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snax-writes · 5 months ago

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[part two! i hope you like it!]

You look so much like your mother (in certain lights) - i. lecter // ii. beloved wife

summary: bedelia and hannibal attend the grayson’s annual advent dinner.

series masterlist // hannibal nbc masterlist.

chapter i // chapter ii.

warnings: pregnancy

word count: 3.2k

December 1996

"Bedelia, darling, are you ready?" Hannibal called upstairs, adjusting his shirt cuffs.

"Yes, one moment." She called back, she gathered her stuff into her clutch before walking down the stairs, her heels in hand.

Hannibal's eyes raked over her appearance, from her golden locks over her deep V-neck dress to the heels clutched in her hand. A smile played on his lips as he took in her attire. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you." She stepped into her heels, gripping on to the door frame to balance while she pulled the second shoe on.

Hannibal couldn't resist the temptation to tease her. He leaned against the wall, his eyes darkening as he watched her. "Need a hand?" He asked, holding out his hand to steady her.

She managed to find her balance, the heels now firmly in place. "I think I've got it," she replied. "But thank you for the offer." She murmured, looking up at him.

With Bedelia now standing steady on her feet, Hannibal stepped closer to her, the space between them narrowing to mere inches. His gaze roamed over her, taking in every detail of her appearance, the way her dress clung to her curves, the way her hair cascaded down her shoulders.

He let out a low hum of approval. "You are a vision," he murmured. "Radiant." His hand found her still-smooth belly.

She smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw.

Hannibal's eyes fluttered shut as Bedelia's lips brushed against his skin. A low sigh escaped his lips, the touch sending shivers down his spine.

He regained his composure before taking a little step back. "The driver is waiting." He handed her her coat.

She slipped into her coat before taking her gloves and her clutch, while Hannibal slipped into his own coat.

Hannibal opened the door, allowing his wife to exit first. Glistening snowflakes clung to the cobblestone path and the edges of the buildings. He followed behind her, his hand gently resting on the small of her back. His footsteps punctuated by the crisp crunch of snow beneath their feet. A sleek black Mercedes-Benz S-Class waited curbside.

As they stepped out into the cold night, white snowflakes danced in the air, illuminated by the dim glow of streetlamps.

Hannibal opened the rear passenger door for her. The interior of the car was warm, a stark contrast to the chill of the winter night. Once she was inside and settled, he rounded the car and slipped into the backseat next to her. The driver gave a subtle nod through the rearview mirror before starting the car.

The Mercedes slid smoothly onto the road, its plush leather interior contrasting with the frosty night. Silence filled the cabin, save for the low hum of the engine and the swish of the windshield wipers.

Hannibal glanced at Bedelia. "Warm enough?"

She nodded, a smile settling on her face. Ever since she had taken that positive pregnancy test a few weeks earlier he had been even more attentive.

Hannibal's hand found its way to her stomach, his fingers tracing gentle circles over the still-flat plane. "How are you feeling?" he asked quietly, his gaze meeting hers.

"I'm fine, Hannibal." She answered, indulging him and his protectiveness.

Hannibal kept his hand on her stomach, his touch gentle and protective. "No nausea?"

She smiled, shrugging. "I'm sure it'll be fine once we're there."

Hannibal nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he leaned back into the seat. "If you're not feeling up to it, we can skip the event." He said quietly.

"It's just a little nausea. I can still do the Grayson's Advent dinner." She answered.

Hannibal eyed her for a moment, his expression calm and observant. He could see the hint of fatigue in her expression, even though she smiled reassuringly. "If you're sure."

"Yeah. The Grayson's are nice, their guests too." The Grayson's were an exuberant, childless surgeon couple, who often treated them like their own. “I want to go.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Hannibal's mouth. "Mrs. Grayson will dote on you all night."

The car continued through the city's streets, the lights of the high-rises and mansions passing by in a blur. The journey to the Grayson's elegant townhouse seemed shorter than usual.

As the car slowed, Hannibal turned his attention back to Bedelia. "I suppose you'll have your fill of appetizers and dessert." He said with a hint of wry humor.

She grinned.

The car came to a smooth stop in front of the Grayson's townhouse. Hannibal stepped out, offering his hand to Bedelia as he always did. Once she was out of the car, he closed the door and turned to her, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Ready?" He inquired, his gaze studying her for any signs of discomfort.

"Yes." Her voice was sure.

Hannibal nodded slightly, his hand hovering near the small of her back as they walked up the steps to the Grayson's front door. The house was elegantly decorated, the scent of pines and spices wafting through the air.

The door opened before they could knock, and Mrs. Grayson greeted them with a warm smile.

"Hannibal, Bedelia," she said, clasping her hands together as if in prayer. "I'm so glad you made it."

"We wouldn't miss it, Mrs. Grayson." Hannibal replied, returning the greeting. His hand brushed against Bedelia for a moment, a quiet reassurance.

Mrs. Grayson ushered them inside, the warmth and the soft glow of lights inside instantly having a calming effect. The townhouse was elegant, yet cozy and very much Christmassy. They hung up their coats as Mr. Grayson appeared from the dining room, his eyes lighting up at the sight of them.

"Ah, there they are!" He exclaimed, striding forward to shake Hannibal's hand before turning to Bedelia, "My, you look absolutely radiant, dear."

"Thank you." She gave a bashful smile.

Mr. Grayson chuckled, his expression warm and friendly. "I mean it. You're positively glowing." He glanced at Hannibal.

He looped her arm through his own, gently steering her into the sitting room, while his wife linked her arm through Hannibal's, leading him in the same direction.

"Come, come, everyone is eager to see you both." Mrs. Grayson stated, a motherly tone in her voice. A gathering of about a dozen guests, mostly friends of the Grayson's, were already present.

The chatter of the guests filled the room, their voices blending with the soft background music playing from the speakers. A waiter moved through the space with a tray of champagne flutes. Hannibal took two - for him and Bedelia, although he'd have to drink them both. The guests, both familiar and unknown, turned to acknowledge the new arrivals with nods, smiles, and soft greetings.

Mrs. Grayson led them through the room, making the rounds of polite introductions. Bedelia immediately and easily slipped into her usual bright personality. As they were paraded around the room, Hannibal observed Bedelia's interaction with each guest. She effortlessly engaged in easy conversation.

Hannibal smiled politely and engaged in small talk, when necessary, but his focus was more on his wife than the conversation. Despite her earlier fatigue, she was effortlessly charming and sociable. Her laughter rang out at one of Mr. Grayson's jokes, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

As the evening wore on, the guests became gradually more at ease, perhaps thanks to the generous flow of alcohol. Mrs. Grayson made sure that everyone always had a full glass - Hannibal's glass was perpetually topped up, while Bedelia's stayed untouched. Hannibal watched how her fingers gracefully held her champagne flute, as she gesticulated mindful of the intact drink in her hand.

Dinner was announced and Hannibal carefully observed how the evening was affecting Bedelia, her flushed cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. He couldn't help but notice her relaxed state, the weariness from earlier entirely gone. As they moved toward the dining room, he leaned in closer to her. "Everything alright?"

"I told you I'd be fine as soon as we're here." She smiled, changing her full glass with his empty one - inconspicuously for onlookers.

Hannibal hid a knowing smile as Bedelia swapped their glasses. He couldn't help but admire her quick thinking and her careful act of normalcy in front of the guests.

"You never cease to surprise me." He murmured, his voice low and close to her ear.

She grinned, tucking herself under his arm. He gently touched the back of her shoulder to steer her into the dining room where the others were already finding their seats. She took her place at the table, a swirl of conversations and laughter filling the air. Mrs. Grayson ensured that Bedelia was placed next to her.

He shot a smile to her as he sat down on her other side.

He casually observed his surroundings. He couldn't help but notice the way Bedelia had shed her earlier weariness, her interactions and demeanor vibrant. He took a small bite of food, his gaze flicking back to his wife, who was engaged in conversation with Mrs. Grayson.

The Grayson's guests were a mix of surgeons, professors and psychiatrists. Small talk and laughter echoed around them, the atmosphere warm and festive. Hannibal took part in the conversation when necessary, responding with his usual eloquence.

He found himself discussing the latest medical journals with a surgeon, but his focus was primarily on Bedelia. He observed the way she effortlessly engaged in conversation, her face alight with laughter and her eyes sparkling. He watched as his wife avoided her wine glass, only drinking water.

The two couldn't miss the knowing glances Mrs. Grayson shot in their direction. Joy glittered in her eyes.

Indeed, Mrs. Grayson had noticed Bedelia's lack of wine consumption. However, she said nothing, continuing her conversation with her as if nothing was amiss. He could see the hint of excitement and joy in Mrs. Grayson's eyes every time she looked at Bedelia.

Hannibal's gaze flickered briefly to meet Mrs. Grayson's. A silent acknowledgement: he saw her knowing glances and understood them. He took a sip of wine, his gaze returning to his wife.

As the dinner progressed, the talk turned to recent surgical cases and medical breakthroughs. Hannibal and Bedelia both contributed to the conversation with measured words and well-informed opinions, even throwing in a sarcastic comment or two. But his attention was still on Bedelia, watching as she laughed at a story from one of the guests.

Finally, the dishes were cleared, dessert was served.

Bedelia glanced at him once or twice, catching his watchful gaze. Each instance her eyes met his, a small smile would play on her lips before she returned to the conversation. Hannibal took the moment to reach for Bedelia's hand under the table, gently lacing his fingers with hers.

Hours passed in a blink, and the guests slowly began to leave, each bidding their goodbyes to the hosts and thanking them for the wonderful evening.

Hannibal and Bedelia were among the last to leave, and as they picked up their coats, Mrs. Grayson approached them, her eyes sparkling with obvious joy.

Mrs. Grayson gave each of them a fond embrace, her happiness practically radiating off her. As she pulled away, she gently cupped Bedelia's face in her hands, "You look positively radiant, my dear. Truly." Her fingers lingered on Bedelia's cheek as she threw a glance at Hannibal.

Bedelia grinned, nodding as if wanting to confirm the woman's suspicions. "Thank you, Madeleine. I really enjoyed the evening."

Mrs. Grayson's eyes widened, her voice dropping into a reverent whisper, "Oh my, I was right, wasn't I?" Her lips stretched into a wide smile of joy as she glanced between Hannibal and a smiling Bedelia, "Please, tell me I was right."

"Next year we might have to organize a babysitter." Hannibal commented dryly.

Mrs. Grayson clasped her hands together in a gleeful gesture, "Oh my word! I called it! I knew it!" She turned to Mr. Grayson, her voice now slightly raised in excitement. "Robert, they're expecting a little one!"

Mr. Grayson, standing at the door, had just said his goodbyes to the last guests. His face quickly shifted into a warm smile as he closed the door, his eyes landing on a quietly amused Hannibal and a beaming Bedelia. "Oh, I knew the moment they arrived. The woman is glowing like a second sun and the man is not leaving her side for anything." He noted.

Hannibal smiled, his hand still resting on the small of Bedelia's back, a habit that had formed over the years. He chuckled slightly at the comment. "Is it that obvious?"

Mrs. Grayson gave a soft laugh, waving her hand. "Oh please, you're the proudest husband and father-to-be ever. You've been watching her all evening."

Mr. Grayson chuckled as well, adding, "Not to most people, but Madeleine and I know you both well. You learn to notice the subtlest signs." He cast a fond glance at his wife, who was still bubbling with excitement.

Bedelia, who had been enjoying the warm reactions, smiled sweetly at the couple. "We were hoping for you two to be the first to know," she confessed, "as honorary grandparents. I'm not far along, so we'll still wait to announce officially."

Mrs. Grayson's eyes got watery, tears of utter joy welling up. "Oh, I'm going to spoil that baby rotten!" She exclaimed, her voice a mix of laughter and tears as she hugged Bedelia.

As she turned to Hannibal, Mr. Grayson stepped forward, embracing Bedelia gently and planted a fatherly kiss on her hair. "We're honored, our dear, we truly are."

Bedelia smiled wide; a single happy tear had found its way down her cheek and was quickly dabbed away.

