#who his marriage imploded with

[mazzystar24]

Guys I’m low-key crying because Eddie isn’t just seeing Shannon, his dead wife in Kim

he’s seeing Shannon the girl he grew up with, who was his best friend, who was presumably once carefree and light before everything else happened

And maybe a part of him thinks that this version of Shannon (that he found again in Kim) and him could’ve made it, that their marriage wouldn’t have fallen apart and that she wouldn’t have left and wouldn’t have died with so many issues and resentment between them if they had stayed those light people they once were before life got in the way

(And he’s now gearing up for a rude awakening that not only would it not have worked out but also that Kim is not Shannon and no amount of looking for a mother for Chris will make any other woman Shannon and it’s not healthy for either of them)

[fighting-these-demons]

Divorce Saga Domon - A Haunted Honk Prequel

Hello Internet Stranger looking up G Gundam on Tumblr dot com!

This is an idea for a fic set in an Alternate Universe involving Queer Non-Canon Relationships between the characters of the series.

If you are not looking for this content please scroll on.

If you ARE looking for this content - and you're ok with reading my and other's Headcanons for this Alternate Universe I've haphazardly spun up -

Then go ahead and feel free to:

Check The Tags Of This Post For The Pairings

and click the Read More below!

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Ended up outlining a completely different fic as a Segway for an explanation instead of making progress on the Royal Flush Haunted Honk AU's Clown Motel Fic like I wanted to but uh....

For y'all's review for the AU: A Prequel Outline - Divorce Saga Domon

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Hey real quick - I'm thinking of maybe changing the timeline to 2 years post canon as opposed to 3 years and change post canon.

The reason being: I had a thought that this scene could either be part if the fic or if it's getting to big then it could be a stand alone tie-in prequel fic as part of this AU but - like

Immediately Post Divorce Domon Needs Space and runs off. As one does. And he runs to Earth because he just wants to Get Lost for a while.

He has Argo smuggle him out to avoid detection.

Argo has Andrew help stow Domon in a storage hanger of a Neo Canadian supply ship that's returning to the US - they have trade often enough and share agricultural resources - which leads to Domon ending up in New York when he hits Earthside pavement.

He's privately worked on his English the last couple of months and after being dropped in New York with a different hairstyle, outfit, and accent he's unrecognizable. 

He considers making his way west to get some solitude in the wilderness, but something about that initial plan feels off now that he's on the ground.

Chibodee is also Earthside for a special series of prize fights aimed at raising charitable appeal for the US in the eyes of Neo Americans.

Domon decides to hit up Chibodee for a fight on a day between matches hoping it'll clear his head and give him the clarity to decide on a course of action. What ends up happening is an unexpected heart to heart via blows and a breakdown.

Domon is happy for Rain and Kyoji, and he knows it's not true; but he feels like he lost a piece of himself when his relationship with Rain fell apart.

Domon's instinct is to run after that but Chibodee knows this city and Domon doesn't hide out for long before Chibodee drags him back to his place to stay and just "Chill out and breathe. You don't have to be anyone but yourself here. You can take as long as you need to find out what everything changing means for you." Friends and teammates stick together.

So Domon spends a few weeks with Chibodee sparring and hanging out in New York. Chibodee does a frankly awesome job at containing his feelings because he's focusing on Domons feelings and being a good friend first and foremost. Whatever he's feeling can wait until after Domon is done going though it.

There's a bit of a twinge in Domon's heart as he leaves that he can't really place.

After he returns to Neo Japan and gets settled back into life with his family, The Dreams start.

They're mainly set in New York. Small things first like noticing Chibodee's smile and his eyes. Then sparring sessions that begin to turn lurid.

He thought these kinds of dreams would stop after he was married.... he doesn't know what to do about this.

I just figure it gives more clarity and sense of time for the journey from Comphet Marriage Dissolution to Feelings to Confession. Idk.

But I got stuck on a bit and then had this thought and needed to get it down before I lost it and it was so long it made sense to make it its own post as opposed to several replies.

The Maize and Clown Motel will probably still be 3 years and change post canon for clarification.

@thedragonchilde @amplexadversary @youreaclownnow

[bestworstcase]

favorite favorite favorite thing is when the type of rwby fans who scream “double standard!!” about people reading salem with literally any more nuance than their “she’s an evil abusive monster who never loved ozma and ate her own babies for fun” baseline also tack on in the same post that they think ozpin lying to the kids about having conscripted them into an UNWINNABLE WAR where the win condition is also “bow to my god or he’ll kill us all” is nbd. the punchline writes itself.

[queers-gambit]

Blue Moon Wreckage

prompt: your husband can often lose his temper and resort to the man he was before you. you grow tired of lashing your tongue, and learn your husband responds better to silence.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!wife!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 4.3k+

note: another stand alone, no sequel

warnings: cursing, talk of child abandonment, vulgar dialogue, old-fashioned views on marriage (maybe idk), not edited. small angst, small comfort. author probably missed some warnings.

The entire city cleaned up in preparation for Princess Rhaenyra's nuptials to the heir of Driftmark, Lord Laenor Velaryon. It was refreshing to see citizens rejoicing in a common theme and going around to hang different decorations; chandeliers of strung florals, wreaths woven and hung, lanterns set all around to create an ambiance in the street.

Romance was in the air.

It put people in jolly spirits, brought them elation, and gave the ability to decompress from the woes of life. Wine tasted sweeter, the food saltier, and many merchants came into town for the week-long celebration of Rhaenyra and Laenor in the hopes of selling enough wares to pay for three of their month's expenses. Every room at the inn was filled, brothels hosting the leftover stragglers; money was simply made in an abundance after taking advantage of the citizens come to celebrate.

And yet, deep within the halls of the Red Keep, not all were so at peace with the state of things.

Maids and servants all skidded around the corridor that housed your bedchambers shared with your husband. The walls almost vibrated with the sheer force of the yelling that took place, and while the sun shone on the rest of the Kingdom, there was a dark shadow over the Red Keep.

Rarely, and it was the truth, rarely did you and Daemon ever fight. He was your best friend, he was the love of your life, you've known him for years, and had long since developed an effective way to communicate. Daemon wasn't easy to deal with, in fact, even to those who knew how to handle him, he sometimes pushed past boundaries and threw curveballs into the mix. You were not immune to his sharp tongue and wicked-fast wit, but in reality, Daemon never actively sought conflict with you, so fighting was incredibly rare - though, not totally unheard of.

Like a blue moon - not totally unheard of, but still considered rare. And in pale moonlight, the ship you and Daemon found yourselves sailing on seemed to crash into a set of cliffside jagged rocks, all but imploding the balance you had found yourselves in.

A shipwreck during a blue moon.

Before you, Daemon was violent and volatile. He was irresponsible, impulsive, stubborn, hotheaded, and blood thirty. Many Ladies all vied for the Prince's attention, but as he grew older, he became more and more reckless and more Ladies started keeping their distance. Expect you. You heard rumor his grandmother, the Queen Alysanne, meant to marry him off to Rhea Royce but your father was almost too smart for his own good. He devised a tantalizing offer that the Crown would've been foolish to refuse - thus binding you and Daemon to fate.

Before you, Daemon wasn't a man. He was just a second son trapped in a shell of his body, full of anger with nowhere to expel himself. A boy with a temper. A lad with attitude. He was knighted at 16, an impressive feat, and not a full moon cycle later, you and Daemon wed. He wasn't easy to love, but that was because he was so defensive in his life living in his older brother's shadow.

Before you, Daemon never believed in love or acceptance. Yet everyday he spent with you, he was reminded of his value and worth as a person - not just a Prince, or a Targaryen. You worked every day for his trust and confidence, and once you had it, it was an unshakeable foundation. Daemon was everything to you, and before him, you were shy and awkward and overwhelmed in the glaring eyes of court. Now, you were confident, humble, and weeping with power.

You kept Daemon balanced in his head and heart.

Before you, he was like a wild dog. Now, he was domesticated for you and you alone. He realized how much his recklessness hurt you and never wanted to be the cause of your pain, so, Daemon cleaned himself up. Most days, he was perfectly content in life, and others, he was still as stubborn as ever, but every so often, Daemon loses sight of himself and resorts back to who he was before you.

Fighting with Daemon was always difficult. He wasn't accustomed to losing, so, when you two went toe-to-toe, he was out for blood. He loses himself in his anger, fueled only by the need to cause the most harm with his sharpest words. Daemon jumped to conclusions faster than a grasshopper hops from blades of grass because he was vastly insecure, and it took most of your will to restrain your anger enough to soothe him of his worries.

Daemon hated fighting with you, and you hated fighting with him. There was never a true victor because you both hated it so much. Perhaps that was why your once-in-a-blue-moon fights turned so gruesome and emotional; you both hated fighting that it made you fight even harder.

How you came to this, you didn't remember. One moment, you were enjoying a morning feast with your husband, and the next, you were locked in your chambers, lashing at each other's throats with hateful words.

"I do not understand!" You sobbed. "You agreed to this - "

"No! No, I did not! You did not consult me on this matter, you just accepted responsibility. For the both of us!"

"He is my little brother, Daemon!"

"He is not our responsibility!"

"He is now!"

"Because you took action without a word to me!"

"I did not need to consult you; he is my blood."

"But not mine."

You scoffed, "For fuck's sake, Daemon, do you hear yourself? You are whinging over a child - you're bloody jealous of a child! Where is the man I married?"

"I have done all I am expected and required as a husband, it is you who refuses my seed. Who refuses to grow our family!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake! Now you want a baby!? Married ten years, we are, and NOW you want to whinge about babies!? I am busy in case you've not bothered to look around every once in a while," you snapped, "and I understand having a baby is not ideal right now!"

"So, you will not take my seed because you are busy raising another man's?"

"He was my father - oh, Gods be good, why're we fighting over this?"

"You need to understand, he is not mine," Daemon seethed. "He will never be mine and I do not wish to treat him as such. The life and luxury we live in are not meant for a child that is neither of ours."

"What would you have me do!?"

"Send him to your brother."

"Oh, spare me this notion, Daemon! I will not hear of it! No! We are not discussing this again and again!"

"You mean to disobey me then, wife?" He snapped, making your mouth snap shut. "Huh? Think you're immune to the duties you must uphold as a woman? Think that allows you free rein? You are luckier than most that I allow you to have a fucking opinion; do not abuse my generosity. You want the child to stay, fine, I hear you, but I say he goes. Guess who's want will triumph?"

You blinked several times, unable to find words.

"Nothing to say?" He taunted. "That is a first, wife, you surprise me. In your moment of silence, do well to listen to me now: the child goes, or I do. You either get rid of the child or I will remove myself from this sham of a marriage."

"I do not recognize you, you are not my husband," you finally sighed. "Do me a favor and figure you may speak to me again once you're ready to apologize. If not, I assume by week's end, we will be celebrating both Rhaenyra's wedding and our annulment."

"Too much time has passed for such - "

"I know a Septon that will forge documents. Now," you eyed him up and down, "once more, do not think to speak to me unless to grovel for my forgiveness."

"You will die before that happens."

You nodded slowly, then shrugged and dodged around him to exit the room. You could not bear to be around him any longer, storming away to where your small brother was being looked after by a Septa. You did not speak to Daemon the rest of the day, feeling yourself brimming with anger as you replayed his words.

How dare he find insult in your desire to do "the right thing" by caring for your brother after your parents met their untimely demise? How dare he cite "wifely duties" to you? Just how dare he!

