It means the world to me.”

Her eyes softened, and she nestled closer, her body pressed against mine in a way that made me acutely aware of the new life we had created together. “And now,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe and wonder, “we have something even greater to look forward to. I’m honored to carry our child, Harry.”

I let out a deep, contented sigh, my hands resting on her still-flat belly. “You’re going to be breathtakingly beautiful with our child growing inside you,” I said, my voice husky with anticipation. “I can already imagine the way you’ll glow, the way your body will flourish as you carry our little one. You’ll be radiant, like a goddess.”

Her laughter was soft and musical, a sound that filled me with an overwhelming sense of happiness. “I can’t wait to see you as a father,” she said, her eyes shining with love. “Our child will be so lucky to have you.”

I kissed her again, this time more deeply, my hands roaming over her curves with reverence. “And I can’t wait to watch our family grow,” I said. “I imagine them running through our garden, playing in the sun, filling our home with laughter and joy. We’ll watch them grow, teach them, love them. It will be a new adventure, one that I’m eager to begin.”

Her smile widened, and she traced a finger along my jawline, her touch light and playful. “And I’ll be right here with you, every step of the way. Together, we’ll build a life full of love and happiness.”

As we lay there, our bodies intertwined, the weight of the past seemed to lift from our shoulders. The wars, the battles, the bloodshed—they were behind us. What lay ahead was a new journey, one of love and life, and I knew that with her by my side, it was a victory I would cherish for all my days.

#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic rec #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles story

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wangxianficfinder · 1 year ago

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Fic finder

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1. There is a fic that I don’t remember the name of but it was wangxian arranged marriage with heavy angst and unhappy WWX. I remember it had a line going “Being married to me is killing him” so if anyone knows it I will be forever grateful 🥰 @kanrax-blog

FOUND! Concord by Deastar (T, 41k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Depression, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

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2. hello im looking for a fic where lotus pier is home to a bunch of eldritch horrors so our jiang trio have darker vibes. thank you so much for your help

FOUND? Monster in Human Skin Series by Nika_Raven_Celeste (T/M, 20k, WCZ/CSSR/JFM, NiecestXu, QHJ/WWX, WRH/WWX, Dark Jiāngs, dark au, grey morality, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Happy Murder Family, Dehumanization, Dark NHS, Dark NMJ, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-human characters, Morally Gray WWX, Gūsū Lán Elders Bashing, Dark Gūsū Lán Sect, Solitary Confinement, Touch-Starved, Gaslighting, Victim Blaming, Mental Health Issues, Emotional Manipulation, Mind Break, Mental Coercion, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Age Difference, no WangXian, Literal monster in human skin, Rape/Non-con Elements, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Imprisonment, Mind Manipulation, Verbal Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Incest, Stockholm Syndrome, Power Imbalance, Captivity, spoil of war, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Conditioning, Master/Pet, Fairytale elements, Eldritch) It's about JFM/WCZ/CSSR though

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3. i was hoping you could also help with finding a fic and since i don’t want to flood the inbox, i wanted to put my request here.

i’m looking for a fic/series where wei wuxian and lan wangji are both actors that work on a project together that involves them being intimate. the catch is that wwx thought lwj hated him and so there’s tension there. there’s also a continuation of when they’re happily together where wwx finds a shrine/treasure room dedicated to himself when visiting lwj’s house. it’s one of the first fics i ever read and it’s so deeply buried that I can’t seem to find the bookmark for it and was hoping for help. thank you in advance and i wish you all well.

FOUND! Feel My Love by Leffy (E, 5k, wangxian, modern, Actors, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Rimming, Anal Sex, inappropriate use of light sticks), of Blooming into the Color of Love series. shout out to asker and their brain cooperating with the details of the fic cause it made it easy to find !

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4. I'd love some help finding a fic! it's a short-ish smut modern au, with gnc lwj who wears skirts and does makeup for football/soccer player wwx, but it's very much canon dynamics! i think wwx has some but not a lot of comphet in it, wwx is very amenable to getting railed by lwj after he learns that this is a thing that could happen. i really enjoyed the characterization

I know I've read 4 but I can't find it/remember what it's called argh. The Twin Jades were child stars and LQR taught them that they had to have other avenues so LXC is a philanthropist (??) And LWJ moonlights in fashion design. He overheard footballer!WWX admitting he would have sex with LWJ and with Mianmian (???)'s help he made it happen. I think the end is a fast forward years later still together/happy.

FOUND! wear me out by plonk (Not Rated, 7k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fashion & Couture, Football | Soccer, Not!Fic)

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5. hi! trying my luck hunting down this fic which i sadly don't remember much of except for one scene. what i rmb is wwx seeing a comb that he wants to get for lwj in caiyi town, and not buying it the first time due to budget issues. when he eventually returns to the stall again, it turns out the seller kept it for him: wwx learns about this from the seller's husband, who is the one at the stall this time, and wwx is surprised to learn about the acceptance of cutsleeve relationships in gusu. thank you very much!!!