Hannibal could not help but smile at the display of emotion. To see Bedelia so joyous and content was something that would fill his heart eternally. Mrs. Grayson, in her own tears, clutched on Bedelia's hand as Mr. Grayson reached to hug Hannibal, "Congratulations, son. You'll be a wonderful father."

He patted the older man on his back, a strange feeling of contentment flooding him. "Thank you," he managed to say, his voice thick with unsaid emotions. The thought of becoming a father, of having a miniature version of himself and Bedelia, was both exhilarating and terrifying.

As he pulled away, his arm found its way back around Bedelia, gently pulling her close to his side. He placed a tender kiss on the top of her head, his eyes meeting hers for a fleeting moment. In her radiant happiness, she was even more stunning than usual.

She smiled, leaning into him more.

He gently caressed her cheek with his thumb, his gaze filled with tender tenderness. "We should get going then," he murmured.

"Yeah, we probably should."

After they said their final goodbyes to the Grayson's - Mr. Grayson shaking Hannibal's hand heartily and Mrs. Grayson squeezing Bedelia's for a solid minute - they put on their coats and stepped outside, the cold night air hitting them.

As the pair made their way back to the car, the cool evening air providing a slight bit of grounding against the emotional evening, Hannibal couldn't help but notice Bedelia's slightly misty eyes. He reached for her hand, folding his fingers over hers and pulling her a little closer.

Bedelia glanced up at him, her expression soft and content. She squeezed his hand gently in response. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet happiness. They walked to the car.

As they reached the vehicle, Hannibal opened the back seat door, holding it open for Bedelia. Once she was settled, he closed the door and made his way to the other side.

Sliding into the car, he shot Bedelia a glance. He couldn't help but admire her, her flushed cheeks, the joy still lingering in her eyes. He leaned towards her slightly, his voice low. "Comfortable?"

"Very." She smiled, lacing her hand with his, as the driver started the car.

As the car began to move, Hannibal's fingers played with hers, his touch light and gentle against her soft skin. He could almost feel her pulse drumming against his fingertips. His gaze flicked from their intertwined hands to her face, studying her quiet smile.

"I'm glad I'm doing this with you." She noted.

His lips curled into a smile; he moved a little closer to her. He gently tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, his touch tender. "Likewise." He responded, his voice soft and low.

The car rolled through the night, the city around them bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. Hannibal's thumb traced soft patterns against the back of her hand, a quiet comfort between them. He raised their intertwined hands and gently pressed a kiss against her knuckles.

They pulled into the driveway, the car coming to a stop. Hannibal got out, circling around to open the car door for Bedelia. He offered her his hand, a subtle smile on his lips.

"Thank you." She smiled, already walking to their door while her husband gave their driver a tip.

Hannibal followed silently, his gaze trailing after her. The house was dark, the porch light offering the only illumination. He followed her footsteps, his keys jingling in his hand.

She watched as he stepped up to the house, on hand in his pocket, the other playing with the keys.

Hannibal turned as he reached the door, aware of her eyes on him. He noticed the amused smile on her face and the dangerous glint in her eyes. "What's that smile for?" He asked, his voice soft.

Bedelia, her hand still firmly in his, tugged him a little closer. "Who, me?" She asked, her voice deceptively innocent. As Hannibal leaned down, she pushed herself up onto her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss on his lips.

He chuckled against her lips, a low and rumbling sound, before deepening the kiss. His hand came to rest on her waist, pulling her against him, the warmth of her seeping into him even through his jacket.

After a moment, he wrenched his lips away, his breath slightly ragged. He looked down at her, his eyes dark and intense. "You're being cheeky." He murmured, his voice thick and laced with desire.

Bedelia giggled softly, a light, sweet sound that sent a shiver down his spine. "I have no idea what you're talking about." She teased, her hand playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

His fingers, which still held the keys, made quick work of unlocking the front door.

Hannibal's eyes darkened, a sly smile curving his lips. "Sure, you don't." He answered, his voice a low, intimate murmur. He pushed the door open, the hallway ahead of them, dimly lit but cozy. His arm wrapped around her waist, he led her inside, his touch gently firm against her.

The house, dark and silent, felt warm and comfortable, enveloping them like a cocoon of familiarity. The click of the door as it closed behind them echoed faintly through the room, a soft sound in the quiet. Hannibal kept his hand on Bedelia's hip, guiding her through the hall, their footsteps muted on the plush carpeted floor.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think, send an ask!

if i missed a content warning, please tell me and i'll add it!

#hannibal lecter x bedelia du maurier #hannibal lecter #bedelia du maurier #bedannibal daughter #bedannibal #inesa lecter #(in the tummy)#hannibal nbc #snax writes #snax OCs

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snax-writes · 5 months ago

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[i could not decide whether this setting should be inesa and her dad or hannibal with bedelia, so i wrote both and made it two chapters :) do i only write inesa fics around christmas? we will never know... enjoy though and happy saint nicholas day!]

You look so much like your mother (in certain lights) - i. lecter // i. darling bird

summary: inesa and her father attend the grayson’s annual advent dinner.

series masterlist // hannibal nbc masterlist.

chapter i // chapter ii.

warnings: underage alcohol consumption (idk i’m not from the US)

word count: 3.3k

December 2015

"Inesa, bird, are you ready?" Hannibal called upstairs, adjusting his shirt cuffs.

"Yeah, just a second, dad." Inesa called back as she gathered her stuff into her clutch before rushing down the stairs, her heels in hand.

Hannibal took in Inesa's appearance, from her blond waves to her dress to the heels clutched in her hand. A hint of pride played on his face as he took in her attire. "You look lovely, Inesa."

"Thank you." She stepped into her heels, gripping on the chest of drawers that stood in their foyer.

Hannibal watched with slight amusement as Inesa balanced herself, her hand holding onto the commode. "Need a hand?" He teased, holding out his hand to steady her.

She managed to find her balance, the heels now firmly in place. "Nope, I think I've got it." She replied, her voice a mix of cockiness and slight breathlessness, from hurrying down the stairs.

Hannibal chuckled at her reply, the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Of course." He said, gesturing with a small wave of his hand. "Come, the driver is waiting." He held her coat for her.

She slipped into it before taking her gloves and her clutch, while Hannibal slipped into his own coat.

Hannibal opened the door, allowing Inesa to exit first. Glistening snowflakes clung to the cobblestone path and the edges of the buildings. He followed behind her, his footsteps punctuated by the crisp crunch of snow beneath their feet. A sleek black Mercedes-Benz S-Class waited curbside.

It was a cold night. White snowflakes danced in the air, illuminated by the dim glow of streetlamps.

Hannibal glanced at Inesa. "Warm enough?"

She nodded, a smile settling on her face.

Hannibal nodded in return, a subtle gesture of acknowledgement. He leaned back into the seat, his gaze shifting out the window and then back to Inesa. The city lights flickered past outside, creating a mesmerizing pattern of colors and shadows.

"You're unusually quiet tonight." He observed, his voice soft.

"I'm not quite in the socializing mood yet."

Her father glanced at her for a moment, noticing the slight downturn of her lips and the dimness in her eyes. Despite her attempt to mask it, he could sense her mood.

"Feeling a bit tired?" He inquired, his tone a mix of concern and gentleness.

"Yeah." She shrugged. "I'm sure it'll be fine once we're there."

Hannibal leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs. He observed the subtle changes in her body language and the weariness in her voice.

"It might be a long night." He commented, shifting his gaze to the window as the cityscape continued to pass by.

"Yeah. I just had a few strenuous weeks with exams and all. I can still do the Grayson's Advent dinner." She smiled reassuring.

Hannibal eyed her for a moment, his expression calm and observant. He could see the hint of fatigue in her expression, even though she smiled reassuringly.

"Stress tends to leave its mark." He commented, a hint of understanding in his voice. He knew the toll such periods could take on anyone. "You're certain you're up for tonight?"

"Yeah. The Grayson's are nice, their guests too." The Grayson's were an exuberant, childless surgeon couple, who he and Bedelia had long called Inesa’s honorary grandparents.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Hannibal's mouth. "They are quite fond of you," he agreed, his eyes returning to the window. "They'll likely dote on you all night."

The car continued through the city's streets, the lights of the high-rises and mansions passing by in a blur. The journey to the Grayson's elegant townhouse seemed shorter than usual. As the car slowed, Hannibal turned his attention back to Inesa. "I suppose you'll have your fill of champagne, appetizers and dessert." He said with a hint of wry humor.

Inesa grinned.

The car came to a smooth stop in front of the Grayson's townhouse. Hannibal stepped out, offering his hand to Inesa as he always did. Once she was out of the car, he closed the door and turned to her, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Ready?" he inquired, his gaze studying her for any signs of lingering weariness.

"Yes." Her voice was sure.

The door opened before they could knock, and Mrs. Grayson greeted them with a warm smile.

"Hannibal, Inesa," she said, clasping her hands together as if in prayer. "I'm so glad you made it."

Mrs. Grayson ushered them inside, the warmth and the soft glow of lights inside instantly soothing Inesa's weary state. The townhouse was elegant, yet cozy and very much Christmassy. They hung up their coats as Mr. Grayson appeared from the dining room, his eyes lighting up at the sight of them.

"Ah, there they are!" He exclaimed, striding forward to shake Hannibal's hand before turning to Inesa. "Inesa, dear, you get prettier every time we see you!"

"Thank you." She gave a bashful smile.

Mr. Grayson chuckled, his eyes crinkling in a warm smile. He looped her arm through his own, gently steering her into the sitting room, while his wife linked her arm through Hannibal's, leading him in the same direction.

"Come, come, everyone is eager to see you both." Mrs. Grayson stated, a motherly tone in her voice. A gathering of about a dozen guests, mostly friends of the Grayson's, were already present.

The chatter of the guests filled the room, their voices blending with the soft background music playing from the speakers. A waiter moved through the space with a tray of champagne flutes. Hannibal took one for himself and handed another to Inesa. The guests, both familiar and unknown, turned to acknowledge the new arrivals with nods, smiles, and soft greetings.

Mrs. Grayson led them through the room, making the rounds of polite introductions. Inesa immediately and easily slipped into her usual bright personality.

As they were paraded around the room, Hannibal observed Inesa's interaction with each guest. She effortlessly engaged in easy conversation, her smile and laughter a stark contrast to the earlier weariness he had noticed. It was as if the change of environment energized her.

Hannibal smiled politely and engaged in small talk, when necessary, but his focus was more on Inesa than the conversation. Despite her earlier fatigue, she was effortlessly charming and sociable. Her laughter rang out at one of Mr. Grayson's jokes, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

As the evening wore on, the guests became gradually more at ease, perhaps thanks to the generous flow of alcohol. Mrs. Grayson made sure that Inesa always had a full glass, while Hannibal's glass was perpetually topped up. Hannibal watched how her fingers gracefully held her champagne flute, as she gesticulated mindful of the drink in her hand.

Dinner was announced and Hannibal carefully observed how the evening was affecting Inesa, her flushed cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. He couldn't help but notice her relaxed state, the weariness from earlier entirely gone. As they moved toward the dining room, he leaned in closer to her. "You seem to have forgotten all about exams and stress."

"I told you I'd be fine as soon as we were here." She smiled, taking a sip of her champagne. "My Christmas holidays have officially started now."

"So, it seems." Hannibal nodded with a subtle smirk. He gently touched the small of her back to steer her into the dining room where the others were already finding their seats.

She took her place at the table, a swirl of conversations and laughter filling the air. Mrs. Grayson ensured that Inesa was placed next to her. She shot a smile to her father as he sat down on her other side.

Hannibal returned the smile, his gaze casually observing his surroundings. He couldn't help but notice the way Inesa seemed to have shed her earlier weariness, her interactions and demeanor now much more vibrant. He took a small bite of food, his gaze flicking back to Inesa, who was engaged in conversation with Mrs. Grayson.

The Grayson's guests were a mix of surgeons, professors and psychiatrists. Conversations and laughter echoed around them, the atmosphere warm and festive. Hannibal took part in the conversation when necessary, responding with his usual eloquence.

Mrs. Grayson turned to Inesa, her eyes filled with maternal concern and curiosity. "Inesa, darling, are you seeing anyone special?"