The day was supposed to be merry. It was supposed to be lighthearted and fun and romantic and exciting and gossip worthy. Yet now, you were feeling annoyed, frustrated, weighed down, and plain stupid. You felt alone. You felt tired and worn thin. Your little brother, Jamie, always put a smile on your face, but now, you were simply ready to cry just by looking at him. This planted the seed of resentment towards Daemon, and through the day, only festered.

"My Lady?" You glanced in the mirror to see your hand maiden, who was doing your hair, humming in question. "Alyria has arrived, she will watch young Lord Jamie for the evening."

"Good, thank you," you sighed. "Has Daemon come around?"

"No, my Lady."

"Hmm."

Not 30 minutes later, you were walking towards the decorated throne room with your hair braided back, make-up laid perfectly, and your dress a dark grey, black, and Targaryen red.

However, before you could walk in, someone called your name. You paused, letting Daemon approach you, his eyes raking you in as he realized you dressed to match him. "You look beautiful," he complimented, but you just stared; then sighed through your nose and straightened up. "What? You're not speaking to me?"

"I told you the terms in which you should find it acceptable to speak to me again."

Daemon scoffed, "You're still on that?" You did not answer, just stared forward. "Fine, be that way. Come," he offered his arm, but you brushed past him to finally enter the throne room. Your names were announced, albeit begrudgingly because most in the castle harbored ill-will towards Daemon. They just felt bad for you, not knowing of the man you had grown to know and love unconditionally.

You took long strides to shorten your journey, but behind you, your husband just sauntered in as if the center of attention. However, no matter where he was, Daemon was always the main character, and he was quite the peacock in flaunting himself. You bowed to the King and his daughter, heir to the Iron Throne, Princess Rhaenyra. You took your seat beside the Hand of the King, Ser Strong, as Daemon climbed the stone stairs with a smug expression before taking the seat beside you at the very end.

Needless to say, Daemon was not accustomed to being ignored. You did not look at him, did not speak to him, ignored his direct questions, even went as far as to slapping his hand away when he reached for your thigh. When your hand rested on the table and he laid his over yours, you pulled it back.

It drove Daemon absolutely up the wall.

"And how fairs your brother, my Lady?" Ser Strong asked gently. "How does he like life in the Capital?"

"He adores it," you hummed with a nod. "He is learning so much and loves watching the boats in the harbor."

"How old is he now?"

"Just shy of 4, my Lord."

"Well, what would the little Prince like for his nameday?"

"Oh, uh, no, he's not a Prince," you spoke gently.

"No? Well, I suppose until Viserys recognizes him."

"Well, Daemon's made it clear that if I do not give custody of my brother up, this marriage is null and void, so," you clicked your tongue cheekily, sipping your wine, "no use in titles."

You knew others heard you and smirked to yourself. Another gulp of wine and you were standing, excusing yourself, and moving onto the dance floor. Rhaenyra giggled when you gave her a playful twirl before taking your place with a partner, falling into rhythm with those around you. The entire time, you felt Daemon's eyes burning into you.

You didn't care. You carried on as if there wasn't a ring on your wedding finger weighing like a full fish net, like you weren't burdened by your marriage.

You danced with a Tully, Stark, Frey, and Lannister boy, all who looked at you like a delectable treat but were being effectively ignored, just like your handsome, white-haired husband. It was a lively time, twisting and turning and leaping and being lifted in ture with the instruments playing. Rhaenyra caught your eye a few times, grinning and giggling as she, too, let herself destress in the glee of the festivities. However, when the Frey lad spun you around, you had thought of the devil so much, there he bloody was.

Your husband smirked down at you, "You look startled, little bird."

You scoffed and moved to go around him, but Daemon's hand was darting out to grab your upper arm. He pulled you further into the crowd to use them as a layer of protection, turning sharply to leer over you. He snapped in High Valyrian, "What're you playing at? Hmm? You mean to embarrass my entire family by being so cold and shrewish?"

You scoffed, glaring at him for a moment before he reached forward to grab your neck and cheek in a possessive hold. "I dare you to raise a sharp word at me," he sneered quietly, keeping you in place. "You have ignored me all fucking day, these games are at an end. I have always known your voice to be a sweet remedy, do not deprive me of it longer."

"Then apologize," You snapped.

"For what? Speaking the truth? That you refuse to sire my children because you are too occupied with your wee brother? For taking in a child without so much as asking me? Tell me, what am I apologizing for?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, and swatting his hand from you. However, just as you meant to walk away from him, someone gasped and yelped from the people around you. Daemon brought you into his chest as a sudden crowd thickened, two bodies hitting the floor in a gruesome fight. This encouraged others to get rowdy, and before you could comprehend his actions, Daemon was stooping low to hoist you over his shoulder and stride away.

When out of the fray, Daemon slowed himself enough to set you down at the base of the stairs leading to the Royal banquet table, both his hands going to your cheeks. He panted lightly, looking you over, "All right? You hurt? They touch you?"

"No, I'm okay," you sighed gently, reaching up to hold his wrists in a brief show of affection. However, the crowd only grew in size and aggression; the Royals all taking refuge on the elevated landing to take a headcount. Not a moment later, Ser Harwin Strong, the Hand's eldest son, was emerging from the crowd with Rhaenyra hoisted up his shoulder.

But your attention was drawn elsewhere. You parted Daemon's side to get under Viserys' arm, lifting him up slightly as he coughed into a handkerchief. You frowned when you saw the blood, his eyes meeting your wide ones. You asked the only question you could think of, "Does Daemon know?"

"No," he matched your tone in a whisper.

You nodded and assisted him into the closest chair. After the death of Ser Laenor Velayron's paramour (Ser Joffrey, was it?) the hall was cleared of everyone to only leave the immediate family. In hopes of avoiding future turmoil, it was decided that the Realm's Delight, Rhaenyra, was to wed the Sea Snake's son, Laenor, now instead of at week's end. Viserys asked his brother to stay but you were quick to bow out, promising it was a family affair and you should get ready for bed anyways.

Daemon looked close to protesting your departure but was unable to utter a single word, only watching you scamper out of the throne room as the High Septon finally arrived.

Rhaenyra and Laenor married in front of his mother and father, Rhaenys and Corlys, and his sister, Laena. King Viserys was there with his brother Daemon and wife Alicent, leaving only the Hand present to pose as "unbiased witness".

Further into the castle, you collected your brother, Jamie, and quickly got him ready for bed. Your heart felt heavy with guilt as you looked at him, understanding on a deeper level that if it came down to it, you'd do anything to keep Daemon in your life... And if he said your brother had to go or he did, well, you feared to find out if he was serious.

Jamie fell asleep on the long bench at the base of your bed with a fire crackling in front of his face. He had fallen asleep listening to you read, your emotions catching up to you to let you finally sob quietly while preparing for bed. You hated the idea of losing either Daemon or Jamie, and the fact that you had to choose? It felt impossible. So, once ready for bed, you tied on your dressing robe and bent at the waist to kiss Jamie's forehead. You then found yourself standing at the floor-to-ceiling window, wine in hand, staring out into nothing as you were wrecked emotionally from considering Daemon's ultimatum.

You were overwhelmed.

The door opened behind you and your eyes screwed shut. You took an even breath in, heard the door shut quietly, and then turned to spy your husband already staring at you. His face was neutral, passive, and you knew he was sizing you up just as you were him; both waiting for the other to make the first move.

Your resolve crumbled.

As if your minds were connected by a string, you surged forward as Daemon took a few steps toward you, meeting in the middle, and wrapping your arms around one another. Daemon held your waist tightly as yours tied around his neck in a vice grip, breathing in his scent that seemed to mingle permanently with the smell of dragon. He felt gentle trembling from contained sobs, soothing you with hushed cooing; hand petting the back of your head.

When you pulled back, it was only just enough to find his lips; drenching yourself in sheer relief at the familiar taste and feel of your husband. Just before you could whimper you were sorry, truly being unsure what you were actually apologizing for, when he beat you to it.

The space between your lips was filled with Daemon's rushed words, both his hands cradling your cheeks as he spoke, "I'm so sorry, my love. I am. I am truly so sorry. I hate fighting, I hate us fighting, it just feels so fucking wrong, I'm so sorry."

"No, it is I who am sorry, husband."

"Nothing to apologize for," he rushed, forehead glued to yours as he moved you backwards to the bed. "You do not apologize to me; you have done no wrong. It's me, I am the one who should grovel. I do deserve your kindness; I am so sorry for what I've said." He took a long breath, just holding you carefully, "I was out of line."

"No, you were right. I did not consult you; I should have. It is not just you or I in this, but the two of us together. I shouldn't have acted without so much as a word."

"It is okay," he assured softly, "it is more than all right by me now. I just," he sighed, "I needed to think, process a little. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, I should've listened to you and been a supportive husband, but instead, I just fought with you." He frowned, petting down your face with a dainty finger. "We fight because we care, but Gods do I hate it."

"I do, too," you whispered. "Can we just," you sighed, "go to bed or something? I'm exhausted."

He nodded, glancing at the foot of the bed before looking back at you, "One more thing."

"Hmm?"

"We will talk to Viserys in the morning about recognizing Jamie."

You frowned, "Well, hang on, I think I understand your point, too, Daemon. Listen, yes, I want us charged with Jamie's care, but I do not wish to replace his parents."

"He should still have a title, a place at court. Access to tutors and such."

You smiled fondly, whispering, "That is the man I married."

Daemon prepared for bed as you check Jamie, finding him fast asleep still. Your husband came to bed after blowing out all candles, leaving the fire simmering and you both under a single linen sheet. He laid on his back with you flush against his side, both hands holding your form and tracing idle patterns.

Every so often, he'd squeeze you tightly and kiss your forehead, but otherwise, you both just laid in peace. However, Daemon broke the silence, "I did not mean to cause you harm. I just felt panicked, I think, after the war."

You nodded with understanding, "Our time is on the horizon, Daemon, I promise, I just needed to find balance with Jamie. I've never been a mother before, 's very odd."

"Perhaps we can learn together, I've never been a father," Daemon offered softly. "I fear I have not been entirely welcoming."

"You've time to remedy it," you urged softly. "But you are not obligated."

"He will be our shared responsibility."

You smiled against his chest. "So, tell me of the wedding."

"Nothing special," he sighed. "Viserys fell ill. And I do mean literally fell."

"What? Is he all right?"

"Yes, he's being seen to... But I was thinking..."

"Of?"

"Us. Our family."

"Hm, and what of them, my love?"

Daemon sighed, reaching for your cheek in order to find your lips in the dark. "We will leave," he whispered, licking another kiss to your lips. "We'll go across the Narrow Sea together, raise a family away from the politics and chaos."

"You would miss your family."

"I would rue staying in this city. Away from here, we'd have liberties and freedoms Kings Landing does not offer us, nor our kids."

"I will think on it."

When morning broke through the window of consciousness, Daemon realized you were still sound and dead asleep, but there was something or someone poking his arm in an annoying repetition. When he blinked awake and looked to the culprit, he smiled slightly at Jamie. "What's wrong, little lad?" He asked quietly, voice heavy and hazy with sleep, seeing tears fill the kid's eyes.

"I-I didn't mean to."

"Mean to what?"

"I wet the bed," he frowned, looking at the lounge he slept on all night. "I didn't mean to. It was a scary dream."

"It's okay," he whispered, glancing at you before standing from bed. "C'mon, it's all right, we can clean it."