FOUND! 🔒 Unstoppable by Netrixie (T, 149k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Eventual Happy Ending, Unreliable Narrator, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Wolf-shifter WWX, Resolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Romantic Tension, Fix-It, Werewolf, Shapeshifters)

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6. Hello, I would like some help?? I’m looking for a fic but I completely forgot the name 🥲

it was a MDZS/TGCF crossover: Xie Lian joined the juniors on their nighthunt and Jingyi spends most of the time suspicious of him. At one point they all thought Xie Lian died but Lan Zichen appeared and performed cpr on him and he was fine. At the end WWX recognized him and called him grand uncle and tells the kids Xie Lian’s a god (and when they ask ‘why didn’t you say anything?’, Xie Lian’s only response was ‘you didn’t ask’)

That’s all I remember, I’m loosing my mind trying to look for it please help me 🥺🥺 I’m sorry if it’s a pain @cullen-blue23

FOUND! Lan Jingyi and the Adventure of the Immortal Cultivator by litbynosun (T, 5k, the junior quartet, TGCF/MDZS, Crossover, Just a Fun Little Romp, Minor Injuries, Canon-Typical Violence, Ghosts, postcanon, (for both books), Friendship, A Pack Of Teens Roaming The Countryside With Swords)

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7. Hello! Excuse me but could you please help me with the title of the Wangxian fic that's a Gawain and the Green Knight AU? Where Lan Wangji plays the role of Gawain and enters into a weird sex game with the Yiling Laozu and Wei Wuxian not knowing they're the same person until the duel? Please? @kaitou-cure-prism12

FOUND! rare the man who'll hold to faith by Fahye (M, 13k, wangxian, canon au, Identity Porn, With Apologies To The Chivalric Romantic Tradition)

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8. Fic finder request please! 🙂

Wangxian was in an arranged marriage au and WWX, in trying to get to know LWJ, hangs onto his arm or something and gets pushed into a pond (by accident fromLwJ), but WWX thinks it was on purpose and he decides to be just as rude back. I can’t remember anything else about it, but I think it had a happy ending and that LWJ had to grovel a bit. I swear I’ve read it a few months ago and can’t find it anywhere! 😭😭

FOUND! i won’t say i’m in love by kazzywx (E, 12k, wangxian, rape/non-con, A/B/O, Arranged Marriage, Miscommunication, Angst with a Happy Ending, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, skippable NSFW scenes, wwx’s is basically meg from hercules with his “i wont say im in love” shtick, Hurt WWX, Boypussy, WWX Has a Vulva, Intersex WWX, Dubious Consent, Feminization, Mating Bites, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, Mpreg, WWX & WQ Friendship, WWX & WN Friendship, Possessive LWJ, WIP)

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9. Hi, nice ppl! I'm looking for a fic (Modern AU). LWJ is a rich lonely businessman who finds erotic model WWX online (he doesn't do it for pleasure but to pay JC's medical treatment) & falls for him. No explicit sex, WWX just shows his body (only HALF of his face to keep anonymity) & sends private set of pix to clients after paying a lot of money. LWJ becomes the best client instantly, getting more pix & phone calls, which seems to be enough 4 him (he's in love). WWX doesn't trust him, he thinks he could be a psycho, so they didn't meet YET (the fic wasn't finished & now I cannot find it). One day, WWX is in a photo session w/erotic lingery in a building room near LWJ's office, who 'feels' smth but, as he gets to the place, it's already empty & the staff + WWX gone. He founds a piece of his costume & keeps it. Sorry I have no more to add, only that WWX really needs the money for JC's health & asks LWJ to make the payments to his own bank acc, not to the agency (perhaps that lil' info helps). LXC notices a positive change in his brother's mood but LWJ doesn't tell anything to him. TYSM!xo @einherjermineord

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10. Hello this is a long shot but my history and bookmarks crashed on AO3 and there was a fanfic I was reading it was about LZ meeting WY as children one of the two save the other from dogs, LZ gave WY his drum rattle, in a Yilin alley, it was cold and the thin clothed WY got a coat from LZ the author described the coat or cape as embroidery and elegant, then when the uncle and brother came to him, he turn and WY left with the drum rattle but not the coat/cape, years later they are married have children WY pulls out drum rattles and then the old one (which he used as design for the other ones) and is there where they realized are them in the childhood encounter ... I know it's a long shot but do you know what fic I am talking about? Oh and I think it has the tones of mpreg hence the children, but I can't remember much, if you could help me please and thank you