"Oh, God, no." She chuckled. "I barely have enough time for myself, not to mention a boyfriend."

Mrs. Grayson clucked her tongue, her eyes still fixed on Inesa. "Oh, a young and pretty woman like you should have at least a handful of gentlemen callers." She chided, a hint of teasing in her voice.

Mr. Grayson chuckled in agreement. "She should." He chimed in. "Don't you think so, Hannibal?"

At the mention of his name, Hannibal's attention shifted. He had been quietly listening to the conversation, his eyes drifting lazily to Inesa before he responded. His lips curled into a subtle smile. "Oh, I agree. Inesa has much to offer. She'll undoubtedly have her options, should she decide to date." He took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze not leaving Inesa.

Mrs. Grayson smiled, her eyes dancing from Hannibal to Inesa. "Oh, yes, indeed. I believe the boys are just intimidated."

Inesa rolled her eyes, a small smile on her face. "Maybe I just don't want a distraction from my studies."

Mr. Grayson laughed heartily, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "A woman who knows what she wants." He leaned back in his seat the slightest bit, his gaze flickering to Hannibal. "Your parents met in med school, Inesa, did they not?"

Before Inesa could respond, Hannibal interjected with a sly smile. "Indeed, we did." He confirmed, his eyes briefly meeting Inesa's before returning to Mr. Grayson.

"You are also divorced now, dad." Inesa interjected, humor in her voice.

Hannibal turned his attention to Inesa, his eyes narrowing slightly in feigned annoyance. "That's a very blunt observation, bird. Thank you for pointing that out." He responded, his tone sarcastic, yet his eyes held a hint of amusement.

"You are very welcome, beloved father." She answered, an equal amount of sarcasm in her words.

Hannibal raised an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and feigned annoyance on his face. "I'm suddenly reminded of one of the less enjoyable aspects of having a teenage daughter." He remarked, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The rest of the guests chuckled, some sharing knowing smiles.

"He's got to get his grey hair somewhere." Inesa joked and earned even louder laughter.

"Inesa." Hannibal said, in a faux-warning tone. The corners of his mouth twitched, almost fighting a smile. "Careful." His hand found the back of her head as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

She smiled, leaning towards him.

Hannibal's expression softened as he felt her lean into the gesture. He let his hand drop to her shoulder, wrapping his arm around her, drawing her closer. He turned his attention back to the other guests, his hand gently resting on her shoulder.

The conversation continued, shifting to lighter topics as the dinner progressed. He observed Inesa, her eyes sparkling with joy, her face flushed and her movements carefree. She leaned into him, her head brushing against his shoulder.

Hannibal couldn't help but feel amused by the contrast in her behavior. The weariness from before had vanished, replaced by a relaxed and spirited demeanor. He gently squeezed her shoulder in silent acknowledgement, his gaze drifting back to the lively conversation.

As the evening approached the later hours though, Hannibal could see that Inesa's earlier tiredness was gradually re-surfacing.

Hannibal's observant gaze took in the subtle signs of Inesa's weariness. He noticed how her eyes were a tad more unfocused and there was a hint of a yawn that she tried to suppress. He leaned in, his voice a low rumble in her ear, "Tired?"

She nodded subtly.

Hannibal gave her a small smirk, his fingers idly tracing a circle on her shoulder. "Can't keep up with the older crowd?" He teased, keeping his voice low for her ears only.

She rolled her eyes. "I think I had a total of 30 hours of sleep this week, so forgive me."

Hannibal's expression turned slightly more concerned. "30 hours? Inesa, I thought we talked about this." He chided, his voice carrying a hint of reprimand. He kept his hand on her shoulder, his touch firm yet gentle.

She smiled sheepishly. "Oops."

Hannibal's gaze softened, a mixture of sternness and amusement in his eyes. "Oops? No, young lady, that's not an 'oops.' You need to take care of yourself." His fingers squeezed her shoulder again.

He glanced at the dinner guests, taking note of the late hour and how the evening was slowly winding down. He leaned in, his voice lower than before. "I think it's time to get you home."

"Okay."

Hannibal nodded, his hand still resting on her shoulder. He waited for a natural lull in the conversation, then leaned forward to speak with Mrs. Grayson. "I'm afraid it's time for us to call it a night. I need to get the bird home before she falls asleep in her chair."

Mrs. Grayson nodded understandingly, her expression one of mild regret. "Ah, of course. We've kept you far too late, I fear." Her gaze moved to Inesa, a look of maternal concern on her face.

"Not at all. It's been a wonderful evening." Inesa replied, giving an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid I'm just not rested enough to keep up with you after my exams."

Mrs. Grayson smiled kindly. "Oh, my dear, no need to apologize. We understand. Exams are a lot of stress." She patted Inesa's hand before looking back at Hannibal. "You make sure she gets some rest, Hannibal." She said, her tone firm but caring.

Hannibal gave her a small smile. "Of course, Mrs. Grayson." He placed his hand on Inesa's back, gently guiding her to stand. They said their goodbyes to the other guests, Inesa engaging in a few more bouts of cheerful but weary banter.

Finally, they retrieved their coats and were soon on their way back home. Inesa leaned her head against the car's cold window, her eyes half-lidded.

As the car navigated through the now quiet streets, Hannibal glanced at her. In the soft glow of passing streetlights, he could see the exhaustion etched on her features. He reached over, his hand settling on hers for a moment, his thumb grazing the back of her palm.

She smiled at him, straightening up a little.

Hannibal observed her subtle shift, how she tried to rouse herself a bit. He didn't comment on it, knowing that tiredness had a strong hold on her. "Almost home." He said quietly, his gaze flickering back to the road.

She nodded as her phone vibrated audibly.

Hannibal glanced as Inesa's phone lit up, its soft glow illuminating her face. "Who's texting you at this hour?" He asked, his voice soft.

"Mom. She was assigned for psychiatric emergency service for tomorrow at short notice, she wants to know if I'll stay with you until she's home."

Hannibal nodded in acknowledgment. "Of course. She doesn't need to worry about that." He said in a casual, almost nonchalant tone.

Inesa decided to call her mom instead of texting her answer. She put the phone to her ear.

As Inesa called her mom, Hannibal maintained a discreet silence. The car continued its journey through the night, the quiet within only broken by Inesa's soft voice as she spoke to her mother. He saw her rub her eyes and yawn again, the late hour and fatigue catching up with her. He smiled faintly to himself, both amused and concerned by her stubbornness.

After a few more moments, Inesa ended the call, a weary smile on her face. "All settled. Mom will be home early afternoon. You're stuck with me the whole morning."

A soft chuckle escaped him. "Oh, joy." He responded with feigned sarcasm. "An entire morning of making sure my sleepy teenager doesn't fall asleep in her breakfast."

In reality, he found a joy in the idea of having her around for a while longer. The house could get lonely at times, and her presence, regardless of her current state of exhaustion, was a quiet comfort.

They pulled into the driveway, the car coming to a stop. Hannibal got out, circling around to open the car door for Inesa. He offered her his hand, a subtle smile on his lips.

"Thank you." She smiled, already walking to their door while her dad gave their driver a tip.

Hannibal followed silently, his gaze trailing after her. The house was dark, the porch light offering the only illumination. He followed her footsteps, his keys jingling in his hand.

She watched as he stepped up to the house, on hand in his pocket, the other playing with the keys.

Hannibal turned as he reached the door, aware of her eyes on him. He noticed the amused smile on her face and the way she tried to stifle yet another yawn. "What's that smile for?" He asked, his voice soft.

"I don't know." She grinned softly.

He raised an eyebrow, a playful look on his face. "Is there something amusing about me opening a door?" He unlocked the door, gesturing for her to enter first.

"No, I think I'm just happy to have you as my dad." She noted as she stepped into the wardrobe.

Hannibal froze for just a moment, her words catching him by surprise. For a man who prided himself on his composure, her candid admission stirred a complex mix of emotions. He followed her into the house, closing the door behind them.

He paused for a moment, his hand on the door handle, his expression inscrutable. Then, clearing his throat, he spoke, his voice a bit rougher than he intended. "Well... I'm happy to be your dad, bird."

Inesa smiled as she hung up her coat and kicked off her high heels.

His gaze flitted over her as she discarded her shoes. The sight of her bare feet against the floorboards was oddly endearing, a simple reminder of her childhood. Hannibal removed his own coat and hung it next to hers.

"I need to go to bed." She kissed her father on the cheek. "Goodnight, dad."

Hannibal felt the soft brush of her lips against his cheek, a simple but meaningful form of affection. "Goodnight, Inesa." He replied, his voice softened. He watched as she followed the stairs up to her room.

Once she was gone, Hannibal remained in the dimly lit entryway for a moment, his mind replaying the interaction. A strange mix of warmth and melancholy stirred in him, emotions he usually kept in check.

He took a deep breath, the quiet of the house seeming suddenly pronounced. He had an early morning tomorrow, yet with her words still echoing in his mind, sleep felt like a distant prospect.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think, send an ask!

if i missed a content warning, please tell me and i'll add it!

#hannibal lecter x daughter!OC #inesa lecter #hannibal lecter #bedannibal daughter #bedannibal #hannibal nbc #snax writes #snax OCs #hannibal lecter x oc

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snax-writes · 6 months ago

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Hannibal's Child Aura

An analysis of energetic configurations.

(This isn't a headcanon of what I think his child would be like, this is another energetic configuration analysis based on Mads' placements, which like I mentioned in the previous ones, actors are casted in roles that represent their charts, so that's how we analyze characters without the fictional information about full names or date of birth).

To analyze children, we look at an individual's expression number, as children are the expression of that individual's energy. As well as their 5th house, but we don't have Mads' time of birth to know his ascendent therefore house placements.

His expression number is found through his full name, and we do have that, and it is 15 that generates 6.

1 is god/union, 5 is movement, therefore we have the motion of god, god's movement, and 6 is effort, work. We then have The Motion of God that generates Work. His expression number is God moving itself and through that movement it creates its Work (it could create chaos, or union, or destruction for example, but work is this particular expression).

Work (6) could be the result of god's (1) expression (3), but in the case of Hannibal, it is the result of god's (1) movement (5), because his original number is 15, 1+5=6, but if it was 33, it would be a different expression. Telling you this because you guys liked the explanations on the previous analysis.

With that being said, we have the combined energies of The Magician and The Hierophant, that together manifest The Lovers. This means that this particular expression of The Lovers archetype manifests itself in the ways of the marriage between The Magician and The Hierophant.

The Magician is relationship between personal effort and spiritual reality. Mastery, power, self-realization, capacity, creative impulse, attention, effortless concentration, spontaneity.

The being, the spirit, the man or God; the spirit that can be understood; the generating unit of numbers, the primordial substance. Starting point. First cause.

And The Hierophant is blessing, initiation, demonstration, teaching. Duty. Morals. Conscience. Holiness. Law, symbolism, philosophy, religion. The highest levels of consciousness.

And The Lovers is marriage, connection, union. Integration of both sexes into the generating power of the universe. Free will, choice. Coming of age. Test. Linking, combination, balance, plot, embrace. Struggle, antagonism.

The first thing we'd have in his child then, would be the clear androgynous quality, with yin manifesting as sensuality, and yang as dominance. As well as a very polarizing image, that triggers those who are bound by duality (gender). Either attracting or causing struggle for those individuals.

What makes up this energy though is a higher consciousness, it is the spiritual knowledge, and mastery of the self that grants this transcendence of duality, that makes up for an individual who can embody both yin and yang.

Although we don't have access to Mads' 5th house, we do know his Sun placement, and the Sun, natural ruler of the 5th house, symbolizes one's children, as the thing that brings light to the native's life (which can also be creative projects as well).

His Sun sits at 6 degrees of a specific constellation (sidereal), that is ruled by Mitra.

In Vedic lore, Mitra is the god of friendship, cooperation, and promises. He is often paired with Varuna, the god of cosmic order and morality. Together, Mitra and Varuna embody a divine balance: Mitra represents the warmth of relationships and partnerships, while Varuna symbolizes law and universal order. They govern the moral and social contracts between people, ensuring harmony.

Mitra’s presence in this partnership reflects his role as the deity who brings people together, creating bonds. Mitra’s nature is gentle, and he rules over the dawn and daytime, symbolizing light, clarity, and connection.