He nodded and let Daemon sit him at the bottom of the mattress, some two full feet from touching you. Jamie watched Daemon work, gathering any linens to set aside to be washed before plucking the child into his arms. He took his to the washroom and got him cleaned up before redressing him for the day, Daemon quickly doing the same, and then the two left for the day.

You slept while Daemon took Jaime to breakfast. You slept while the two ate and made merry; getting to know each other. You slept while Daemon answered little Jamie's questions. You slept while Daemon offered to introduce him to Caraxes, his dragon.

By the time you were awake, dressed, and approaching the mess hall, Daemon and Jamie were leaving to head for the Dragon Pit. When they saw you, Jamie grinned and squealed, "Sissy!"

You grinned when he rushed for your legs, greeting him with enthusiasm. You hoisted him onto your hip as Daemon approached you, pausing to lean in and kiss you. "Where are you two lads off to?"

"Dragons!"

You chuckled, "Yeah? Uncle's taking you to see the dragons? You're very lucky, not many people get to see them up close."

"Would you care to join us?" Daemon offered.

"No, no, that's quite all right. Thank you, my love, but perhaps this is best kept to a boy’s trip," you quipped, pecking Daemon's lips. "Bring him back in one piece, please."

"Of course," Daemon agreed, taking Jamie's hand when you set him on the ground. He stole one last kiss before leading Jamie away; where you watched them walk away and felt something stirring in your gut; suddenly come alive with tingling electricity. Instead of venturing into the mess hall, you instead continued your way to where you could meet the Grand Maester for a series of tests.

Learning you were pregnant was surreal, but incredibly elating. You were humored by the fact that, just hours ago, you and Daemon feuded for this very reason. However, after simply seeing your husband and little brother get along so effortlessly, you had no doubt in your mind you could handle this. Worrying about having Jamie and a newborn so close together was valid, of course - but it wasn't something you actually needed to worry about now.

Plenty of families had children with shorter age ranges, but none of that matters now - not when you were so explicably happy. All that was left to do now was tell Daemon and Jamie.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

[chosok-amo]

I DARE YOU .ᐟ

BABYSITTER‘S PUNISHMENT : TOJI FUSHIGURO

when you tryna steal from toji to only end up getting fucked by him.

CONTENT WARNING : smut! toji, rough sex, spanking.

P.S this is from toji's pov

ever since my marriage fell apart, and my bitch of an ex-wife (pretend it's not megumi's mom) left me for some hunky personal trainer, I’ve been a little short-tempered. you see, we had built a home together and raised a beautiful son, megumi, who I love more than anything else in the world. we had a gorgeous house in the suburbs, complete with a swimming pool and a large garden with a playground for megumi to entertain himself. I couldn’t have asked for a better home to start a family. so when the aforementioned whore decided to destroy our family, my spirits were crushed and I started to lash out on everyone around me. my secretary at the office was the first to feel my wrath, as I blamed her for every little thing that went wrong, whether it was her fault or not. she was forgiving, though, and ignored my raging temper.

then, I started to shout at people while I was driving, frequently cursing other motorists and swerving erratically so I could make obscene hand gestures at them. I never lashed out at my daughter, I should add. no, she was the one thing that gave me joy in those dark times. a few months after the divorce proceedings, my wife’s ridiculous relationship with her new boyfriend imploded on itself and she came crawling back. I was having none of it and made sure she stayed away.

of course, with the bitch out of the picture I needed some help to look after Megumi whenever I worked late or had to attend meetings at weekends. Luckily, I managed to find a perfect babysitter whose situation suited all of my needs. She was free to work practically every evening and was able to pick up Megumi from school, take him home, feed him, and put him to bed before I even got back. It was an ideal arrangement, not just because of her seemingly constant availability, but because she was absolutely smoking hot. When I interviewed her for the position, I had to keep pulling my eyes away from her chest. Her juicy, round breasts were pressed up against the fabric of her shirt, and I’m pretty sure she wasn’t wearing a bra as I could see two prominent bumps at nipple height.

Her name was Y/n, and her cute smile and flowing hair instantly made the blood rush to my cock. I hired her on the spot, and ever since that day I reveled in the sight of her perky ass whenever I returned home. I could hardly believe my luck— she was stunning, she also got on very well with Megumi and seemed to be totally professional in her duties. However, my opinion of her changed somewhat when I discovered a truth about her that sent me into a rage.

It all happened one day when I was supposed to be working late. I had arranged for her to pick up Megumi as usual and I was set to return home around 10 P.M that night. y/n was totally obliging and supportive, and so the evening seemed to be set. As it turned out I finished work an hour earlier than I’d expected as the person I was supposed to be having a video conference call with didn’t show up. So, I headed home in a somewhat disgruntled and annoyed state. I pulled up at the front of the house, got out of the car, and walked up to the door.

My bedroom light seemed to be turned on, which was strange as I always made sure to turn lights off whenever I left a room— my OCD-like behavior was one of the things my ex-wife hated the most about me. I thought nothing of it and continued up the garden path to the front door. As I walked inside I looked into the living room and then the kitchen. There was no sign of y/n or Megumi, so I assumed that she was busy putting my son to bed. I walked around on my tip-toes for a while, removing my jacket while I got a drink of water from the tap.

Finally, I decided to go up and get changed, so I snuck up the stairs. Megumi’s bedroom door was slightly ajar, but his light was turned off. I thought maybe the lamp should have been on if y/n was in there. I looked at my bedroom door and again saw the light was turned on. I made my way to the door and pushed it open gently as the suspicion flooded my mind.

I peered inside and saw y/n’s ass wiggling around at me as she bent underneath the bed. She was rooting around for something, and when I saw her bag next to her with a small candle-stick holder poking out, I realized she was stealing things from my room. I was horrified that I had let such a criminal into my house and left her alone with my precious son.  However, the sight of her ass moving around turned my anger into something else. Within a matter of seconds, I could feel my cock getting harder.

She hadn’t noticed I was back yet, as her head was well and truly under the bed as she searched for items to plunder. I watched for a few seconds as the rage built inside me, and then stepped inside, closing the door shut as quietly as I could. I crouched behind her and watched for a moment, contemplating the best course of action. The blood was rushing out of my brain to my cock, though, so there was only really one thing on my mind. I knew exactly how to punish her.

”What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I said in a stern voice. She froze and then shuddered as she realised she had been caught. It must have been a massive shock to her system, as she didn’t say a word for what seemed like an eternity. I repeated myself, and then grabbed her feet and dragged her out from under the bed. She tried to claw the carpet to stop me but I was far too strong. As her head appeared from under the bed, she looked up at me with pleading eyes, no doubt presuming she could buy her way out of the situation with a suggestive wink and a squeeze of her breasts. Such leniency was most definitely not on the table, though. I grabbed her arms and pulled her up to her feet, and then turned her around and forced her up against the bed.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!“ she kept repeating, but I wasn’t listening.

“You think you can steal from me?” I scowled, pushing her back down on to the bed as she tried to stand up again. Her ass stuck out as she bent over the side of the bed and I continued “I’ll teach you not to steal from me!”

“What are you going to do with me?” she pleaded, but as she looked back she already knew what I had in mind for her. I kept her chest firmly pressed down on the duvet and raised my hand up above her ass, striking it down with a loud crash. She yelped in horror as I spanked her ass, but I kept going, slapping each cheek over and over again. She tried to push herself up, but I just pushed her back down. She kept resisting, so I grabbed her wrists and yanked them behind her back, holding them in place with one hand while I continued to spank the naughty bitch. She winced and groaned with every hit that thrashed across her ass, but I didn’t feel like she had nearly learned her lesson.

“Are you sorry?” I growled, finding myself getting more and more turned on by her whimpering. Her screams to be let go almost sounded sexual in nature, as if the spanking was turning her on more than it was hurting her.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she cried, repeating it after every strike that landed over her ass. My cock was rock hard and almost bulging from my trousers. Then I had a much better thought of how to punish her more effectively. I pulled her back up and stood her at the side of the bed, letting go of her arms as I wrapped mine around her chest, constraining her movement completely. She wiggled her body to loosen herself from my grasp, but my arms were far too strong. I ran my hands over her stomach, feeling the material of her vest top as I moved higher and higher towards her breasts.

Once again she wasn’t wearing a bra, and her nipples were poking out firmly through her top. I groped at them and squeezed the warm, fleshy lumps in my fingers as she squirmed around in my arms. No doubt she could feel my massive, hard cock rubbing against her ass cheeks as I held her breathlessly close. I could smell the shampoo she had used to wash her hair that day, as the warmth of her body rose up from the top of her head. I was so turned on, I started to pinch her pert nipples and slap the sides of her tits. She cried out loudly, so I placed the palm of my hand over her mouth to silence her, and then moved it down to her neck and squeezed firmly and menacingly at her windpipe.

“Ssshhh!” I whispered as I continued to fondle her tits, digging my fingers into her skin as I enjoyed the feel of her supple mounds. She could feel my breath on her neck as I leaned in and stared down her cleavage, watching her delicious breasts wobbling around in my fingers. They truly felt fantastic, and I would have happily stayed there for hours playing with them, had it not been for her constant struggling.

“I’m not done with you yet!” I said as she tried to bolt for the door. I pulled her back, grasping at her waist as I pushed her back down on to the bed. She squealed for mercy as I climbed on top of her back, and then started to peel her top up over her head. I pulled her arms up and held them above her head while I pulled the vest up and discarded it on the floor. She lay on the bed with her arms wrapped under her chest, preserving her modesty. I wanted to see those juicy tits, though, so I rolled her on to her back and pulled her arms open to expose them.

They were even more beautiful in the flesh than I had imagined – perfectly round and just enough to fit in my hands. I held her down and started to fondle them some more, rolling my thumbs around her nipples and pinching them sharply as I pulled them away from her body. Then I began to slap them from side to side, and as I watched them repeatedly jiggling back into position, my cock became almost painfully hard. She spat in my face, with a small blob of saliva landing on the side of my cheek. I wiped it away carefully and stared gruffly in to her eyes, and then slapped her across the face.

She recoiled in horror, turning her head away for a moment before looking back at me. A tear formed in her eye, but she was clearly excited on a sexual level. She was fighting the urge to shoot me a wry, dirty smile. I slapped her again, firmer and faster that time and across the other cheek. I slapped her a few more times, making her cheeks red from the impact of my hands. Saliva spilled out over her face, and I let go of her body for a moment while I undid my tie.

She watched me remove it, trembling on the bed and glancing at the door to plan her escape route. She wasn’t going anywhere, though, and I rolled her on to her back again and forced her wrists together. I wrapped the tie around them, binding her arms securely so I could have some fun. I slowly removed my shirt as I watched her ass shuffling off the edge of the bed, and pressed my foot on to it to keep her from moving any further.

Her ears pricked up when she heard the jangle of my belt buckle as I unfastened it, removing my trousers and boxer shorts to free the enormous, throbbing cock within. With all of my clothes nestled in a small heap on the carpet, I crouched behind her and started to feel her ass through her tight jeans, smelling the crack and running my fingers in between her legs as she moaned lightly.

I couldn’t wait to see her bare ass, so I reached underneath her waist and unzipped the denim flaps, before yanking the jeans down her legs to reveal her sexy little thong. I pulled the jeans away, turning them inside out as they gripped to her legs. She remained huddled over the bed, and I leaned in and felt the warm skin as I pressed my lips up to her ass cheeks.