PS there is an author that used a similar encounter in "A Matter of Time" but that is not it I am so sorry to bother you about this, this author told me about you so here I am 😁

Sincerely @mysticalyunique

FOUND! As if you were on fire from within by jalpari (E, 30k, WangXian, Dragon LWJ/Fox WWX, Canon Universe, Getting Together, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, Pregnant LWJ)

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11. Hello!! I'm looking for either one or 2 fics here. I might have read them at the same time and they blurred together, or it is the same fic. Anyway, one of them has mo xuanyu and nie huaisang working together and mxy is a fashion designer that insists on dressing wwx. And then the other has a scene where wwx is at some fancy party and escapes lwj through like a sky light. It's a cat-and-mouse fic where lwj is trying to capture wwx.

Thanks for your help and all the hard work yall do 🖤🖤🖤

FOUND! To lurk, to lie in wait by trippednfell (M, 124k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Huli Jing, strangers to co-parents to lovers, Strangers to Lovers, Dragons, Kid Fic, teenage juniors, background NieLan, Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Not Really Character Death, Fox Spirit WWX, Dragon LWJ, Blood and Injury, Additional Warnings In Author's Note)

FOUND!🔒🧡 Rule Number One: Never get attached. by KizuKatana (E, 130k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O, Criminal underworld AU, Fluff and angst, Crime boss LWJ, Rouge criminal genius WWX, Explicit Sex) #11b with the cat and mouse game sounds like kitzukanas "rule #1 don't get attached"

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12. Hello again. First off I'd like to thank you for all your hard work and help. This blog means alot to me.

I need help finding a fic. It's a modern au. WWX is a hacker. I forgot what LWJ does. It's not something he likes. He doesn't like his life/work. Doing it just for family. There was a part in the fic where LQR said/asked? If LWJ was happy and LWJ said no.

If you do find this fic, would you also recommend something in this similar theme? LWJ doing things for family and not being happy and LQR finds out and regrets his actions? @lailan-rosie

FOUND? Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (E, 107k, WangXian, Modern AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romance, Persuasion au, Separations, Mutual Pining, Depression, Miscommunication, Emotional Roller Coaster, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reconciliation, Eventual Smut, Jane Austen Fusion, Underage Kissing)

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13. Hi, Help me find this fic🙏

Lwj is in a hostage/courtesan/concubine situation and the ones who owns him are either wens or jins. Lxc is free and about, knows lwj's situation yet does nothing/can't do nothing because of sect politics.

WWX meets lwj, a stranger at lwj's institution/lodgings and is appalled at lxc for his inaction. Wwx fights/duels lxc saying hes a bad brother. @imstillthinkingaboutithmm

NOT FOUND! The Last Concubine by deliciousblizzardshark (T, 13k, WangXian, Royalty, Emperor WWX, Concubine LWJ, LWJ Whump, Forced Marriage, Starvation, Non-physical spousal abuse, Fluff and Angst, Doing the Wrong Thing for the Right Reasons, Happy Ending, WWX Takes Care of LWJ)

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14. Hi! I’m looking for a fic where rogue!wwx(?) meets LWJ who came down from the mountain just to collect books and bring knowledge back to the cloud recesses. It’s like a right of passage thing? They travel together a long time and then LWJ gets called home. I think he gives WWX a way to contact him even though he shouldn’t? And WWX ends up bringing the Wen remnants to CR.

FOUND? my rivers tilt towards you by perfectlyrose (T, 26k, WangXian, Canon, Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Fairy Tale Elements, dragonji, mentions of, Madam Yu's A+ Parenting, First Meetings, Romance, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort)

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15. hi ! this is for fic finder, i think i asked before but i don’t believe it was found: wangxian modern au, they reunite after a gap bc lan zhan gets into an accident (he’s fine, but it was going to be on the news because he’s a bit famous (i think it was as a tv baker) so lan xichen comes over to tell him). they get closer again and i think near the end it’s revealed that lan sizhui is lan yuan, a patient wei ying grew attached to that lan zhan adopted a few yrs after wei ying disappeared @willesnelson

FOUND? Lifelong Confidant by saved (E, 42k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fluff and Angst, Past Character Death, Families of Choice, Explicit Sexual Content, Idiots in Love, Misunderstandings, Oblivious WWX, playing fast and loose with basic real life things, references to past alcoholism/substance abuse, Alcohol)

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16. Hello! Hoping to find a fic where Meng Yao I think is the main character. Modern AU, the ensemble are nurses/doctors. Meng Yao is a nurse, but like the head or charge nurse - he points out you can tell bc he's wearing a particular color of scrubs (yellow?). The plot had to do with people actually protecting him for once and his father trying to pin his own mal practice (or possibly Jin Zixun's) on Meng Yao. But Nie Huisang manages to save the day by "stumbling across" records that proved it was Jin Guangshan/Zixun at fault.