This specific constellation is known as Anuradha, the "Star of Success," representing the journey of enduring trials and achieving harmony through collaboration. Just as Mitra stands for unity, those born under Anuradha are believed to have a gift for forming lasting relationships.

The pairing of Mitra and Varuna is an important aspect of Vedic cosmology. In many Vedic hymns, the two gods are invoked together, representing the balance between companionship (Mitra) and cosmic law (Varuna). Mitra represents social order through connection, trust, and shared purpose, while Varuna governs cosmic justice, rules, and retribution for moral transgressions.

The name Anuradha translates to "Another Radha" or "Following Radha" in Sanskrit. This can be interpreted as following the path of devotion and loyalty, as Radha, in Hindu mythology, is known for her unwavering love and devotion to Lord Krishna. The name "Anuradha" implies a similar path of dedication, loyalty.

Radha was a young cowherd girl (gopi) in Vrindavan, where Krishna spent his youth. Radha and Krishna shared a bond that transcended ordinary romantic love, often described as the highest form of spiritual love. Radha is portrayed as completely devoted to Krishna, embodying a pure, all-consuming love that goes beyond ego and self-interest. Although Radha and Krishna were deeply in love, they were never married in the traditional sense, which makes their connection symbolic of a love that seeks no worldly fulfillment.

Radha’s unwavering dedication to Krishna, even in his physical absence, symbolizes the soul's undying faith and love for the divine, even amid challenges and separation. This concept is called Viraha Bhakti, or the devotion of separation, which deepens the love through longing (yes, we are aware of the Hannigram implications lol).

In spiritual literature, Radha represents the Jivatma (individual soul), while Krishna represents the Paramatma (universal soul or God). Their love story, therefore, illustrates the journey of the individual soul towards merging with the divine, embodying a love that is selfless, transcendent, and eternal. Radha’s love is seen as the highest form of Bhakti (devotion), where the devotee loses all sense of self in their devotion to God.

The Child of Hannibal would embody this devotion, and having been raised by him specifically, they would be quite the embodiment, considering Hannibal is extremely spiritual.

They would be devoted to their source of life, which means Hannibal and mother, until they found their soulmate and that devotion would then find another vessel.

The Hierophant and Hannibal himself would make them extremely academic, and intellectual, with an interest in occult philosophy and alchemy.

Let's cook them up:

Radha's devotion could manifest in adoring/childlike eyes.

If conventionally attractive, they would tweak something in their appearance to be slightly off putting, yet not too much such as alternative fashion and make up, due to the nature of still wanting to be harmonious and accepted. Just a little detail to make them stand out, to make them appear exotic, even if they aren't naturally.

There is something classical about them, considering the traditionalist approach of The Hierophant, and Hannibal's taste. Even if outside of societal standards, they still exude a classical, "cleanness" allure.

Something about them resembles a doll, a thing that was made, "God's work". Something crafted with effort and devotion, yet something that has internal space, ready to be filled by its creator's influence.

Although we talked about the integration of both sexes, I am using generally feminine examples because of two reasons: one being that the vast majority of the fandom seems to prefer Will and Hannibal having daughters, which is a form of self insert, and secondly because if Hannibal could choose he would definitely choose a replacement for Mischa. Anything that resembles her would be his preference. And also that he has such a girl-dad vibe lol.

But you can apply these things to whatever gender or presentation you prefer.

To embody their aura you can chant the mantra Aim.

Aim is the seed mantra of Sarasvati, the Goddess of knowledge and speech, the consort of Lord Brahma, the Creator in the Hindu trinity of great Gods. As such, Aim aids us in learning, art, expression and communication and is good for promoting learning and education.

Aim is also the mantra of the guru and helps us access all higher knowledge. It can be used to call or to invoke wisdom and understanding. It indicates motivation, direction and will-power. It can orient us toward whatever we are seeking. It increases concentration of mind and awakens our higher intelligence (Buddhi).

Now, if you want an intuitive reading of the child and their father, based in canon and energies, here it is:

Because Hannibal has a strange obsession over Mischa, he would have spoiled the daughter, she/they would most likely have their way every time, unlike Will's child, for example, although that's a different topic.

Let's call them Lilya, for the sake of making this easier.

Lilya is a brilliant child with an attitude problem that gets her in trouble but never truly punished because they can't never understand how exactly she's guilty or what she did, precisely, due to an incredible ability to manipulate (The Magician and daddy's influence). Hannibal can't never punish her as well, the only thing he does is lock her up in the office and makes her read some obscure book and write an essay on it.

She is polite, has impeccable manners, but until she reaches maturity, she has a hard time hiding her excessive arrogance.

She begins killing early on, always displaying a good sense of precision and cleanness, yet a different method of selection than Dad. She seems to choose whoever she finds beyond help of betterment, or those who have her experience rejection/heartbreak.

Hannibal keeps a close eye, but allows autonomy.

They are affectionate with each other, but Lilya does not initiate touch, or endures it too much, she tends to internalize physical contact as psychological restriction, probably due to some sort of behavior Hannibal had of holding her too tightly as a baby or something like that. Could also be because she, out of all people, is very intimate with her father's overwhelming influence, therefore she tends to have a limited tolerance for physical intimacy.

She's a talented musician, and "argumentalist". Ahead of her class, leader of all groups she finds herself.

Upon meeting Will's daughter, she wants to immediately obliterate her for stirring such intense emotions in her body. That one can illicit a reaction in just about anyone, but that's a conversation for another day.

They eventually become close, but Lilya forever resents the force the other girl has over herself and others, without effort. While Lilya finds she needs to think, plan and elaborate how to influence and manipulate.

Will is weary of her, she dislikes him very much, and when union occurs, they have a classic step-parent situation where there is acceptance and tolerance but not intimacy or love. Lilya dislikes the power Will has over the fortitude of her father and resents that their lives crumbled down because of Will. But eventually accepts him around.

She would despise Abigail, if Hannibal even had an interest in Abigail had he already had a daughter, but maybe so, to bond with Will, and Lilya would see her as competition and a liability. She would see Abigail as weak, because she cannot accept her true nature, and honor her own father, which is bestial to Lilya, who is proud to be like her father, even though his influence overwhelms her.

She would most likely try to kill Abigail, and have an emotional reaction that would make Hannibal have to express to her that she cannot be replaced.

This would also create a resistance between her and Will. Although Will's daughter dislikes Abigail for the same reason, granting them to bond over it, exactly like their dads, but for an opposite reason. Although Will's daughter would not try to literally kill Abigail, as she is a lot more mature and pondered. She ultimately feels sorry for Abigail, and Lilya despises her.

Enough lore on Lilya? Anyway, hope you were entertained.

Her name means purity, or night in Arabic.

Some aesthetics that remind me of her style:

#just gonna leave this here #bc anya is inesa's face claim #and i love that she's in here #inesa lecter

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snax-writes · 6 months ago

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[for context, i wrote this in my luteal phase... i just thought about how it is often said that prostitution is the oldest profession in history, when the oldest profession in history will always be midwifery, women helping women carry life into the world. rhaenys deserved to be there for her daughter, she deserved to be a mother.]

Darling girl - r. targaryen; l. velaryon x d. targaryen

summary: what if Laena had been on Dragonstone giving birth to her third child? what if Rhaenys could have been there for her?

warnings: canon-typical incest, canon-typical gender roles, pregnancy, childbirth, rhaenys & laena centric; i’m not sure where dragons live on driftmark? do they live on driftmark? do they stay on dragonstone or in king’s landing?

word count: 2.9k

"Daemon," Laena choked out as a new contraction hit her. "Get my mother." Sweat beaded on her forehead, her cheeks wet with tears, as she knelt on the bed, hunched over in pain.

"I need her here." She whimpered. Laena’s voice rose to a shriek as another wave of pain rushed over her. She was exhausted, her body weak and trembling from the hours of labor.

Daemon squeezed the hand he had dutifully held for the last few hours, watching her closely. "Rhaenys is on Driftmark."

"Then take your fucking dragon and get my mother!" The young woman grinded out, a sob falling from her lips as her hand clenched in the white sheets.

"I cannot leave you like this." Daemon said, worry etched in his features.

"Go!" She whimpered. She wasn’t sure if she was maybe just giving him an excuse not to have to experience this again – the fear, the uncertainty.

Daemon hesitated for a moment, his eyes locked on her, before he finally nodded. "I'll be back at once." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then hurried from the room.

Daemon rushed to the dragons’ caves, his heart pounding as he mounted Caraxes. As the dragon took to the sky, he urged him to fly faster than they had ever before. He reached Driftmark and found Rhaenys at the castle, engrossed in a conversation. Seeing Daemon's panicked expression as he turned around a corner, she quickly excused herself, hurrying to meet him.

"What's wrong?" She asked, her eyes searching him frantically.

"Laena is in labor. She needs you."

"By the gods." Rhaenys whispered, fear gripping her heart. "You left your wife to labor alone." In a hurry both rushed to their dragons, climbing into their saddles.

"She was short of ripping my head off if I had not left to get you." Daemon’s tone was defensive now.

Rhaenys mounted Meleys not answering him, her hands shaking slightly as she urged the dragon to take off. They launched into the air, flying towards Dragonstone as fast as the dragon's wings would allow.

When they arrived at Dragonstone, Rhaenys rushed to her daughter’s chambers, leaving the dragon keepers to handle Meleys. Her eyes widened at the sight of Laena. She rushed to the young woman's side, grabbing her clammy hand. "I'm here now." She whispered, comfortingly.

"Mother." Laena almost sighed in relief.

Rhaenys smiled, her eyes filled with motherly affection as she squeezed her daughter's hand. "I'm here." She repeated, her voice gentle. "You're doing so well." Even as she spoke, another contraction hit Laena. The young woman tried to breathe through the pain as best as she could, a whimper falling from her lips.

Rhaenys brushed a lock of silver-white hair from Laena’s sweat-beaded forehead, her touch gentle as she whispered comforting words. "You can do this, my darling girl." She looked at Daemon. "Get a midwife. The maester can wait outside." Daemon nodded, swiftly leaving the room.

Rhaenys turned her attention back to Laena, trying to soothe her with a cool cloth, her other hand still holding her daughter's. "You're strong. Remember to breathe." She soothed her daughter.

Soon, the midwife arrived, a no-nonsense woman who immediately went to work. She examined Laena, checking her progress.

"You're getting close, Princess. Not much longer now." The midwife said. Rhaenys kept her eyes on her daughter, offering gentle words of encouragement.

An hour later it was time. She instructed Rhaenys to help Laena into a suitable position that the young woman would feel good in. With Rhaenys' support, Laena pushed and strained, her cries of pain filling the room and the halls of Dragonstone. Daemon let her squeeze his hand until all blood had left his fingers.

Rhaenys held her daughter tightly, her own heart clenching in sympathy as she cried out in pain. The midwife instructed her on when to push, and Rhaenys spoke to her daughter with encouraging words, reminding her how strong and brave she was being, wiping the sweat from her forehead. "You're doing so well, darling. You're almost there."

Time seemed to drag on as she pushed, the minutes ticking by like hours. Finally, a loud, squalling cry pierced the air.

A wet, relieved laugh, tightly entangled with a sob, tumbled from Laena’s lips as she was shown her son. Rhaenys watched as the midwife cleaned the screaming baby, a mixture of happiness and care on her face before the baby was passed to Laena.

"A boy." She whispered, holding a hand up to stroke his head. "You have a son, my darling."

A warm expression pulled at the young woman’s lips as she looked down at the baby, her cheeks still wet with tears. "He's beautiful."

Rhaenys smiled warmly, tears in her eyes as she watched the babe in her daughter's arms. "Congratulations," she whispered, gently placing a small kiss on her daughter's forehead. "I'm so proud of you."

Laena looked up at Daemon, a beaming smile on her face.

Daemon stood at the other side of the bed, his eyes filled with love and admiration as he gazed at his wife and child. He knelt onto the mattress, leaning down to kiss Laena’s forehead gently.

"You were incredible." He murmured softly; his voice was filled with awe.