I gripped the sides of her thong and peeled it down her legs, allowing it to rest around her knees while I moved back up to play with her ass some more. She was still making the occasional move to get away, and each time she bolted I lashed a fresh smack over her now bare ass cheeks. Red hand marks started to form on the soft, delicate skin as I peeled them apart; exposing her tight little anus and her dripping wet labia below.

There was no doubt in my mind that she was gagging for it. I buried my face between her legs and began to lick passionately around her pussy, lapping up her juices as she groaned with pleasure. I continued to spank her, and every time I cracked my hands over her ass, she let out a fresh painful shriek. As I ate her out, I moved my hand up and started to massage her clitoris with my fingers, rubbing her flowing juices all over it as I flicked my tongue over her pulsating vulva.

I moved up and began to lick at her ass hole, prodding my tense tongue around the incredibly soft puckering rim. I lapped up and down her crack, pulling her cheeks as far apart as they would stretch and causing her anus to open up slightly. I spanked her again, even harder and she whimpered pathetically. Then I had a fantastic idea.

I untangled my belt from the waist of my trousers and looped it around. She looked back and gulped, bracing herself for what she knew was to come. I pressed her firmly down on to the bed, pushing her arms even tighter against her back, and then I thrashed her ass with the belt. A thunderous crack sounded out and echoed off the walls as she squealed in agony. I didn’t wait for the pain to subside, and immediately lashed her again and again. Her ass was red raw and started to turn purple as faint blotches of bruising appeared. I moved down and smacked it over the backs of her thighs, each impact sending a fresh set of ripples rolling over her flesh.

“Are you sorry? I don’t believe you!” I kept stating, not letting her answer. She could barely speak through her agonised groans, but her pussy was wetter than ever. I dropped the belt on the floor and positioned myself behind her ass. As the pain subsided, she started to sigh with relief. I pushed the head of my cock up to her pussy lips, rolling it up and down between them before plunging my rigid girth deep inside her.

She gasped and strained her neck out in front of her as she let out a loud, ecstatic moan. I started to thrust it in and out of her pussy, slowly at first as I coated it in her pussy juices, and then faster and harder as I became better lubricated. Her labia stretched around it nicely, contorting sideways as my penis passed through them. As I fucked her I continued to spank her ass, causing her to yelp in between her breathless panting. The sight of her arms bound behind her back had transformed me in to a wanton sex beast, and I didn’t care about anything other than fucking her as hard as I could. Every single other thought and consideration in my life was second to brutalising her and obliterating her pussy right there and then.

I pounded her as hard as I could, still bending her over the side of the bed. Her head rocked back and forth on the duvet helplessly under the force of my powerful thrusts, and she had given up trying to get away. She had become completely obedient and was accepting her punishment gracefully. I quickly tired of fucking her from behind though, and I desperately wanted to play with those glorious tits some more, so I flipped her over on to her back again.

She grimaced as her weight shifted, trapping her arms underneath her body. There wasn’t time to untie her, though. She would just have to get used it. I grabbed her throat and squeezed, choking her for a moment as I kissed her lips, stroking her tongue with mine and smelling her sweet candy breath. My cock was throbbing like crazy, so I pushed it back inside her pussy once again and instantly began to fuck her vigorously as she bounced up and down on the spring mattress.

The springs in the bed were creaking like crazy under the weight of our bodies. I grabbed her legs and placed them flat against my chest with her ankles behind my ears, and watched my cock sliding deep inside her over and over again while her amazing sweet tits bounced around atop her chest. I pressed her legs forward and reached down to slap her breasts again, and she screwed up her face with every strike that landed across her soft skin.

The sound of my skin slapping against hers was almost as loud as the spanking I had given her earlier. We were both sweating and writhing together as I pushed her further onto the bed with each thrust. My cock was buried entirely within her pussy, penetrating her all the way down to my balls as she groaned in uncontrollable pleasure. I doubt she had ever received such a strenuous fucking, but she was loving every second of it.

I spread her legs wide open and leaned down to kiss her neck passionately, smelling the hair under her ears as my moist lips pressed up to her skin. The sound of her panting in to my ear just turned me on even more, and after a minute or so I could hear the unmistakeable noise of an impending orgasm. She wheezed and cried out in ecstasy as her hips began to tremble, and then all of a sudden the extreme pleasure took hold of her and her eyes rolled into the back of her skull.

I continued to pound her even harder, relentlessly fucking her wet pussy as she squirmed with gratification on the bed. It was only when she came down from her breathless climax that I remembered I was supposed to be punishing her.

She went limp on the duvet and tried to catch her breath while I pressed her thighs up to her chest, exposing her insanely tight little ass hole. I didn’t want to have to keep struggling with her, so I took the belt and quickly wrapped around her legs, fastening it just under her knees and binding them up to her chest. She hadn’t even noticed what I was doing as she was still coping with the aftershocks of her intense climax.

I crouched in front of her ass again and pushed her cheeks slightly further open— they were already well parted by the position of her legs. Her vaginal muscles were still contracting and causing her labia to pucker up as I leaned in. I stretched out my tongue and licked over her anus once again, tasting the pussy juices as they flowed from her vulva and down through her ass crack.

Her cheeks were still red raw and burning with pain, but I continued to lightly spank them as I licked around her ass hole, prodding my tongue against her rim for a little while. I ran my finger around her pussy lips, lubricating it in her juices before pushing it through her sphincter. She tensed up as she finally realised what I was doing, and started to grimace and moan anxiously. I slid my finger inside her ass hole and pulled it out repeatedly, watching as her hole enclosed around it.

I stood up between her legs and rubbed the head of my cock around her quivering, wet vulva for a moment, coating it in a mixture of spit and her juices as I had done with my finger. I pushed my dick up to her ass hole and started to nudge it gently through the small opening. Her rim stretched around my cock as I pushed it through, expanding the soft ripples of her anus to a smooth, gaping hole.

The juices and saliva squelched out around the sides of my cock under the intense pressure of her tight anus as I started to thrust it in to her rectum, tunnelling my way deeper and deeper inside. With each insertion I was able to gain an extra quarter of an inch and after a minute or so of gruelling ass fucking I was burying my cock balls-deep in her colon. “Ah fuck, yes Toji— shit shit, ahh! fuck me like I'm a slut!” She started to scream loudly with each thrust that I slammed in to her ass, so I slapped her face again, sending a trail of saliva across the bed. She continued to groan noisily despite my defiant slapping, giving me no option but to silence her.

I reached down to the floor and picked up her thong, rolling it in to a tight ball as I jammed it between her jaws. She tried to clamp them together, but I squeezed firmly at her cheeks to pry them open and wedged the screwed up knickers between her teeth, holding my hand over her mouth and pressing her head back down to the bed as I continued to destroy her ass hole. I heard her trying to squeal in pain as my cock slid in and out of her anus, but the sound was nicely muffled by my makeshift gag.

I knew the ultra-tight young ass hole was going to make me cum soon, so I fucked her even harder and a few moments later I felt a great swell inside my balls. I moaned and stretched my neck, and she could see the veins protruding from the skin on my neck as I started to pump my hot, milky semen deep in to her ass hole. The orgasm seemed to last for hours and the cum shot out of my cock endlessly, oozing out between the sides of my shaft and the walls of her rectum.

I removed my penis from her ass and watched the thick, white fluid seeping out of her asshole. It was too hot of a moment not to get at least a souvenir, so I picked up my phone and took a few pictures of her hot, naked body and her obliterated pussy and ass hole.

“So, have you learned your lesson?” I asked, leaning over her exhausted body as I unstrapped the belt and freed her arms from behind her back. Her skin was marked with red lines from the various spankings and the force of being tied up so tightly. She laughed and said “I’ll have to steal from you again as I enjoyed the punishment,” she smiled sweetly.

“Good. So, same time tomorrow?” I said, helping her to stand up from the bed. Her legs were like jelly and barely supported her weight as she rose to her feet.

“Yes sir.” she said in a subdued but slightly naughty fashion. She tried to hide her smile as she reached for her clothes, but I caught it regardless. I was worried that I had lost a great babysitter, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Not only did I retain her as a babysitter, I gained her as a slave and that first encounter was just the tip of the iceberg.

[buddierecs]

jealous!eddie diaz buddie fics

all explicit rating - 18+ only!!!! make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

something touched me (like a knife-blade) by: kithmet "eddie self-implodes. christopher, seeking refuge, flees to buck—whose priorities amount to, in varying order: take in the kid, get eddie to talk to him, and keep the three of them afloat in the process. (oh, and tommy’s there too. he thinks.)" word count: 42k important tags: co-parenting, emotional infidelity, possessive behaviour, sexuality crisis, mutual pining, getting together, anal sex, masturbation good pretender by: likeshipsonthesea "an au where buck broke up with taylor before 5b, ravi and buck become (actually platonic) friends with benefits, and ravi, eddie, and buck all go on a journey of self-discovery that ends with them all getting what they need" word count: 85k important tags: fwb!ravi/buck, outsider pov, friends to loves, communication, pining, ptsd, mutual pining, self-worth issues, therapy, anal sex, making out everything (nothing) has changed by: bizarrestars "after eddie gets shot, buck confesses his love. from there, things get a little out of hand." word count: 48k important tags: love confessions, coming out, angst, humor i could get lost in the feelings (just say that you belong to me) by: wikiangela "buck's going on a date, eddie's so jealous he finally snaps and reveals his feelings, which leads to a passionate evening in buck's kitchen." word count: 15k important tags: first time, possessive sex, kitchen sex, blow jobs, anal sex, porn with feeling, multiple orgasms, riding driving me wild by: smilingbuckley "after a drunk night of karaoke and fun, buck wakes up hungover with DIAZ tattooed on his lower back. chimney, who was with him that drunken night, helps buck hide it from the rest of the team, but it makes them think something else going on but then Eddie finds out anyways, with a reaction better than buck could've hoped for." word count: 4.7k important tags: possessive!eddie diaz, getting together, body worship, anal sex, comeplay, friends to lovers, marriage proposal skin/heat/hair in your mouth by: fleetinghearts "eddie’s bad at camping, buck’s trying to make sure he doesn’t get hypothermia, and naked huddling for warmth is only like the third gayest thing happening in the great outdoors" word count: 8.8k important tags: camping, getting together, love confessions, non-sexual intimacy, semi-public sex, blow jobs, dry humping, praise kink 5 times eddie was jealous and 1 time he didn't have to be by: sassysquatch buck makes a new friend. they sometimes have sex. eddie hates the guy, but can't quite figure out why. word count: 14k important tags: 5+1 things, minor buck/oc, mutual pining, friends to lovers, explicit sexual content eddie, enraged and envious by: songbvrd "eddie goes through the stages of grief watching buck and tommy together and gets progressively more unhinged as his jealousy builds." word count: 23k important tags: slow burn, possessive!eddie diaz, idiots in love, panic attacks, pining, mild smut i can see you (up against the wall with me) by: champagne_for_breakfast "another cowboy hat fic inspired by ryan guzman and his appearance in everybody wants some!!" word count: 9.3k important tags: cowboy hats, riding, praise kink, idiots in love, oblivious!evan buckley drink up (you're wasted on me) by: okanus "eddie and buck hook up at the bachelor party. difficulties ensue." word count: 9.5k important tags: infidelity, flirting, sexual tension, first time, drunk sex, praise kink, possessive!eddie diaz me and my wild boy, all of this wild joy by: audreylorriane "eddie and buck love each other but don’t know how to say it, until they do." word count: 12k important tags: angst, fluff, soft!buddie, pining, idiots in love, praise kink, rimming, blow jobs, anal sex, size kink, cock slut!eddie diaz