Thanks so much for all your hard work mods! @somevariationofgay

FOUND! No Drug Like Me by Justkeeptrekkin (E, 32k, XiYao, Modern AU, Hospital, They're all doctors and nurses, Mutual Pining, Eventual Smut, Fluff)

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17. hii, I hope you're doing well, I'm looking for fic whose description was smth like "yuan watches some man try take away his xian-gege" it isn't accurate, and I think it's a humorous fic from a-yuan's pov where lwj is around wwx and yuan is annoyed. Thank u for ur work!!! @mercurygirlwt28

FOUND! as i stumble homewards by the_pretzel (T, 27k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death - WWX, Found Family, Food Issues, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, sizhui pov, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff) lmao I found it myself. thank you sm for ur time!!!!!

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18. Hi I’m looking for a fic where Wei Ying wears Gusu Lan robes and no one recognizes him?

I think (and don’t quote me lol) that it is after the temple scenes and he lives in Gusu land now. @kyuubikuroba

FOUND? Wei Wuxian is Definitely Not Possessed by CursedBlessing (T, 20k, wangxian, JC & WWX, Misunderstandings, Is it exorcism if there's nothing to exorcise?, General Dumbassery, Humor) maybe chapter 3 of this one? Some people recognize wwx but some don't

FOUND? How Odd by bedheadrat (M, 35k, WIP, Case Fic, Fluff and Smut, BAMF WWX, Protective LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Rich LWJ, Genius WWX, Separation, Anxiety, Evil Plans, Touch-Starved, LWJ 's white robes kink, Attempted Kidnapping, Attempted Seduction, Misunderstandings, Not Cheating, Threats, Vandalism, Stealing, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon)

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19. hello! i am looking for a fic, if you don’t mind helping me ☺️

i believe in the fic wwx and lwj used to know each other well (or were together? i cant remember), and wwx came back to lwj’s life with baby sizhui. the baby is also lwj’s i think? but lwj didnt know prior to wwx’s return. the fic is set in modern times, so lwj is a rich boss running a company and wants to provide wwx and baby sizhui everything they need. theres this one scene where lwj gets overwhelmed about the whole situation, so he starts making lists: schools for sizhui, putting wwx on lwj’s uber plan, etc etc.

i’ve been looking for this fic for a very long time but my hands still come up empty. thank you very much!

FOUND? Family Pictures (Or: “Mark Rothko is very, very dead, Wei Ying.”) by belleweather (M, 37k, WangXian, Kid Fic, Post Mpreg, Modern AU, Cindarella Story, Mistaken Identity, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, art conservator lwj, idiot WWX, (he gets better slowly), shockingly little actual sex omg what happened to me, fake/mistaken cheating, no actual infidelity)

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20. Hey, I'm losing my mind looking for this fic where wy fall in love with 3 different people he meets(like gamer id, chat id, irl id) but they're all lwj.

Any idea which fic this is? @imstillthinkingaboutithmm

#20 it's not duo with you.

Actually I'm currently reading duo with you and that's is when i remembered about the 3 identity fic i can't find.

Duo with you is very nice to read, thanks

NOT FOUND! The Best Gift by Lan_Wangjoe (E, 45k, wangxian, Modern, Mistaken Identity, Miscommunication, Fluff, Family Dynamics, Falling In Love, Idiots in Love, Dorks in Love, Nice LQR, Meet the Family, Nerdiness, Science Boyfriends, Science Experiments, Fake Science, Science Husbands, Geeks, Work Contains Fan(s) or Fandom(s), Fandom Allusions & Cliches & References, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Adopted Children, Marriage of Convenience, Secret Marriage, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Stupidity, Himbo LXC, Lan Himbos, Lán Family Feels, Making fun of the Lan's again, Everyone Is Alive, Everyone Thinks They're Together, Good Parents JFM & YZY, Genius WWX) Wwx is a "true genius" that was obsessed with books written by lqr. He's fav character is hgj, online frenemy is lwj, and irl genius rival is lz

NOT FOUND! Duo With You by Nyatci (T, 48k, wangxian, JFM/YZY, JYL/JZX, modern, College/University, , Gamers WàngXiànCasual Gaming, enemies to lovers (sorta), Secret Identity vibes, they play league of legends, Kinda Crack but treated very seriously, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Comedy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Abusive Jiāng Family, Eventual Happy Ending, Ga(y)mers WangXian, now with fanart, WIP)

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#wangxian #wangxianficfinder #wangxian fic search #wangxian fic finder #the untamed #long post #mdzs

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