Rhaenys sat back for a moment, her heart swelling with pride and joy as she watched her family come together. The midwife stayed for a few more minutes, ensuring that the afterbirth passed well and both mother and child were healthy, before quietly leaving the room to give the family some privacy.

"Have you thought of a name?" Rhaenys asked softly, her eyes shifting to the babe in her daughter's arms.

"Aemon." Daemon answered, his voice sure.

Laena looked up surprised at her husband as he said the name of her grandfather, her mother's father.

Rhaenys was silent for a moment, stunned. But then, a small smile tugged at her lips. "Aemon." She repeated, a touch of reverence in her voice.

Daemon looked to Rhaenys. It was an obvious truce, but he believed it was fitting, honoring both his wife and her mother's family line. He felt it was a strong name for the little boy and wanted to make sure Rhaenys approved.

After a moment, Rhaenys nodded, her eyes still locked on the tiny face of her grandson. "Aemon." She murmured again, the name rolling softly off her tongue. "It suits him." She finally said, looking up at Daemon with a soft smile.

Daemon grinned, reaching out to gently touch the baby's head, his thumb stroking the soft downy hair. "Strong name for a strong boy." He murmured, pride evident in his voice.

Laena smiled as she put the boy to her breast.

Rhaenys smiled, her gaze shifting back to the suckling babe. She sat quietly for a few moments, letting the mother and child bond without interruption. She watched them for a few moments, smiling as the baby fussed a little, and then decided to give them a little privacy.

"I'll leave you alone for a while." She said softly, getting up to leave the room.

"Mother." Laena caught her mother's hand, squeezing briefly. "Thank you. For coming so quickly."

She turned back, her eyes meeting Laena’s, a gentle smile on her lips.

"Always, my darling girl." She whispered, a promise in her voice. "No matter what, I'll always come if you need me."

Rhaenys squeezed her daughter's hand one more time, then slowly let go, stepping back away from the bed. "I'll return in a little while." She said, her voice soft and comforting. "If you need anything - anything at all - send for me."

Laena nodded before turning to look back at her son.

Rhaenys smiled one last time at her daughter and grandson, her heart filled with love and motherly affection. Then, she turned and quietly left the room, leaving the young couple to their family’s new addition.

Over the next few days, Rhaenys was almost a constant presence in the room, helping to care for both Laena and the baby.

Time passed in a blur of sleepless nights, fussy feedings, and blissful moments of holding the tiny bundle. Rhaenys helped to soothe frustrated tears and calm hungry crying, giving Laena much needed rest in between.

Every day Rhaenys would watch as Daemon cared for his wife and son, and pride filled her chest as he again proved to be an excellent father, doting on both as well as their daughters. As the days passed, Rhaenys found herself growing more and more fond of little Aemon, unable to resist holding him whenever she could and spoiling him with affection.

A week after giving birth when Laena felt fine to get up from bed, she and Daemon chose a dragon egg for their son as they had done with their two daughters.

Rhaenys sat in a rocking chair, cradling her grandson, when they came back with a pale blue egg with a gold swirling pattern to put in Aemon's cradle. Laena had her arm wrapped around Daemon's elbow, shifting some of her weight for him to support.

"That's a beautiful egg." Rhaenys murmured, watching as Daemon placed it amongst the soft blankets.

"How do you feel?" Rhaenys asked her daughter, looking up at Laena.

"Perfect." She answered, a glowing smile on her face as she accepted her son from her mother.

Rhaenys smiled back at her daughter, her heart swelling with pride and joy. This was how it was supposed to be. As Laena cradled her newborn son, the baby made a soft mewling sound. Rhaenys chuckled softly. "Corlys will arrive in a few days to meet his grandson."

The younger woman nodded, a grin ghosting over her face as the baby wrapped its tiny fingers around her index finger.

Four-year-old Rhaena entered the room, her small steps hesitant at first. She looked up at her mother, her eyes wide. "Mama?" She asked, her voice soft and sweet.

"Yes, my darling girl. Where's your sister?" Laena sat down on a chair so she could be at eye level with her daughter.

Rhaena looked up at her mother, a pout on her little face. "Baela is mean to me." She said, her voice a loud whisper. Rhaenys stifled a laugh, her eyes twinkling.

"Really? What did she do, huh?" Laena stroked a strand of the girl's silver hair from her face.

Rhaena's pout deepened, and she looked up at her mother, her bottom lip trembling. "She hid my toy dragon." She sniffled.

She pressed a kiss to the little girl's forehead before turning to Daemon. "Will you..."

"Of course." Daemon said, instantly realizing what Laena was asking for. He stood up without hesitation, offering Rhaena his hand. "Let's go find Baela and that toy dragon, hm?"

Rhaena's beamed at the prospect of finding her toy. She took Daemon's hand, her tiny hand wrapping around his index and middle fingers, and followed him out of the room. "Yes, please, papa."

Rhaenys chuckled softly as she watched Daemon and Rhaena leave, before switching her attention back to Laena and the babe. Aemon was wide awake too, staring up at his mother with dark eyes.

"Hello, my darling little boy." Laena cooed. Aemon made a soft, cooing sound in response, his tiny hand still wrapped around her finger.

"You're so perfect." She whispered, her voice filled with love. "Your father's dashing face, your mother's dark eyes, huh?"

Rhaenys smiled as Aemon began to fuss, a little mewling sound escaping from him.

"Are you hungry again?" Laena asked the babe playfully, standing up. "Mother, will you loosen the lacing of my dress a little?" She turned her back to Rhaenys. "This dress is terribly uncomfortable for puerperium."

Rhaenys chuckled, standing up from her chair. She moved behind her daughter, her fingers gently untangling the laces of her dress, loosening and making it easier for Laena to breastfeed more comfortably.

"Of course." She murmured, loosening the bodice. "These dresses are hardly designed for comfort. No woman should have to endure them after childbirth. But the pressure helps your womb to return to its normal state." She said reassuringly. "In a few weeks you will be completely back in your usual form."

She nodded, sitting on her bed as Aemon immediately stopped fussing and eagerly attaching himself to his mother's breast and beginning to suckle.

Rhaenys sat on a chair next to the bed, watching Laena carefully.

A few moments of silence passed before Rhaenys spoke again, her voice soft. "How are you feeling? Not just your body. I mean your mind. Childbirth takes a toll on a woman."

She looked up at her mother. "Until you arrived, I was so scared. I don't think I could have done it without you, mother." She turned back to the baby, gently tracing his eyebrows and nose. "Rhaena's and Baela's birth too."

Rhaenys felt a lump form in her throat at her daughter's confession, touched by her honesty. "You would have done just fine on your own. You are strong." She said, gently placing a hand on her daughter's arm.

She continued, her voice tinged with emotion. "You have been through two difficult labors, Laena. And you came out of them with two healthy daughters and a strong, beautiful boy. That's something to be proud of."

The younger woman smiled.

Rhaenys returned the smile, her heart filled with love and pride. The sound of giggling voices drifted in from outside the room, followed by the sound of Daemon's chuckle.

Rhaena and Baela appeared in the doorway, both giggling like mad, their cheeks rosy and their eyes sparkling with mischief. Daemon followed behind them, his own smile wide as he held up the toy dragon. "Not hidden, just misplaced."

"Of course." Laena smirked, watching as the two girls scrambled to get on her bed.

Rhaena managed to scramble onto the bed first, Baela following right behind her, both giggling as they flopped down onto the covers. Daemon stood in the doorway, amused, his eyes flickering to Laena to make sure she was alright. "Careful, girls."

Rhaena and Baela leapt - though somehow careful - to their mother, their little arms and legs wrapping around her as they snuggled close.

"Mama." Rhaena cooed, her head resting against her mother's shoulder. Baela simply buried her face in Laena's side, sighing happily.

Laena sighed. "My darling girls, huh?"

They both nodded in unison "Mhm." Baela mumbled, her voice muffled by Laena's side. Rhaena simply snuggled closer, her grip on her mother's gown tightening a little.

Rhaenys watched the scene from the chair, her heartwarming at the sight of her three grandchildren clinging to their mother.

Aemon stirred in Laena's arms, making a little whining noise.

"I think someone needs some burping and some sleep." Daemon chuckled, stepping in to take the girls off their mother. "Come on, you little dragons. Leave Mama and Aemon alone for a while." He lifted them both off the bed, holding them under his arms like little sacks. Baela and Rhaena squealed with laughter, squirming in his grasp. “We’ll come back later.”

He leaned down to his wife to kiss her.

Laena looked up at her husband as he leaned down, her lips meeting his in a tender kiss. She reached up to touch his face, her fingertips brushing a stray strand of silver hair out of his eyes. "Be gentle with them, Daemon." She said, her voice a whisper.

In response, Daemon simply smirked, bouncing the girls under his arms and making them both shriek with laughter.

As they left Laena sat up a little, pulling her dress up to cover her before reaching for a burp cloth.

Aemon squirmed a little in her arms as she put the burp cloth over her shoulder. She lifted the baby, gently patting his back, soothing him until he let out a tiny burp, followed by a happy gurgle.

"There we go." Laena murmured.

Aemon settled again, his eyes drooping as he let out a soft sigh, snuggling against his mother's neck, content for the moment, his little eyes drooping with sleep.

Rhaenys watched quietly as her daughter soothed the baby, his breathing slow and steady. Laena slowly stood up, careful not to wake the boy, and walking to his cradle. She gently placed Aemon in his cradle. The baby made a soft, cooing sound before he sank back into sleep’s arms.

The young woman returned to her bed. "I would love to hold him every minute of every day - if I wasn't so exhausted." She noted as she settled back into her bed.

Rhaenys smiled knowingly, watching her daughter nestle back into her pillows. She stood and moved over to the bed, sitting next to Laena and brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

Laena smiled at the gesture. A mother didn't stop being a mother - even if her child had children of their own.

Rhaenys studied her daughter, the exhaustion clear in her eyes, even as she smiled. She reached for a light blanket, pulling it over Laena's body. "You need your rest, my sweet girl." She murmured, her fingers brushing gently over her daughter's forehead. "Close your eyes and sleep. Let me watch over you and Aemon for a while." Rhaenys whispered, her voice soft and reassuring.

Laena closed her eyes and fell asleep moments later with a smile on her lips.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think, send an ask!

if i missed a content warning, please tell me and i'll add it!

#laena velaryon x daemon targaryen #laena velaryon #rhaenys targaryen #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #snax writes

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snax-writes · 7 months ago

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no thoughts. just anya taylor-joys anatomically correct heart cakes at her wedding

#there is a reason she is the face claim for inesa #inesa lecter #bedannibal #hannibal lecter #bedelia du maurier

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snax-writes · 8 months ago

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Imma be honest I've been on and off your blog for the last week and I only now realized your name is snax and not Xanax

this is so funny because edgy little 14-year-old me actually got her name because she went xanax > xannies > xans (bc seinnax sounds weird) > snax.

she was a weird lil person but the nickname stayed.

#snax speaks

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snax-writes · 8 months ago

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Under the hearttree - n. stark

summary: Eddard Stark did not know when he had made friends with the idea of remarrying. maybe it had been when with each passing month the thought hurt less, maybe it had been when Rickon started to walk and Ned now had six children running around, making him turn grey, or maybe it had been when your name came up in conversation and he remembered a tourney he had visited. you had been there.

warnings: smut (minors dni), mention of previous canon-typical dub-con, mention of death (catelyn stark), let’s ignore that winterfell is always warm, canon typical violence (description of execution)

word count: 7.9 k

chapter i [2.5 k words]

chapter ii [3.3 k words]

chapter iii [2.1 k words]

#ned stark x reader #eddard stark x reader #ned stark #eddard stark #asoiaf/got #asoiaf #snax writes

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snax-writes · 8 months ago

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Under the hearttree - n. stark // iii. chapter

summary: Eddard Stark did not know when he had made friends with the idea of remarrying. Maybe it had been when with each passing month the thought hurt less, maybe it had been when Rickon started to walk and Ned now had six children running around, making him turn grey, or maybe it had been when your name had come up in conversation and he had remembered a tourney he had visited. You had been there.

series masterlist // asoiaf/got masterlist.

chapter i // chapter ii // chapter iii.

warnings: none

word count: 2.1 k

Ned parried his horse to a stop in the yard, dismounting and turning to help you down, his hands wrapping around your waist again, supporting you as you slid from the saddle easily.