[rhaenerystargaryen]

I love your Daemon works and I love some angst too. Would you be willing to write a continuation to "Can't scape me" where Daemon meets the girl from his past again and she's unmarried, but trained like Arya Stark and became wealthy and famous in Essos and Dorne because of her prowess and instead of being sad she's like "Wow, I dodged a bullet. Could've ended up as a sad little wife in King's Landing while my husband partied with prostitutes, but instead I'm independent and happy." I would love to see Daemon's reaction to that, especially if she refuses to fight for team Black or team Green because she knows it's suicide and just goes her merry way and watches house Targaryen implode while eating dates on her Essossi villa 😅. Feel free to ignore it if it's too specific I just love Daemon, but also love to kick him a bit too much 😅.

i escaped you (can't escape me pt. 2)

pairing: daemon targaryen x fem!reader

synopsis: daemon comes to you after the events of harrenhal, seeking help.

warnings: angst, cussing/adult language, mentions of sexual relations

wc: 1,018

a/n: gagged daemon fr

part 1 here

it had been a long time since you'd seen daemon targaryen. heard of though is a different story. rumors spread like wildfire so of course you'd heard about how his life seemed to be going to shit. first wife dead, second also dead, and third might soon join them if she didn't play her cards right. people like daemon seem to bring suffer wherever they go but you've come a long way from the orphaned girl of king's landing that once was his.

at seventeen you boarded a ship to essos and never looked back. after your failed marriage to daemon you refused to live that kind of life with anyone in king's landing. having no family to care where you went and did, no one seemed to notice your disappearance. thinking about what your life could have been used to pain you. now you realize that most of the girls who were once like you are miserable and resentful as they married lords who would rather frequent the whore house than warm their own bed.

essos had served you good the first couple of years. of course you had to work twice as hard to prove your worth as a woman but with the help of an older gentleman who had taken you in, the art of swordsmanship became your most outstanding feature. it all started when he caught you stealing.

you didn't realize that when you actually did land in essos you'd have to learn how to make a life for yourself. stealing seemed like the easiest option but you were grateful the blacksmith that caught you also didn't cut off your hand. yet after his passing, you realized there was nothing left to do but go and show off your talent.

travels were made through pentos, dorne, and braavos competing in local tourneys and building a name for yourself. you had earned yourself the name "the cruel dread" as you were merciless and often left your opponents begging for their life. it was safe to say that the life you had created was better than the one that could've been.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

it was a cloudly day in pentos. an odd occurrence from the constant rays of sunshine that frequented the skies. you sat on your balcony, eating dates, and reading the latest news of westeros. suddenly a knock came crashing down on your door, disrupting your peace.

you set your book down and approached the door. upon arrival you opened it only to be met with your most trusted knight, ser quincy.

"my lady," he spoke.

"what may be the problem, ser quincy?" your arms crossed and eyebrows raised exuded the fact that you were annoyed at his disruption.

"you have a vistor."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

as you walked down the steps of your villa, you recognized the familiar face waiting for you.

"my lady, i present to you king consort daemon tar-" you were quick to cut quincy off.

"i know who he is," you stood eyeing daemon then turned to your knights, "you may be excused," but daemon's did not budge, "you too," you urged them.

"i'll be alright, go on," he told his knights.

as they left the room, no words were spoken between the two of you. how dare daemon show up in your house after everything that had gone down since then?

"y/n-"

"what is it that you could possibly want?" you cut him off.

"y/n, i just want to say how sorry i am for how things went down last time i saw you. i never meant to hurt you," daemon moved closer to you.

"you are twenty years too late, daemon. i have moved on with my life as have you. there is no need to come all the way here and issue me a formal apology," your voice firm unlike his.

"if i could but request your time, i have something would like to discuss with you,"

you scoffed and looked away, "you are not welcome here, daemon. i know exactly what is it is you're going to ask me for and my answer is no," you started to walk away but he rushed to block your path.

"daemon-" his hands gripped your arms in an attempt to get you to look at him.

"why are you so quick to reject me? i have not forgotten the love we used to have for each other..." his voice was calmer, softer than before.

"keyword is 'used to' daemon," you sighed, "look, i don't know what you have roped yourself into this time but my answer remains," you looked into his eyes.

"is this because of rhaenyra?" he asked.

you knew that this was his attempt in trying to rile you up. scoffing you pushed his arms off you, "this has nothing to do with rhaenyra, daemon but this has everything to do with you."

"you've become quite the skilled warrior, y/n...why not put those efforts into some real exercise instead of bullshit tourneys!" he yelled.

"because daemon! when you left, those tourneys were all i had! to make a name for myself!" your chest heaved as his attempt to push you over the edge finally worked, "you have no idea what its like...to lose everything...to lose everyone. at least when you return back to dragonstone you'll have your wife and your children," you had tears in your waterline and daemon tried stepping closer to console you but you merely pushed him away.

"we could have had that, y/n..." he spoke quietly.

"but we didn't," you wiped your tears, "now you must leave before i call my knights. i don't want unnecessary bloodshed," you spoke.

daemon's face showed pure agony. did he really think things would be this easy? he might have been feeling disappointed but he made you this way. knowing he'll probably go back and tell everyone how the most skilled fighter in essos was just a "heartless cunt" angered you but if you were to show it then he'd be served right. the only thing you could do was sit back, and watch house targaryen burn.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 6: Athena, Goddess Of Wisdom]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.2k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Here at the midway point in our journey—like Dante stumbling upon the gates of the Inferno—would it be the right moment to review what’s at stake? Let’s begin.

It’s the end of August. The delegates of the Democratic National Convention in Chicago officially vote to name Aemond the party’s presidential candidate. His ascension is aided by 10,000 antiwar demonstrators who flood into the city and threaten to set it ablaze if Hubert Humphrey is chosen instead. At the end—in his death rattle—Humphrey begs to be Aemond’s running mate, one last humiliation he cannot resist. Humphrey is denied. Eugene McCarthy, dignity intact, boards a commercial flight to his home state of Minnesota without looking back.

Aemond selects U.S. Ambassador to France, Sargent Shriver, to be his vice president. Shriver is a Kennedy by marriage—his wife, JFK’s younger sister Eunice, just founded the Special Olympics—and has previously headed the Office of Economic Opportunity, the Peace Corps, and the Chicago Board of Education. He also served as the architect of the president’s “War on Poverty” before distancing himself from the imploding Johnson administration. Shriver is not a concession to fence-sitting moderates or Southern Dixiecrats, but an embodiment of Aemond’s commitment to unapologetic progressivism. Richard Nixon spends the weekend campaigning in his native California, a gold vein of votes like the mines settlers rushed to in 1848. George Wallace announces that he will run as an Independent. Racists everywhere rejoice.

Phase III of the Tet Offensive is underway in Vietnam; 700 American soldiers have been killed this month alone. Riots break out in military prisons where the U.S. Army is keeping their deserters. The North Vietnamese refuse to allow Pope Paul VI to visit Hanoi on a peace mission. President Johnson calls both Aemond and Nixon to personally inform them of this latest evidence of the communists’ unwillingness to negotiate in good faith. Daeron and John McCain remain in Hỏa Lò Prison. The draft swallows men like the titan Cronus devoured his own children.

In Eastern Europe, the Russians are crushing pro-democracy protests in the largest military operation since World War II as half a million troops roll into Czechoslovakia. In Caswell County, North Carolina, the last remaining segregated school district in the nation is ordered by a federal judge to integrate after years of stalling. On the Fangataufa Atoll in the South Pacific, France becomes the fifth nation to successfully explode a hydrogen bomb. In Mexico City, 300,000 students gather to protest the authoritarian regime of President Diaz Ordaz. In Guatemala, American ambassador John Gordon Mein is murdered by a Marxist guerilla organization called the Rebel Armed Forces. In Columbus, Ohio, nine guards are held hostage during a prison riot; after 30 hours, they’re rescued by a SWAT team.

The latest issue of Life magazine brings worldwide attention to catastrophic industrial pollution in the Great Lakes. The first successful multiorgan transplant is carried out at Houston Methodist Hospital. The Beatles release Hey Jude, the best-selling single of 1968 in the U.S., U.K., Australia, and Canada. NASA’s Apollo lunar landing program plans to launch a crewed shuttle next year, just in time to fulfill John F. Kennedy’s 1962 promise to put a man on the moon “before the end of the decade.” If this is successful, the United States will win the Space Race and prove the superiority of capitalism. If it fails, the martyred astronauts will join all the other ghosts of this apocalyptic age, an epoch born under bad stars.

The night sky glows with the ancient debris of the Aurigid meteor shower. From down here on Earth, Jupiter is a radiant white gleam, visible with the naked eye and admired since humans were making cave paintings and Stonehenge. But Io is a mystery. With a telescope, she becomes a dust mote entrapped by Jupiter’s gravity; to the casual observer, she doesn’t exist at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

What was it like, that very first time? It’s strange to remember. You’re both different people now.

It’s May, 1966. You and Aemond are engaged, due to be married in three short weeks, and if you get pregnant then it’s no harm, no foul. In reality, it will end up taking you over a year to conceive, but no one knows that yet; you are living in the liminal space between what you imagine your life will be and the cold blade of the truth. Aemond has brought you to Asteria for the weekend, an increasingly common occurrence. The Targaryens—minus one, that holdout prodigal son, always glowering from behind swigs of rum and clouds of smoke—have already begun to treat you like a member of the family. The flock of Alopekis yap excitedly and lick your shins. Eudoxia learns your favorite snacks so she can have them ready when you arrive.

One night Aemond takes your hand and leads you to Helaena’s garden, darkness turned to twilight in the artificial luminance of the main house. You can hear distant voices, chatter and laughter, and the Beatles’ Rubber Soul spinning on the record player in the living room like a black hole, gravity that not even light can escape when it is wrenched over the event horizon.

You’re giggling as Aemond pulls you along, faster and faster, weaving through pathways lined with roses and sunflowers and butterfly bushes. Your high heels sink into soft, fertile earth; the air in your lungs is cool and infinite. “Where are we going?”

And Aemond grins back at you as he replies: “To Olympus.”

In the circle of hedges guarded by thirteen gods of stone, Aemond unzips your modest pink sundress and slips your heels off your feet, kneeling like he’s proposing to you again. When you are bare and secretless, he draws you down onto the grass and opens you, claims you, fills you to the brim as the crystalline water of the fountain patters and Zeus hurls his lightning bolts, an eternal storm, unending war. It’s intense in a way it never was with your first boyfriend, a sweet polite boy who talked about feminist theory and followed his enlightened conscience all the way to Vietnam. This isn’t just a pleasant way to pass a Friday night, something to look forward to between differential equations textbooks and calculus proofs. With Aemond it’s a ritual; it’s something so overpowering it almost scares you.

“Aphrodite,” Aemond murmurs against your throat, and when you try to get on top he stops you, pins you to the ground, thrusts hard and deep, and you try not to moan too loudly as you surrender, his weight on you like a prophesy. This is how he wants you. This is where you belong.

Has someone ever stitched you to their side, pushing the needle through your skin again and again as the fabric latticework takes shape, until their blood spills into your veins and your antibodies can no longer tell the difference? He makes you think you’ve forgotten who you were before. He makes you want to believe in things the world taught you were myths.

But that was over two years ago. Now Aemond is not your spellbinding almost-stranger of a fiancé—shrouded in just the right amount of mystery—but your husband, the father of your dead child, the presidential candidate. You miss when he was a mirage. You miss what it felt like to get high on the idea of him, each taste a hit, each touch a rush of toxins to the bloodstream.

Seven weeks after your emergency c-section, you are healing. Your belly no longer aches, your bleeding stops, you can rejoin the living in this last gasp of summer. Ludwika takes you shopping and you pick out new swimsuits; you’ve gone up a size since the baby, and it shows no signs of vanishing. In the fitting room, Ludwika chain-smokes Camel cigarettes and claps when you show her each outfit, ordering you to spin around, telling you that there’s nothing like Oleg Cassini back in Poland. You plan to buy three swimsuits. Ludwika insists you get five. She pays with Otto’s American Express.

That afternoon at home in your blue bedroom, you get changed to join the rest of the family down by the pool, your first swim since Ari was born. You choose Ludwika’s favorite: a dreamy turquoise two-piece with flowing transparent fabric that drapes your midsection. You can still see the dark vertical line of where the doctors stitched you closed. Now you and Aemond match; he got his scar on the floor of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, you earned yours at Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan. There are gold chains on your wrist and looped around your neck. Warm sunlight and ocean wind pours in through the open windows.

Aemond appears in the doorway and you turn to show him, proud of how you’ve pulled yourself together, how this past year hasn’t put you in an asylum. His right eye catches on your scar and stays there for a long time. Then at last he says: “You don’t have something else to wear?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Labor Day, and Asteria has been descended upon by guests invited to celebrate Aemond’s nomination. The dining room table is overflowing with champagne, Agiorgitiko wine, platters of mini spanakopitas, lamb gyros, pita bread with hummus and tzatziki, feta cheese and cured meats, grilled octopus, baklava, and kourabiethes. Eudoxia is rushing around sweeping up crumbs and shooing tipsy visitors away from antique vases shipped here from Greece. Aemond’s celebrity endorsers include Sammy Davis Jr., Sonny and Cher, Andy Williams, Bobby Darin, Warren Beatty, Shirley MacLaine, Claudine Longet, and a number of politicians; but the most notable attendee is President Lyndon Baines Johnson, shadowed by Secret Service agents. He won’t be making any surprise appearances on the campaign trail for Aemond—in the present political climate, he would be more of a liability than an asset—but he has travelled to Long Beach Island tonight to offer his well-wishes. From the record player thrums Jimi Hendrix’s All Along The Watchtower.

When you finish getting ready and arrive downstairs, you spot Aegon: slouching in a velvet chair over a century old, hair shagging in his eyes, sipping something out of a chipped mug he clasps with both hands, flirting with a bubbly early-twenties campaign staffer. Aegon smiles and waves when he sees you. You wave back. And you think: When did he become the person I look for when I walk into a room?

Now Aemond is beside you in a blue suit—beaming, confident, his glass eye in place, a hand resting on your waist—and Aegon isn’t smiling anymore. He takes a gulp of what is almost certainly straight rum from his mug and returns his attention to the campaign staffer, his lady of the hour. You picture him undressing her on his shag carpet and feel disorienting, violent envy like a bullet.

Viserys is already fast asleep upstairs, but the rest of the family is out en masse to charm the invitees and pose for photographs. Alicent, Helaena, and Mimi—trying very hard to act sober, blinking too often—are chit-chatting with the other political wives. Otto is complaining about something to Criston; Criston is pretending to listen as he stares at Alicent. Ludwika is smoking her Camels and talking to several young journalists who are ogling her, enraptured. Fosco and Sargent Shriver are entertaining a group of guests with a boisterous, lighthearted debate on the merits of Italian versus French cuisine, though they agree that both are superior to Greek. The nannies have brought the eight children to be paraded around before bedtime. All Cosmo wants to do is clutch your hand and “help” you navigate around the living room, warning you not to step on the small, weaving Alopekis. When Mimi attempts to steal her youngest son away, he ignores her, and as she begins to make a scene you rebuke her with a harsh glare. Mimi retreats meekly. She has never argued with you, not once in over two years. You speak for Aemond, and Aemond is a god.

As the children are herded off to their beds by the nannies, Bobby Kennedy—presently serving as a New York senator despite residing primarily on his family’s compound in Massachusetts—approaches to congratulate Aemond. His wife Ethel is a tiny, nasally, scrappy but not terribly bright woman, five months pregnant with her eleventh child, and you have to get away from her like a hand pulled from a hot stove.

“You know, I was considering running,” Bobby says to Aemond, chuckling, good-natured. “But when I saw you get in the race, I thought better of it! Maybe I’ll give it a go in ’76, huh?”

“Hey, kid, what a tough year you’ve had,” Ethel tells you, patting your forearm. You can’t tear your eyes from her small belly. She has ten living children already. I couldn’t keep one. What kind of sense does that make? “We’re real sorry for your trouble, aren’t we, Bobby?”

Now he is nodding somberly. “We are. We sure are. We’ve been praying for you both.”

Aemond is thanking them, sounding touched but entirely collected. You manage some hurried response and then excuse yourself. Your hands are shaking as you cross the room, not really seeing it. You walk right into Lady Bird Johnson. She takes pity on you; she seems to perceive how rattled you are. “Oh Lyndon, look, it’s just who we were hoping to speak to! The next first lady of the United States. And how beautiful you are, just radiant. How do you keep your hair so perfect? That glamorous updo. You never have a single strand out of place.” Lady Bird lays a palm tenderly on your bare shoulder. She has an unusual, angular face, but a wise sort of compassion that only comes from suffering. Her husband is an unrepentant serial cheater. “I’ll make you a list of everything you need to know about the White House. All the quirks of the property, and the hidden gems too!”

“You’re so kind. We’ll see what happens in November…”

“Good evening, ma’am,” President Johnson says, smiling warmly. He’s an ugly man, but there’s something hypnotic that lives inside him and shines through his eyes like the blaze of a lighthouse. He pulls you in through the dark, through the storm; he promises you answers to questions you haven’t thought of yet. LBJ is 6’4 and known for bullying his political adversaries with the so-called “Johnson Treatment”; he leans in and makes rapid-fire demands until they forget he’s not allowed to hit them. “I have to tell you frankly, I don’t envy anyone who inherits that den of rattlesnakes in Washington D.C.”

“Lyndon, don’t frighten her,” Lady Bird scolds fondly.

“Everyone thinks they know what to do about Vietnam,” LBJ plods onwards. “But it’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t clusterfuck. If you keep fighting, they call you a murderer. But if you pull the troops out and South Vietnam falls to the communists, every single man lost was for nothing, and you think the families will stand for that? Their kid in a body bag, or his legs blown off, or his brain scrambled? There’s no easy answer. It’s a goddamn bitch of a quagmire.”

Lady Bird offers you a sympathetic smirk. Sorry about all this unpleasantness, she means. When he gets himself worked up, I can’t stop him. But you find yourself feeling sorry for President Johnson. It will be difficult for him to learn how to fade into disgraced obscurity after once being so omnipotent, so beloved. Reinvention hurts like hell: fevers raging, bones mending, healing flesh that itches so ferociously you want to claw it off.

LBJ gives Lady Bird a look, quick but meaningful. She acquiesces. This has happened a thousand times before. “It was so nice talking to you, dear,” she tells you, then crosses the living room to pay her respects to Alicent.

The president steps closer, looming, towering. The Johnson Treatment?? you think, but no; he isn’t trying to intimidate you. He’s just curious.

“Do you know what Aemond’s plan is for ‘Nam?” LBJ asks, eyes urgent, voice low. “I’m sure he has one. He’s sworn to end the draft as soon as he gets into office, but how is he going to make sure the South Vietnamese can fend off the North themselves? We’re trying to train the bastards, but if we left they’d fold in months. It would be the first war the U.S. ever lost. Does he understand that?”

“He doesn’t really discuss it with me.” That’s true; you know his policies, but only because they are a constant subject of conversation within the family, something you all breathe like oxygen.

“We can’t let Nixon win,” LBJ continues. “It’s mass suicide to leave the country in his hands. The man can’t hold his liquor anymore, getting robbed by Kennedy in ’60 broke something in him. He gets sloshed and shoves his aids around, makes up conspiracies in his head. He’s a paranoid little prick. He’ll surveille the American people. He’ll launch a nuke at Moscow.”

You honestly don’t know what he expects you to say. “I’ll pass the message along to Aemond.”

“People love you, Mrs. Targaryen.” LBJ watching you closely. “Believe it or not, they used to love me too. But I still remember how to play the game. You’re the only reason Aemond is leading the polls in Florida. You can get him other states too. Jack needed Jackie. Aemond needs you. And you’ve had tragedies, and that’s a damn shame. But don’t you miss an opportunity. You take every disappointment, every fucked up cruelty of life and find a way to make it work for you. You pin it to your chest like a goddamn medal. Every single scar makes you look more mortal to those people going to the ballot box in November. You want them to be able to see themselves in you. It helps the mansions and the millions go down smoother.”

“President Johnson!” Aegon says as he saunters over, huge mocking grin. He thumps a closed fist against the Texan’s broad chest; the Secret Service agents standing ten feet away observe this sternly. “How thoughtful of you to be here, taking time out of your busy schedule, squeezing us in between war crimes.”

“The mayor of Trenton,” LBJ jabs.

“The butcher of Saigon.”

Now the president is no longer amused. “You’ve never accomplished anything in your whole damn life, son. Your obituary will be the size of a postage stamp. I’m looking forward to reading it someday soon.” He leaves, rejoining Lady Bird at the opposite end of the room.

You frown at Aegon, disapproving. You’re dressed in a sparkling, royal blue gown that Aemond chose. “That was unnecessary.”

Aegon is wearing an ill-fitting green shirt—half the buttons undone—khaki pants, and tan moccasins. “I just did you a favor.”

“What happened to your new girlfriend? Shouldn’t she be getting railed in your basement right now? Did she have a prior commitment? Did she have a spelling test to study for? Those can be tricky, such complex words. Juvenile. Inappropriate. Infidelity.”

“You know what he brags about?” Aegon says, meaning LBJ. “That he’s fucked more women by accident than John F. Kennedy ever did on purpose.”

“That sounds…logistically challenging.”

“He’s a lech. He’s a freak. He tells everyone on Capitol Hill how big his cock is. He takes it out and swings it around during meetings.”

“And that’s all far less than admirable, but he’s not going to do something like that around me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s not an idiot,” you say impatiently. “He was perfectly civil. And I was getting interesting advice.”

Aegon rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry I crashed your cute little pep talk with Lyndon Johnson, the most hated man on the planet.”

“I guess you can’t stop Aemond from touching me, so you have to terrorize LBJ instead.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Aegon hisses, and his venom stuns you. And now you’re both trapped: you loosed the arrow, he proved you hit the mark. He’s flushing a deep, mortified red. Your guts are twisting with remorse.

“Aegon, wait, I didn’t mean—”

He whirls and storms off, shoving his way through the crowd. People glare at him as they clutch their glasses and plates, sighing in that What else do you expect from the worthless son? sort of way. You’re still gaping blankly at the place where Aegon stood when Aemond finds you, snakes a hand around the back of your neck, and whispers through the painstakingly-arranged wisps of hair that fall around your ear: “Follow me.”