He felt his heart clench slightly as you met his gaze from below, a small smile on your lips as you steadied yourself, looking flushed and beautiful. He could still feel the warmth of your skin through the layers of your clothing, the heat of your body against his hands. "Are you cold?" He asked quietly, his hands yet to leave your hips.

"Not more than usual." You answered, a soft smile on your face. You had taken to always giving him the identical answer to his question. The only time you were completely warm was in your marital bed.

His hands continued to lie on your hips, almost of their own accord, and he had to exert a conscious effort to not run his fingers over the fabric of your dress, tracing the line of your frame from your hips to your thighs. “You look flushed,” He mumbled, his eyes studying the redness of your cheeks.

"You always leave me flustered, my lord." You replied, a teasing tone to your voice.

He hummed, his lips curled into a slight smile as he took a step closer to you, reducing the already minimal space between you. There it was again; the subtle, barely-there tone you used to tease him. It drove him crazy, and you knew it. “A side effect of my charming demeanor, I’m sure.” He teased quietly, his hands moving from your hips to rest on the small of your back instead.

"And the way you so easily pour your love into me." You whispered before pressing a short kiss to his lips.

He let out a huff, his hands sliding up your back, his fingers tracing along the line of your spine, his thumbs resting lightly above your ribs. “You say that like it isn’t my pleasure.” He mumbled.

A guard stepped closer, Ice in hand. You took the sword, your slender hand wrapping around the leather scabbard of the sword while keeping your eyes on Ned; your husband would take the time to clean it, sitting under the weirwood tree in the godswood.

He took the sword from you, his free hand catching yours as he passed. “Come with me.”

You followed him, your hand in his big one.

He led you into the godswood, weaving through the trees until you reached the hearttree. Ned sat on the ground, crossing his legs under him and resting Ice on his thighs. “Sit with me.” He requested.

You sat down, your skirts pooling around you.

Ned looked down at you, your hair framing your face, your cheeks flushed from the cold before he silently began to clean the sword.

You sat in a comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft scrape of the steel against the leather as he cleaned the blade, and the occasional distant call of the guard changing, or the howling of a dog. Ned focused on cleaning Ice, his long fingers working the cloth against the metal of the sword. He found his gaze occasionally shifting up to look at you, who sat quietly at his side lost in your own prayers, as if to make sure you were still there. You looked so utterly comfortable sitting amongst the old gods.

You leaned back against the weirwood tree, watching him care for the ancestral sword.

After a few more minutes, he placed the cloth on the ground next to him, sheathed the sword and leaned it against the tree.

“You look at home.” He mumbled, his voice low.

"I feel at home here, Ned." You smiled softly.

“I can see that.” He mumbled, reaching out a hand to touch your face, his fingers brushing across your cheek. “It suits you,” he said in a lower voice. “But it’s too cold here for you to sit for too long.”

You turned your head to kiss his palm. "I'm okay."

His eyes moved over your face silently, pausing briefly at your lips, before looking back up at your eyes. “How did someone as wild and unruly as you come to look so…” he paused for a moment, struggling for the word, before whispering “delicate.”

"Are you calling me dichotomous?"

“Yes,” He almost sighed, leaning in a little closer. “It is… perplexing.” He said quietly as his thumb swept across your cheek gently, tracing your cheekbone.

You kissed him and he returned the kiss lazily, his lips moving against yours slowly. A soft huff escaped him as he pulled back a few inches, his fingers gently cupping your jaw.

Your eyes glowed with affection.

He met your gaze, seeing the affection and something else in your eyes. That look in your eyes… Gods. He was a stubborn, stoic man, not to let anyone see him as soft. And yet, every time you looked at him like that, he felt his composure falter. Your eyes, your smile, your gentle touch… “You make me so damn weak, woman.” He whispered.

"There is no weakness in love." You responded.

He let out a light huff. “There is. There is weakness in needing and wanting, and I need and want you.” He mumbled, his hands entwining with yours.

"Agree to disagree."

A small smile pulled at his lips. “We will miss dinner if we stay any longer.”

He reluctantly got to his feet, picking up Ice before offering you a hand to help you up. He waited until you were standing before reluctantly releasing your hand, his moving to rest on your hip as he pulled you closer, leaning in to kiss your forehead softly.

You beamed up at him, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. "Come on." You pulled him into the direction of the keep.

He hummed as your lips touched his skin before he followed you obediently, letting you lead them out of the godswood and towards the main building of the keep.

As you neared the main doors, you still leading, Ned’s hand found its way to the small of your back, a possessive, gentle touch as his fingers pressed lightly into you, almost holding you to him as you walked together. You entered the main dining hall, heading for the middle table, Ned’s hand on your lower back still. Many of the north men were sitting there, as well as several servants, all quietly eating. A few glanced up as the couple approached, quietly murmuring a greeting to their lord and lady. You took your seats at the table, the children already there.

Ned sat, his hand now on your thigh, his thumb lightly rubbing at the fabric of your dress. He silently watched the children chatter amongst themselves, eating his meal as his hand stayed on your leg.

Robb was explaining something to Bran, Rickon too listening attentive. Arya and Sansa exchanged a few words every now and then, while Jon was sitting a few seats away, eating silently and stoically.

Ned’s eyes roamed over his children.

Robb had grown into a handsome, honorable and strong young man. Bran and Rickon seemed to be following the same route, eager to please their father and make him proud. Arya and Sansa were both beautiful, but very different. Arya was wild and headstrong, determined to be different than her sister, and Ned could see himself in her. Sansa was all Catelyn, polite, lady-like, gentle, and proper.

You caught Jon's gaze, shooting him a reassuring smile. Ned followed his wife’s gaze, watching as you smiled at Jon.

Jon, who had grown into a man, strong and principled, with a stoic and sullen demeanor. His gaze flicked to you briefly, just for a second or two, a weak smile gracing his lips before he looked back to his plate, quietly eating his food. His features were reminiscent of the north to Ned, dark hair, hard features, grey eyes.

Ned felt your hand cover his on your thigh, squeezing gently, and he resisted looking over at you, knowing his gaze would soften. He continued to watch his children for a few moments, his hand holding yours tightly under the table, his thumb rubbing absently over your knuckles.

Jon quietly stood from his seat and moved to refill his cup, standing close to the couple as he leant over to refill his cup. His gaze flickering over Ned and you, a hint of a smile on his face as he saw your joined hands under the table.

"Jon?"

Jon paused, his cup now full, and turned his attention to you, his eyes meeting yours. “Yes, my lady?” He asked quietly.

You asked him to call you by your name again, as you had many times before, a patient smile on your face. "I watched you fight today. You are an exceptional swordsman."

He let out a huffed chuckle, glancing away for a moment before looking back at you. “I wouldn’t say I’m exceptional,” he muttered. “I’m passable. Robb is better than I am.”

"No, you found an equal in each other." You replied. "But your maneuvers are well thought-out and definite. It's admirable."

Jon resisted the urge to argue. He had worked hard to be good at sword fighting, to be taken seriously, to not be dismissed as just a bastard child. But your words, they almost sounded like praise, and suddenly he was a young boy again, standing in the yard, eager for recognition and approval, and there was something in your words and your tone that made him feel heard, praised, and proud.

A soft huff left him, and he smiled, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table. “I had good teachers.” He said quietly, his eyes flickering to Ned, “Father is an excellent swordsman.“ Ned could practically feel the fondness in Jon’s voice.

He gave a short huff, his hand squeezing your knee as Jon looked at him. “A decent teacher is more like it. Ser Rodrik is much more skilled to train you boys.” He grumbled, trying to brush off the praise.

Jon chuckled, rolling his eyes lightly, knowing his protests would be pointless. “Sure.” He said, his tone almost sarcastic, with a teasing sort of respect. He turned his eyes back to you, his voice now more serious. “Thank you, my lady. Your praise means a lot.”

You corrected his use of your title again, nodding. "Of course. You've earned it."

Jon huffed a soft laugh, glancing down for a moment before shifting his gaze back to you. A small smile tugged at his lips. “You don’t like to be called by your title?” He mumbled.

"Not by my stepchildren, Jon."

His smile widened marginally, and the hint of a smirk appeared on his face. “Then I shall try and avoid that mistake in the future, my-” He stopped, pausing for a couple of seconds, his gaze unwavering, before he slowly said your name, trying it out. He returned to his seat, sipping from his cup.

Under the table, your hand left Ned’s and he missed the contact immediately. A moment or so later, Ned felt your hand wrap around his biceps, and he turned his head to look at you. You were facing away from him, talking softly to Sansa, but he could see a small, subtle smile on your lips.

He looked down at his arm, at your fingers holding onto his bicep, his gaze lingering for a moment. It was a casual, almost absent-minded touch. You reached out and touched him so easily, without even thinking. He smiled to himself.

You knew him well enough to know that he would subconsciously crave the contact, without even being aware of the fact. Your grip was delicate, almost feather-light, but the pressure was grounding, and he felt a flood of comfort and affection wash over him just from the touch.

He placed his hand over the one on his bicep, wrapping his fingers around your hand, holding it loosely.

He didn’t know how long you sat there, the both of you quietly listening to conversations being held between their sons and daughters - one after the other leaving to go to bed. He eventually felt your hand slide out of his loose grip, resting briefly on his leg, and he glanced at you expectantly.

You shifted and leaned nearer to him, gently pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I am tired.” You murmured into his ear. “I’ll go to bed, love.”

Ned nodded silently, his gaze flickering up to look at you for a brief moment.

“I won't be too long.” He mumbled quietly.

"Okay." Your hand found his shoulder before leaving the hall.

He sat for a while longer, his children eventually all leaving, each bidding him goodnight before he followed you.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think, send an ask!

if i missed a content warning, please tell me and i'll add it!

#ned stark x reader #eddard stark x reader #ned stark #eddard stark #asoiaf/got #asoiaf #snax writes

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snax-writes · 8 months ago

Text

Under the hearttree - n. stark // ii. chapter

series masterlist // asoiaf/got masterlist.

chapter i // chapter ii // chapter iii.

warnings: canon typical violence (description of execution)

word count: 3.3 k

Over the next few weeks, you developed a routine. Ned usually woke up early, when the sun was beginning to rise and casting its first few rays of light. He tried to slowly leave the bed, his arm slipping from your waist and his body lifting from the bed as he got ready to start the day.

You were always a little irritable at this, mumbling a few words of protest as your sleep addled mind became aware of the sudden loss of warmth.

You sat up in bed, the furs pooled around your hips, and you rubbed the sleep from your still half-closed eyes. “Why must you start the day so early?" You muttered.

He turned to you, his eyes travelling over your bare body, his eyes lingering at the soft curves of your waist.

“The day does not wait for me.” He said, buttoning his tunic.

When he was done, he pressed a short kiss to your lips, a hand at your ribs, thumb stroking the swell of your breast.

You hummed into the kiss, pushing yourself up straighter as you pressed into his touch, enjoying the feeling of his rough hand on your bare skin.

He always pulled back too quickly, a small smile on his lips.

“I will see you later.” He said, his voice low and rough. Promise or warning? A good thing any way.

Then he turned and left, and you watched him go, your eyes still heavy. Laying back down, you tried to fall back asleep, but you rarely managed to, your bed feeling strangely empty without his body next to yours. You lay there for a while longer before forcing yourself out of bed, getting ready for the day.

You got dressed for the day before making your way to the dining hall, to break your fast. At this time of morning Ned was there too after already having fulfilled some of his duties.

"Good morning, my lord." You would sit next to him, a hand soothingly stroking through little Rickon's curls as you passed by him.

Ned would lean a little closer to you as you sat down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. He would pass you a cup of ale, and he would chat with the children while you quietly began eating.

"Where are Robb and Jon?" You asked when you noticed their absence.

“They’re outside with Theon, I expect.” He answered. “Doing something idiotic, no doubt.”

You could not suppress a smile. "I don't doubt they got it from their father."