It’s not a question. It’s a command. You trail him through the living room, into the foyer, and through the front door, not knowing what he wants. Outside the moon is a sliver; the light from the main house makes the stars hard to see. “Aemond, you’ll never believe the conversation I just had with LBJ. He really unloaded, I think the stress is driving him insane. I have to tell you what he said about—”

“Later.” And this is jarring; Aemond doesn’t put anything before strategy. He grabs your hand as he turns into Helaena’s garden, and only then do you understand what he wants. Instinctively, your legs lock up and your feet stop moving. Aemond tugs you onward. He wants it to be like the very first time. He intends to start over with you, the dawning of a new age in the dead of night.

Hidden in the circle of hedges, he takes your face roughly in his hands and kisses you, drinks you down like a vampire, consumes you like wildfire. But your skull echoes with panic. I don’t want him touching me. I don’t want another child with him. “Aemond…”

He doesn’t hear you, or acts like he doesn’t, or mistakes it for a murmur of desire, or chooses to believe it is. He has you down on the grass under the vengeful gaze of Zeus, the fountain splashing, the sounds of the house a low foreign drone. He yanks off your panties, but he doesn’t want you naked like he always did before. He pushes the hem of your shimmering cobalt gown up to your hips and unbuckles his trousers. And you realize as he’s touching you, as he’s easing himself into you: He doesn’t want to have to look at my scar.

You can’t ignore him, you can’t pretend it’s not happening. He’s too big for that. It’s a biting fullness that demands to be felt. So you kiss him back, and knot your fingers in his short hair like you used to, and try to remember the things you always said to him before. And when Aemond is too absorbed to notice, you look away from him, from the statue of Zeus, and peer up into the stone face of Athena instead: the goddess who never married and who knows the answer to every question.

“I love you,” Aemond says when it’s over, marveling at the slopes of your face in the dim ethereal light. “Everything will be right again soon. Everything will be perfect.”

You conjure up a smile and nod like you believe him.

“What did LBJ say?”

“Can I tell you later tonight? After the party, maybe? I just need a few minutes.”

“Of course.” And now Aemond pretends to be patient. He buckles his belt and returns to the main house, his blood coursing with the possibilities only you can make real, his skin damp with your sweat.

For a while—ten minutes, twenty minutes—you lie there on the cool grass wondering what it was like for all those mortals and nymphs, being pinned down by Zeus and then having Hera try to kill them afterwards, raising ill-fated reviled bastards they couldn’t help but love. What is heaven if the realm of the immortals is so cruel? Why does the god of justice seem so immune to it?

When at last you rise and walk back towards the house, you find Mimi at the edge of the garden. She’s on her knees and retching into a rose bush; she’s cut her face on the thorns, but she hasn’t noticed yet. She’s groaning; she seems lost.

You reach for her, gripping her bony shoulders. “Mimi, here, let’s get you upstairs…”

“No,” she blubbers, tears streaming down her scratched cheeks. “Just go away. Leave me.”

“Mimi—”

“No!” she roars, a mournful hemorrhage as she slaps your hands until you release her.

“You don’t have to be this way,” you tell her, distraught. “You can give up drinking. We’ll help you, me and Fosco and Ludwika. You can start over. You can be healthy and present again, you can live a real life.”

Mimi stares up at you, her grey eyes glassy and bloodshot but with a vicious, piercing honesty. “My husband hates me. My kids don’t know I exist. What the hell do I have to be sober for?”

You weren’t expecting this. You don’t know what to say. “We can help make the world better.”

“The world would be better without me in it.”

Then Mimi curls up on the grass under the rose bush, and stays there until you return with Fosco to drag her upstairs to her empty bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next afternoon, you’re lying on a lounge chair by the pool. Tomorrow the family will leave Asteria and embark upon a vigorous campaign schedule that will continue, with very few breaks, until Election Day on Tuesday, November 5th. The children are splashing and shrieking in the pool with Fosco, but you aren’t looking at them. You’re staring across the sun-drenched emerald lawn at the Atlantic Ocean. You’re envisioning all the bones and splinters of sunken ships that must litter the silt of the abyss; you’re thinking that it’s a graveyard with no headstones, no memory. Your swimsuit is a red one-piece. Your eyes are shielded by large black Ray Bans aviator sunglasses. Your gaze flicks up to the cloudless blue sky, where all the stars and planets are invisible.

Jupiter has nearly a hundred moons; the largest four were discovered by Galileo in 1610. Europa is a smooth white cosmic marble with a crust of ice, beautiful, immaculate. Ganymede, the largest moon in our solar system and the only satellite with its own magnetic field, is rumored to have a vast underground saltwater ocean that may contain life. Callisto is dark and indomitable, riddled with impact craters; because of her dynamic atmosphere and location beyond Jupiter’s radiation belts, she is considered the best location for possible future crewed missions to the Jovian system. But Io is a wasteland. She has no water and no oxygen. Her only children are 400 active volcanoes, sulfur plumes and lava flows, mountains of silicate rock higher than Mount Everest, cataclysmic earthquakes as her crust slips around on a mantle of magma. Her daily radiation levels are 36 times the lethal limit for humans. If Hades had a home in our corner of the galaxy, it would be Io. She glows ruby and gold with barren apocalyptic fury. You can feel yourself turning poisonous like she is. You can feel your skin splitting open as the lava spills out.

Aegon trots out of the house—red swim trunks, cheap red plastic sunglasses, no shirt, a beach towel slung around his neck, flip flops—and kicks your chair. “Get up. We’re going sailing.”

“I don’t want to talk to anybody.”

“Great, because I’m not asking you to talk. I’m telling you to get in my boat.”

You don’t reply. You don’t think you can without your voice cracking. Aegon crouches down beside your chair and pushes your sunglasses up into your Brigitte Bardot-inspired hair so he can see your face. Your eyes are pink, wet, desperately sad. Deep troubled grooves appear in his forehead as he studies you. Gently, wordlessly, he pats your cheek twice and lowers your sunglasses back over your eyes. Then he stands up again and offers you his hand.

“Let’s go,” Aegon says, softly this time. You take his hand and follow him down to the boathouse.

Five vessels are currently kept there. Aegon’s sailboat is a 25-foot Wianno Senior sloop, just roomy enough for a few passengers. He’s had it since long before you married into the Targaryen family. It is white with hand-painted gold accents; the name Sunfyre adorns the stern. He unmoors the boat, pushes it out into the open water, and raises the sails.

You glide eastbound over the glittering crests of waves, slowly at first, then faster as the sails catch the wind. Aegon has one hand on the rudder, the other grasping the ropes. And the farther you get from shore, the smaller Asteria seems, and the Targaryen family, and the presidential election, and the United States itself. Now all that exists is this boat: you, Aegon, the squawking gulls, the school of mackerel, the ocean. The sun beats down; the breeze rips strands of your hair free. The battery-powered record player is blasting White Room by Cream. When you are far enough from land that no journalists would be able to get a photo, Aegon takes two joints and his Zippo out of the pocket of his swim trunks. He puts both joints between his lips, lights them, and passes you one. Then he stretches out beside you on the deck, gazing up at the September sky.

You ask as your muscles unravel and your thoughts turn light and easy to share: “Why did you bring me out here?”

“So you can drown yourself,” Aegon says, and you both laugh. “Nah. I used to go sailing all the time when I was a teenager. It always made me feel better. It was the only place where I could really be alone.”

You consider the math. “Wow. You haven’t been a teenager since before I was in kindergarten.”

“It’s weird to think about. You don’t seem that young.”

“Thanks, I guess. You don’t seem that old.”

“Maybe we’re meeting in the middle.” He inhales deeply and then exhales in a rush of smoke. “What do you think, should I get an earring?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It might shock Otto so bad it kills him.”

“I’ll get two.” And then Aegon says: “It’s not cool for you to mock me.”

You are dismayed; you didn’t mean to hurt him. “I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. You were mocking me. You mocked me about the receipt under my ashtray, and then you mocked me again last night. I’m up for a lot of things, but I can’t handle that. Okay?”

“Okay.” You turn your head so you can see him: shaggy blonde hair, stubble, perpetual sunburn, the softness of his belly and his chest, flesh you long to vanish into like rain through parched earth. “Aegon?”

He looks over at you. “Io?”

“I don’t want Aemond to touch me either.”

He’s surprised; not by what you feel, but because you’ve said it aloud, a treason like Prometheus giving mankind the gift of fire. “What are we gonna do about it?”

If you were the goddess of wisdom, maybe you’d know.

[queenshelby]

Forbidden Desire (Part 23)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest, Smut

Please comment and engage xx 😘

An hour later, when Tommy stepped into the large bedroom he shared with Lizzie, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness as he closed the door behind him.

He knew what, deep down inside, he wanted and this wasn't her . Lizzie wasn't the girl he yearned for night after night as he lay in bed, unable to chase away thoughts of you.

But this was the life he had chosen; a life with a woman who would bear him children, provide legitimacy, and bring his status within society up. This was the kind of respectable marriage that would keep his illegal business safe and hidden from plain view while gaining him political power. 

As Tommy crawled beneath the covers, Lizzie sighed, recognizing your scent on his skin , but chose to ignore it for the sake of their carefully crafted illusion of a happy relationship.

After all, Lizzie and Tommy were about to begin the next chapter of their lives together, surrounded by the grandeur that Arrow House had to offer.

It was a life Lizzie couldn't have fathomed if it wasn't for the Shelby family. Coming from a poor upbringing, Lizzie had always dreamed of a life of luxury and prosperity.

She believed that being married to Tommy would shroud her name with power and influence, allowing her to reach heights she had never thought possible. When she accepted his proposal, her heart was full of both excitement and trepidation, knowing that this would be the biggest challenge she would ever face.

The fact that he slept with other women also never bothered him, although she knew that, with you, all of this was different. She hated the fact that he slept with you because she knew that he was, in fact, in love with you.  She could feel the tension between you when you were together during family gatherings and the like, as if an unspoken electricity buzzed in the air. Lizzie would do her best to simply observe without getting involved, trying to figure out exactly what Tommy saw in you that he didn't see in her, but sometimes she lost her temper.

"Why her?" she thus asked, after about twenty minutes of lying there in silence, unable to go back to sleep.

Lizzie's voice, barely above a whisper in the darkness of the room, held a shade of anger that Tommy found familiar. 

"Go to sleep, Lizzie," he simply muttered, his own voice heavy with fatigue.

He sighed deeply and settled back into the softness of the bed, his thoughts drifting back to you.

You were never far from his mind, even when he was laying next to Lizzie at night.

He couldn't quite put his finger on why you elicited such strong emotions within him, but there was no denying them.

The attraction was like a moth to a flame, unquenchable and irresistible in every regard.

It was a spark so fierce and unpredictable that it defied all reason and logic. This attraction was a dangerous obsession that would ultimately implode into an inferno.

But then again, he knew that, come tomorrow, things would change. He was going to marry Lizzie , the woman he chose to become his second wife. He would have to put the memories of you, his niece, aside, as much as it pained him to do so.

In the quiet of his dark bedroom, Tommy lay beside Lizzie's still figure. Her soft snores filled the silence between them, but they provided little comfort to Tommy. His mind was distracted, unable to focus on anything but you; your smile, the feel of your body against his, and your eagerness to please him in every way possible.

He had a love-hate relationship with this, but overall, it heightened his urges to have you.

***

On the morning that followed, the big day of your uncle's wedding had arrived and you really did not want to get out of bed.

Witnessing the union between Lizzie and the man you loved made you feel sick to your stomach.

Nonetheless, you got up and got dressed in velvet green gown that accentuated your physique. 

You pulled your hair back into an elegant chignon, all the while staring at yourself in the mirror as you prepared for the emotional challenges ahead.