Ned let out an amused hum. “Watch your tongue, woman.” He muttered, the corners of his mouth turning up into a small smirk. He shot you a pointed look, his grey eyes holding yours as he took a sip from his cup. There was a hint of something in his gaze, something only you would understand.

A memory from the night before.

You smiled softly.

A few minutes later, Jon and Robb burst into the dining hall, laughing loudly, their shirts and faces streaked with dirt. Theon followed behind them a few seconds later, a wide grin on his face.

“There’s the idiots, now.” Ned muttered, but there was no real anger in his voice, more amused affection.

You giggled.

Robb and Jon’s laughter died in their throats, and their smiles faltered a little when they noticed both their father and his wife had witnessed their grand entrance. Theon continued grinning sheepishly. Ned took another sip from his cup, looking at his sons over the rim, his eyes narrowed.

You chuckled quietly at their sheepish expressions. "Boys, come here."

“Yes,” came their two voices in unison.

They came and sat down at the table, both of them avoiding eye contact with their father. Robb’s ears were red, and Jon was keeping his head down.

Your hand found its place on Ned's thigh. "Be nice." You teased him.

He huffed out a little laugh. “I am always nice.” He muttered, his gaze moving back to the boys. “Why are you both covered in filth?”

The boys exchanged a glance before both of them shrugged. “We fell?” Robb muttered, avoiding his father’s eyes.

“Fell?” Ned echoed, “Fell where? Into the horse manure?”

Robb mumbled a few words that were completely unintelligible, and Jon suddenly found the table very interesting.

Ned watched them for a few more seconds before letting out a huff of a sigh, giving in. "Get cleaned up."

They nodded as they scrambled to their feet, and Ned watched them go, their heads still bowed. “They’re both terrible liars.” He mumbled, taking a long drink from his cup.

"I'm sure that has more to do with your steely gaze." You squeezed his thigh.

He hummed and set the cup back down on the table, his hand moving to yours on his thigh, his fingers gently stroking your skin. “They’re both going to give me grey hair.” He muttered, his thumb continuing to brush circles against your skin.

"Don't worry, you already have those." You murmured, making Arya, who sat across from you, laugh.

“Are you saying I look old, darling?” He arched a brow, a slight smirk on his lips, trying to look offended.

"Distinguished." You corrected.

He huffed out a little laugh. “That’s a nicer word for old.” He muttered, but there was no real annoyance in his voice.

Jon and Robb returned now, still sheepish, their hair still damp from being washed. They sat back down, Robb on Ned’s other side and Jon beside Arya.

Ned sat quietly for a few moments, contemplating both boys. Their faces were clean, but they were still obviously avoiding eye contact with their father. He huffed out a little sigh. “Are you both alright?” He asked gruffly, looking between them.

They both nodded quickly. Robb was very preoccupied with the bread he was tearing into pieces. “And you, Theon?” Ned asked, his eyes moving to the young, gloating Greyjoy.

The boy ducked his head.

“Hmm.” He hummed, still scrutinizing them under his gaze. His expression hadn’t changed, but you could see the slight, almost amused look in his eyes.

“Ignore the man. He is just enjoying watching you squirm.” You noted.

“Watch it, darling.” Ned mumbled.

Robb and Jon both let out sighs of relief as their father’s gaze moved to his wife, their shoulders relaxing.

You laughed, leaning into him, as he settled his big hand at your hip.

He let out a quiet laugh, wrapping a loose arm around you, pulling you closer into his side to press a kiss to the top of your head.

The children continued to chat amongst themselves, and Ned quietly sipped his ale, his hand still on your hip, his thumb brushing over the curves of your body.

He finished his drink and stood up, reluctantly taking his hands from you. “I have to get back to work.” He muttered, a slight frown on his face.

“Already?” Arya protested, her voice slightly whining.

Ned chuckled, and he bent down to kiss Arya on the top of the head. “You will survive.” He muttered, turning to look at your, his expression a little more serious.

"We will see you later, my lord." You nodded.

Ned hummed, his eyes holding yours for a few extra seconds. Then he turned and left, striding across the dining hall, leaving his wife and children to their breakfast.

The rest of the day passed quickly, with Ned doing his usual duties.

In the afternoon, though, he had a few extra moments of free time, and he found you watching his sons' training from the balustrade. He came up behind you quietly, leaning his arms on the balustrade on either side of you, effectively trapping you in.

You tilted your head back. "Do you ever make noise when you walk?" You asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

He let out a low laugh. "No, not usually." He replied, his voice rough.

He pulled your body flush against his now, his arms looping around your body, one of his hands coming to rest splayed wide across your abdomen. You melted into him, enjoying his warmth. Even wrapped in a coat and layers of fur you had been a little cold. His hand was warm against your stomach, burning through the layers of clothes.

"Cold, darling?” He mumbled, his voice thick and rough in your ear, low and quiet.

"Not more than usual." You smiled, turning back to watch the boys.

He hummed, watching his sons spar, a hint of pride in his eyes. Jon and Robb had truly found their equal in each other.

You leant back against him, and he held you a little tighter against his chest, his arms encircling you. "He might not have your name, but he sure has your blood." You commented on Jon, your fingers tracing his forearms.

Ned chuckled, and his hand moved a little higher, spreading across your ribs. “Aye, he does.” He said, his voice a quiet rumble against your ear. His hands splayed wide over your body, his fingers gently traced the underside of your breast.

You giggled softly, laying your hand over his. "Ned, you’ll have me. Be patient."

He hummed, his lips against your temple. “I'm not a patient man.” He mumbled against your hair.

You turned in his arms, smiling up at him. "Oh, you're the most patient man I know, Ned." You stroked a strand of hair out of his face.

He caught your hand in his, his eyes holding yours. “Not where you’re concerned.” He murmured, his voice low and rough. He intertwined your fingers, and brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss against your knuckles.

"Especially where I'm concerned." You stated insistent. “You held me for weeks - happy to just hold me. Any other man would have sooner grown tired of my cold feet pressing against him in the middle of the night.”

He let out a low laugh at your words, shaking his head gently. “As if I could ever grow tired of you.” His eyes scanned your face. “Cold feet, tears in the night, complaining about me being up too early in the morning-”

He chuckled as you swatted half-heartedly at his arm, and moved his hand under your chin, tugging gently so you were looking up at him. “I could never tire of these things.” He mumbled, leaning down to brush another kiss against your lips.

"I love you."

He hummed, pulling you a little closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly. “I love you.” He mumbled against your hair. “Gods, I love you.”

"Lord Stark." Ser Rodrik's voice came from behind the both of you; you turned to him. "My lady." He nodded to you. "A guardsman just rode in from the hills. They've captured a deserter from the Night's Watch."

Ned's arms loosen around you, his hand coming to rest casually on your hip. He let out a sigh. “Get the lads to saddle their horses.” He ordered.

"Do you have to?" You asked, looking up at him.

He looked down at you, his grey eyes holding yours. “He swore an oath, love.” He said quietly, his hand lifting to gently brush your hair behind your ear, before turning to Ser Rodrik. "Tell Bran he's coming too."

"Ned, he's ten." You protested. "He's too young."

He looked back down at you. “He won’t be a boy forever,” he replied, his voice quiet but stern. “And winter is coming.”

"Then I will come too." You stated.

He let out a huff of a sigh. “You will stay here.” He said, pulling you a little closer. “I will not have you watch a man be executed.” He added, his voice low and rough.

“Ned.”

He gently gripped your chin, making you look up at him, his expression firm. “No.” He said simply.

You turned to the master-at-arms. "Saddle a horse for me too."

Ser Rodrik exchanged a glance with Ned, caught between obeying his lord’s command, and his lady’s.

Ned let out a huff, his eyes narrowing on his wife. “You will stay here.” He repeated.

"You will not patronize me, my lord."

His hands tightened around your hips. “Woman,” He grumbled. “It wasn’t a request.”

"No, I know. It was an order. But I am not one of your men; I am your wife." You squeezed his hand. "Ned..." Your voice softened.

“Gods be good,” He muttered under his breath, his jaw clenching. He was losing this battle, and he knew it. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, his breath huffing out in a sigh. “You will ride at my side, and you will do as I tell you.” He said finally, opening his eyes to look down at you.

You smiled triumphantly; your eyes were gleaming. “Agreed.” You lifted up onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to his jawline.

He hummed, his eyes watching you, slightly annoyed at how easily you had won. His thumb stroked idly over your hip.

“Ser Rodrik,” he said, not taking his gaze off you, “saddle a horse for my wife.”

The older knight nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

He departed, going to saddle horses for the small group. Ned’s gaze turned back to you now, studying your expression.

“I don’t like you having to see this.” He mumbled, his hands moving to cup the sides of your jaw, gently forcing you to keep eye contact with him.

"Ned, it is not the first execution I see."

“I know,” He mumbled, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw. “But gods, I don’t like you having to see me execute a man.” He said in a quieter voice, his grey eyes searching yours.

You caught his hand, pressing your lips to his palm not breaking eye contact. "'The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.' My father lives by that rule, as did my first husband, Ned. It will be okay."

He swallowed, a mixture of emotions in his grey eyes as he studied you before he let out a sigh. "Let's get to the horses."

You walked across the yard together to where the horses were saddled for you. Ned’s men and his sons were already preparing to leave. Ned mounted his horse, as did you yours – almost effortlessly despite the multiple layers of your skirt.

He gave you a look; if there could only be one thing, he truly found to be attractive about you, it was your lack of fragility. With him you knew you didn’t have to act like a delicate little lady but were as wild and free as a northern woman should be.

Robb and Jon both mounted their horses, and Bran was helped up by Theon. The group set off soon after, Ned and you in the lead, the group of men and boys behind.

Ned watched you as you rode at his side, looking completely comfortable in the saddle, your back straight and shoulders square.

You glanced sideways, noticing his glances towards you, a smirk pulling on your lips, before turning your attention back to the front.

His eyes continued staring at you silently for a few more seconds, before he looked back towards the path ahead. The group continued the way, a heavy silence upon the group, only broken occasionally by the sounds of the horses’ hooves against the ground.

Finally, after riding for quite some time, you approached a group of the Night's watch, one of them the deserter they had captured. Ned dismounted his horse, landing on the ground with ease. He helped you from your horse, lowering you down to the ground.

You went to stand besides Bran, Jon standing on the boy’s other side.

A pair of Stark guards brought the man towards the center of the area, before Ned. "I know I broke my oath. And I know I’m a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them, but.... I saw what I saw. I saw the White Walkers. People need to know. If you can get word to my family.... tell them I’m no coward. Tell them I’m sorry." He rambled.

Ned regarded the man for a few moments, his face and expression stoic, before he nodded to his men. They put him down on the execution block as Ned retrieved Ice from its scabbard. His facial expression was defined by a sense of duty.

Beside you heard Jon tell Bran to not look away from the execution.

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die." With that Ned swung the sword and beheaded the man.

You stayed rigid as you felt Bran wince next to you - but he did not look away. "You did well." You told the boy.

As Jon turned away, reassuring his half-brother with a squeeze of the shoulder, Ned handed the ancestral sword of his house to one of the guards, before he came over to Bran. "You understand why I did it?"

Bran looked up at his father, looking a little shaken but stoic, nonetheless. "Jon said he was a deserter.” Bran answered, his voice quiet but clear.

"But do you understand why I had to kill him?" Ned asked again.

Bran frowned as he listened to his father’s voice, his dark eyes studying the man that raised him. After a moment’s silence, he spoke again. "Our way is the old way?"

"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword." His father nodded.

Bran continued to look up at his father, watching the man’s expression, studying his face. "Is it true he saw the White Walkers?"

Ned’s shoulders straightened slightly at his son’s question. “The White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years.”

“So, he was lying?” Bran asked, his eyes searching his father’s.

"A madman sees what he sees." His father answered finally before letting Bran get back to preparing his saddle.

You ruffled the boy's hair before you followed Ned to your horses.

Ned helped you mount, his hands wrapping around your hips, supporting you as you settled in the saddle, before grabbing the reigns of his horse and getting into the saddle himself. "We should get back to Winterfell." He stated, not meeting your gaze yet.

You leaned over to him, your hand on his biceps. "Will you look at me first?"

He turned to you, his features and expression slightly guarded, a sign of his usually stoicism. His grey eyes met yours, hesitantly scanning your face, searching your gaze.

"Thank you." You smiled.

A huff escaped him, and a small smile flickered across his face, despite himself.

You rode back to the keep, the boys at the back of the riders, speaking quietly amongst themselves. Ned’s eyes moved back across to you now, studying your face as you rode. You had a faint smile on your lips as you trotted along, the cold air making your cheeks rosy.

From the back of the group the boys’ voices drifted to the front.

“I think they'll need a few winters yet.” You noted. “What does Ser Rodrik always say? They're still green behind their ears.”

Ned hummed, he turned in his saddle briefly, his eyes finding Jon, Robb, Theon and Bran as the gate opened for the group, letting you in. “That they are.” He agreed, the hint of a smile on his lips.

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snax-writes · 8 months ago

Text

Under the hearttree - n. stark // i. chapter

series masterlist // asoiaf/got masterlist.

chapter i // chapter ii // chapter iii.

warnings: smut (minors dni), mention of previous canon-typical dub-con, mention of death (catelyn stark), let’s ignore that winterfell is always warm

word count: 2.5 k

Eddard Stark did not know when he had made friends with the idea of remarrying. Maybe it had been when with each passing month the thought hurt less, maybe it had been when Rickon started to walk and Ned now had six children running around, making him turn grey, or maybe it had been when your name had come up in conversation and he had remembered a tourney he had visited. You had been there with your husband, an old man, but your eyes had had that glint. You looked glad to be there, looked almost happy on your husband’s arm.

The man had passed away around the same time that Cat had and since you had no children, the title went to your late husband’s brother and you returned to Raventree Hall, the seat of your family.

Your father had approached Ned with the idea of marriage, and he had agreed.

A week after your wedding under the hearttree, Ned had come into your bed chambers in the nightfall. “Good evening, my lady.” Ned said quietly, standing in the door after you had invited him in.

"Good evening, my lord." You ran your fingers over one of the pelts on your bed, smiling almost shyly at your husband.

Ned returned the smile, studying your expression, taking note of your shy mien and the way you looked at him. Your face was lovely, and your hair hung in long waves down your back.

He cleared his throat. "My lady, I want you to know that I do not expect anything of you. I heard you had been too cold most nights and I would join you if you wanted." He reached out and touched your chin lightly in a gentle caress. “I have my heirs; our marriage is consummated – we are able to handle this however we want."

You nodded, a touch of surprise on your face at his words. “I have no problem with you joining me.” You said softly, your skin tingling from his lingering touch on your chin. "In fact, I have not yet gotten used to the cold – the temperatures in the Riverlands are much milder." You pulled back the corner of the comforter for him.

Ned smiled warmly. He slowly began to take of layers of pelts and coat, looking at you as he did it, waiting to see if you minded him disrobing like this. He was built strong and lean with muscle from years of training and fighting. The firelight danced across his chest as he slipped under the blankets beside you. Your words were true, you were cold; he could feel the shiver of your body. He pulled you close to himself.

"It will get better." He muttered, his voice quiet. One arm wrapped around your waist, he drew you into his chest, his body warm.

You sighed as you felt the heat of his body, practically melting into him.

The first night, and the nights that followed went like that. He didn’t touch you beyond your bodies being pressed together, holding you close through the night; to keep you warm.

Ned was distant in the beginning, almost cautious; now he began to open up a bit more, telling you about his childhood, and his past. He was a good listener too; he was quiet, and he paid attention. He would look at you with those grey eyes, as if every word you spoke was important.

You appreciated him - many a man would ignore any and everything a woman said.

Ned grew fond of you. He would smile softly at you when you entered a room, his eyes lit up and he would come up behind you to pull you against his chest on occasion just for the sake of holding you. He would hold you close in the night, but he never pushed you, never tried to go further.

Days passed and the both of you started falling into a routine. You would break your fast together, sitting together at the high table during meals with his family.

In private you would talk in low voices, his touch would always be brief, a hand to the small of your back as you walked together, him offering his hand to help you down a flight of stairs. And he always pulled you close to him at night, holding your body flush against his own. His breath warm against the curve of your neck.

He found himself looking forward to those nights in your chambers, you in his arms. He would bury his face against your hair, breathing in the scent of the oils and soap you used. He would press the occasional kiss to the back of your shoulder or against your neck, just soft, barely-there touches. Sometimes, he would let his hands wander, touching the smooth line of your waist and hips, or feeling the curve of your leg where it was thrown over his hip.

One night in particular, Ned was lying back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, one of his hands absently tracing up and down your back, stopping just at the top of the swell of your behind.

The silence was comfortable, but he felt the need to fill it this time, and he spoke after a few minutes of silence. “What was he like?” He asked, his voice a quiet rumble, like distant thunder.

You mustered him, laying on your stomach. "My husband?"

"Mmm." He hummed, continuing to drag two lazy fingertips softly up and down your spine, occasionally slipping under the thin fabric of your shift just a little. "I haven't heard you talk about him."

"You haven't asked." You smiled candidly, stroking a strand of hair out of his face. "It was an arranged marriage. I was supposed to be his broodmare. He came to see me for a quick fuck every night - like he would a whore - and otherwise ignored me when we were alone."

Ned’s hand stilled and he studied your face, grey eyes searching. “He was a fool.” His voice was low, a little harder than before.

"He was - and he's dead now."

“Good.” He muttered, his hand resumed its journey up and down your back, and he let out a little hum, as if he hadn't meant to say the word out loud. There was silence for a few minutes, and he spoke again, his voice thoughtful. “You deserve better.”

"Oh, I have you now, Ned. You didn't even allow a bedding ceremony. You're about as respectful as it gets." You giggled.

A smile tugged on the corner of his mouth. He let his hand slip lower on your back.

"I will never let a room full of drunk men strip you and throw you on a bed." He said, "Not unless you ask me to." He stroked a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes roaming your face, taking in your warm eyes and your plump, pink lips.

You smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to his eyebrow.

Ned closed his eyes as you kissed him, your lips warm and soft, your hair falling like a waterfall down your back as you leaned over him. He lifted his head for a moment and brought his mouth to the bare skin of your shoulder, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your skin.

You took his hand on the spur of the moment, using it for leverage as you shifted your weight over his body. He leaned against the headboard, your body now straddling his, your shift riding up, giving him a glimpse of the smooth skin of your thighs.

His eyes darkened as you straddled him, his body immediately responding to the feeling of your weight on his hips. His hands settled on your waist, holding you where you sat on top of him, his fingers gripping your form.

“Are you sure, darling?” He asked, his voice quiet, cautious.

You nodded, your pupils blown and lips slightly apart.

He slid a large, warm hand up your thigh, almost without thinking, his eyes locking on yours. Slowly, he moved his hand higher, caressing the bare skin, his fingers moving teasingly towards the sensitive flesh between your legs, his touch light and barely-there. He let out a soft, low sound when his fingers reached your core, feeling the heat and the dampness there, and brought his mouth to your throat.

You let out an encouraging moan.

He moved his mouth to your jaw, continuing his gentle administrations. He groaned into your ear, feeling how soft and wet you were already. “You are so warm…” He mumbled against your neck.

"Ned," you whispered, your hand holding onto his shoulders, "I want you."

He felt a shiver go up his spine at your words. He was already hard underneath you, and the feeling of your body on top of his had him aching and strained.

He brought his hand to the back of your neck, drawing your mouth down to his. He kissed you slowly, his tongue slipping between your parted lips. While his lips were on yours, his hands were at the hem of your shift, tugging it up and up, until he had it bunched up around your hips. He had to pull back from the kiss to pull the garment over your head, leaving you naked and flushed.

You steadied yourself with one hand against his chest as you took him and settled yourself on him. Your sparkling eyes entangled with his sharp, grey ones.

Ned closed his eyes, his jaw going slack as you sank down slowly, taking him inside you. "By the gods…" He let out a low, guttural sound.

He was hard and thick, and you enveloped him perfectly.

Ned let out another strangled sound as he bottomed out. His eyes opened to look up at you. He had given up control, the dominant regal man was gone for that moment. “Move, darling.” He rasped, his voice wrecked.

You started to shift, moving your hips slowly, lifting them and lowering yourself back on him, rocking gently into him.

He was at your mercy, your eyes hooded and dark with desire as you looked down at him. Your nails pressed into his chest, leaving little half-moons in his flesh. Ned gripped your hips, supporting you in setting a pace, guiding you as you rode him.

Each time you lowered yourself down on him he hit a spot inside you that had you clenching around him, your body squeezing him tighter.

He kept his eyes fixed on you; his mouth parted as he panted. He could see the flush on your face and how your hair was cascading around your shoulders. Ned felt like his body was overheating, his blood rushing in his ears. “Gods, you’re so beautiful.” He thrust up slightly into you, a curse escaping his lips.

Little gasps fell from your lips.

Ned continued guiding you in your movements, encouraging you to move faster, harder, until you were both sweaty and panting, lost in a haze of pleasure. Each time he pushed up into you, you made soft little sounds, spurring him on.

One of his hands moved from your hip to slip down between your legs, stroking his thumb against you, adding to the pleasure.

Your moans grew a little louder, more desperate, and he knew you were close.

“I want to feel you come around me.” He mumbled against your neck, his voice heavy and raw.

"Ned." You moaned desperately.

“Let me hear you.” He murmured, “Come for me, darling.”

He continued to touch you keeping pace with the rhythm you’d set.

You were trembling, your head thrown back and chest heaving as you fought to find your release, muscles fluttering and clenching as your orgasm built up. His name came as a continuous hymn from your lips.

Ned felt you squeezing around him, your body almost pulsing around his own, as the waves of pleasure crashed over you. He let out a low guttural moan and thrust up into you once, twice more before he followed you over the edge with a low curse.

You gradually came down together, your bodies slick and flushed. He looked up at you, his hand coming to your hair, caressing it and pushing it away from your face. You were beautiful – hair wild and messy, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

You smiled at him, hands still on his chest.

He smiled back, his breathing starting to slow down. He let his hands fall to your hips again, still inside you and wanting to stay there. Still buried within you, he could feel the aftershocks running through your body.

His thumbs were stroking small circles against your hips as you leaned down to press a few kisses to his jaw, resting your forehead against his, your warm breath fanning over his skin.

It took a few unhurried moments, but you eventually lifted your hips, letting him slip out of you and moving to lie down beside him. You cuddled close into his chest, your face burying in the crook of his neck.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest, enjoying the feeling of your body. He buried his face against your hair, breathing in the scent of you. “You are going to be the death of me, woman.” He muttered quietly, his voice heavy with contentment.

You giggled quietly at that.

“Sated and giggling.” He murmured, nuzzling into your hair.

He pulled the heavy furs over the both of you, trapping your body heat underneath. You lay there together, limbs tangled under the furs. He was absent-mindedly tracing little patterns on the smooth skin of your back, the pads of his fingers moving in lazy, soothing circles.

After a while he could feel your movements getting slower and heavier. Your body was sinking into the bedding, your breaths growing deeper. He thought you were asleep until your soft voice came from where your head was tucked under his chin.

“Ned?” You whispered.

He hummed quietly, his hand still moving against your back. “Yes, darling?” He mumbled, his eyes now almost closed as well.

He felt you shift under the covers, nuzzling into his neck and placing a sleepy kiss against the underside of his jaw.

"Thank you." You let out a low hum, your breath fanning out against his skin.

Ned’s arm tightened around you. Your words, spoken in your sleepy and drowsy state, sent a strange, fluttering sensation in his stomach. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “For what, darling?” He asked, his voice a calm rumble.

You shifted even closer to him - as if that were possible - burying yourself against him, seeking his warmth. “Being a kind man.” You mumbled, your breath ghosting over his neck. And with that, you fell asleep. He listened as your breathing evened out, signaling that you had fallen asleep. He pulled you a little closer, a soft smile on his lips at your words. He fell asleep soon after, his arms wrapped protectively around your body.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think, send an ask!

if i missed a content warning, please tell me and i'll add it!

#ned stark x reader #eddard stark x reader #ned stark #eddard stark #asoiaf/got #asoiaf #snax writes

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