Every step toward Arrow House felt heavy with anticipation, regret, and longing.

The grand mansion bustled with wedding guests dressed to the nines, the air thick with perfume and excited chatter. Everyone was ready to head to the church and your uncle Tommy himself looked incredibly handsome in his tailored suit.

The tension was palpable, not just from the anticipation of the wedding ceremony, but also because of the secrets that everyone kept hidden. Secrets that, if exposed, could shake the very foundations of their world.

You made your way through the throngs of guests and slipped out onto the veranda, desperate for a moment of solitude. You leaned against the cold stone balustrade and took a deep breath, feeling the chilliness in your lungs as you gazed down at the rolling hills beyond.

The misty morning dew clung to the grass and hedges of the estate, shimmering in the weak sunlight. Your heart felt heavy as you watched a pair of birds soar effortlessly across the horizon, free and unafraid. What you wouldn't give to have that same freedom in this world full of constraints and burdens.

A gentle hand on your shoulder made you jump, but you collected yourself quickly and turned to face your father, Arthur Shelby. His rugged features were drawn further together with worry, his gray eyes searching yours.

"What's wrong, Love?" Arthur asked hoarsely, the hand on your shoulder a comforting weight as he too gazed out at the peaceful scene below.

The concern in his voice was clear, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for ruining the excitement for him. 

You shook your head softly, unwilling to burden him with your secrets and this unwanted marriage. After all, he could never find out about the kind of relationship you had with his very own brother.  "Nothing, Father. I just... I wish this day would pass quickly," you managed to answer as casually as possible.

Arthur's gaze became sharper, intuiting that there was something deeply troubling you, but he simply nodded and pulled you closer to him, letting you rest your head on his chest. 

"I know you are sad because of your fiancé's sudden departure but, trust me Love, you can do much better than him, eh?" your father said gently, causing you to chuckle. 

"I know," you simply acknowledged while, the truth was that you had already forgotten about Robert.

He had been but a fleeting distraction from the one overwhelming desire that occupied every thought; it was only Tommy who evoked such strong feelings within you.

With Robert, sex felt, well, ordinary - not worth remembering. But with Tommy, passion erupted in the most inopportune moments, leaving you breathless and overwhelmed by longing.

Sensing your silence, Arthur wrapped his arm around your shoulders and together, you watched as the sun burned through the fog, glistening on the dewy grass below.

"Come on now Love, let's head off. No doubt we are going to be late," he then said, seeing that it was time for you to make your way to the church.

You took a deep breath and allowed Arthur to lead you back inside, where the atmosphere had ramped up another level; guests chattering in excited tones as they gathered their belongings and made their way out.

As you wound your way to the exit and through the crowds of people, you were acutely aware of the fact that, despite your happiness for Tommy's new marriage, there was a bitter emptiness, too. You wished things could be different.

You sighed, taking one last glance around the magnificent main foyer before making your way outside and to one of the many Bentleys that had been arranged to transport all the guests.

When you arrived at the church, your heart leaped into your throat at the sheer number of guests that had turned up to celebrate Tommy and Lizzie's wedding.

You could feel the weight of tradition and obligation bearing down on you as you took your seat next to your father, who gave you a reassuring smile and, soon after that, you saw as Tommy took his place at the alter , looking dashing in his wedding suit.

Your heart ached within your chest as you took him in, and as if sensing your gaze, he looked up. For just a moment, our eyes locked, and in that instant, you saw everything you needed to see; the guilt, the longing, the desire that mirrored your own.

He was deep in thought , staring at you with a mixture of regret and a need so fierce it made your heart race.

The guilt gnawed at you both, but the pull towards one another remained.

You watched as he took a deep breath, composing himself once more before turning back to face forward just as the wedding ceremony began and it was then that a single tear snaked its way down your cheek, the pressure in your heart almost unbearable.

You weren't sad because of Tommy's forthcoming marriage as such, but rather you were distraught because of what your relationship with him represented - a love and desire that went beyond accepted norms, meaning this could never be you. You could never be with him, no matter how much this was what you really wanted. 

"I am sorry, I need some air," you told your father softly, slipping out of the pew as quietly as possible, but Tommy noticed .

His gaze lingered on you as you passed the crowds, the ache in your chest intensifying. You felt like there was a vice around your heart, squeezing tighter and tighter until all you could focus on was the pain.

Outside the church, you attempted to catch your breath but it was no use. All you could see, hear, and feel was him - Tommy Shelby. The man who had taken control of your very being since you realized you wanted him more than anything else in the world.

At the same time, you watched Lizzie, dressed in white, walking past and towards the alter where Tommy waited. She looked breathtakingly beautiful, but that did not stop the bitterness from flooding your mouth.

You knew what was going to happen next and you couldn't bear to watch.  You felt like you were going to be sick and, despite the chilliness of the air, sweat beaded on your brow.

You could hear every word of the ceremony as if it was happening right in your ear - the priest's voice droning on and on until you heard Tommy begin with his vows...

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[armandsfangs]

May I offer you a Devil's Minion sandwich, time travel flavour?

Imagine vamp!Daniel, in search of the rest of his memories from the 70s/80s, travels back in time and runs into his younger self and Armand in the midst of their romance. He sees the way Armand postures for young!Daniel - a possessive hand on his waist, a certain softness in his eyes, a subtle shift in stance to shield his mortal companion from this strange vampire - and has the horrible realisation that the guy whose marriage he just ruined was(is?) in love with him.

Meanwhile Armand almost has an aneurysm because who the fuck is this vampire whose mind he cannot read no matter how hard he tries? What does it want with his Daniel? What do you mean he has to actually talk to it instead of just using the mind gift??

And they can both read young!Daniel's thoughts which are just a continuous stream of oh wow a hot old man vampire I wonder how big his fangs are I wonder if they'll both fuck me at the same time oh please Armand let's take him home please please

Of course Daniel is too curious for his own good so he follows them home and has a crisis at the sight of his younger self eagerly clambering onto Armand's lap, kissing him sloppy style, and then offering his ass for vampire dp

Armand is glaring at vamp!Daniel in a way that says if you refuse him I will kill you but if you touch him I will also kill you so naturally vamp!Daniel joins them

Young!Daniel moaning and whimpering between the two vampires, thoroughly undone, as Armand bites down on his fang-marked neck while holding direct eye contact with vamp!Daniel who suddenly unlocks a cascade of memories of their time together

Vamp!Daniel leaning across his younger self to capture Armand's lips in a bloody kiss

Armand, completely thrown off by this stranger who kisses him like they've known each other for years, melting into their embrace despite everything

Afterwards, when young!Daniel is fast asleep, Armand tries to get some answers out of vamp!Daniel, who scrabbles at the seams of his vampiric gifts to get out of the situation by mindwiping Armand and his younger self so the space time continuum doesn't implode

[writingsofwesteros]

can you do stepfather daemon Targaryen and stepdaughter reader smut and she’s Rhaenyra‘s daughter and she finds out about them.

AN: Hi, I hope you like it x

NSFW

“Shh, you are going to get us caught one day.” He whispered teasingly into your ear. Daemon was past caring if he got caught. Rhaenyra knew who she married, it was not his fault if she’s shocked. You did not need to know that. It was so much more fun when you tried to stay quiet even as he stuffed you full of cock.

You whined; shaking on top of him as you leaned closer. Your soft lips brushing against his own. “Your fault..” You babbled out breathlessly. Daemon only smirked; raising an eyebrow. “I think you will find you are the one bouncing on my cock.” He purred; his tone taunting and full of amusement.

You whimpered and leaned closer; your bare body brushing against his chest as you hid into his neck. His hand moved up and down your back as you continued to bounce. His hard cock pushing against your soft spot that had you creaming only moments ago. Not that he cared; Daemon enjoyed pushing you to your limits.

His hand slowly moved into your locks now, pulling you close. Your lips easily found each other as your moans were finally muted. His tongue greedily finding your own to dance with as you whimpered; your eyes widening as his hips began to move. Your head began to fall back in pleasure.

His hands roughly moved to your bouncing breasts. He pinched your nipples and watched as you cried out even louder. His dark chuckle echoed around the room. “So good..” Daemon whispered his praises as he moved his hips. His hand slowly moves down to rest on your stomach.

Your stomach was bulging as ever; his fat, long cock always was a struggle to take, even now. It was something you loved. “Going to cum for me, hmm?” Daemon whispered into your ear; hotly mouthing at your neck. Marking you was his new favourite thing to do, especially when he saw them days later.

He slapped your arse when no answer came from you. “Have you gone dumb?” Daemon purred; his smirk only widening as he brought you against his chest. His cock slipped that much deeper inside you that had your whole body shaking. You were completely out of it now as your stomach began to tighten.

You gently shook your head; your eyes so wide in pleasure as you tried to babble out. “Stop being mean..” You whimpered but he only chuckled. Daemon leaned closer and passionately captured your soft lips. He could be meaner, you just didn’t know that. His thrusts quickened at that thought.

You were too far gone to realise the audience but Daemon had noticed his wife since she had wandered in. Her shocked eyes had him twitching inside you as he burrowed into your neck; subtly watching Rhaenyra. “My good girl?” He hummed and listened to your babbling of pleasure.

His hands moved to your arse now and pulled your cheeks apart. His thrusts quickened as you squirted around his cock once more. Daemon’s own release was not far behind and he flooded you so deeply. You could only collapse against him. His smirk of satisfaction widened as Rhaenyra slipped from the room.

~

“How could you?” Rhaenyra snarled; the fire he had once obsessed over her for came out. Thankfully, the children were dragon riding whilst the parent’s marriage seemed to implode. It was not like Daemon had any arguments. He was a depraved man with desires; he couldn’t help himself.

“How long?” The Princess ordered. “Not long.” Daemon lied as he slowly moved around the war table; his fingers moving over them. That seemed to appease her as Daemon stepped closer. “Do you not love me anymore?” Rhaenyra hated how weak she sounded as his hand moved to her face.

“Of course I do..” Daemon just loved another as well, maybe even more. He was unsure of that. He only knew that he would not let you go…but he would let Rhaenyra go. Not that he could tell his wife that. A slight fear of what she could do to you stopped him from speaking the complete truth.

The Princess hid into Daemon’s neck as he stroked her hair. Gods, what a mess he had to clean up now. How, he did not know. “I’m sorry I hurt you.” That was a good place to start, he was sure of it. “Gods, we are a mess, are we not?” Rhaenyra whispered; pain in her voice still as tears filled her eyes once more.

There was only silence now as Daemon kept her close. Those bright eyes of his caught movement at the door and he watched as your delicious figure came into his view. A soft smirk came over his face as he locked eyes with you. A soft smile came over your face as you relaxed. 

His hand moved up and down Rhaenyra’s back before he gently took her hand. “Lets eat.” Daemon hummed; pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before guiding her towards the chambers. He looked over his shoulder once more to you as his eyes completely softened at the sight of you.

He would make this right; Daemon had to. He couldn’t lose you, he thought to himself as he whispered sweet nothings into Rhaenyra’s ear. In her state, she was easy to manipulate and that’s just what he did. He pressed another kiss to her temple as the Princess leaned into his side.

You watched them walk from you; nervously chewing your lips as you looked down at your hands. Maybe it would be better if you left? Nobody would know if you took to your dragon and flew away. Those thoughts raced through your mind as you turned away. Your heart is still pounding in your ears.

You had made your decision; it would be the only one that would work, you thought to yourself as you began to move towards the dragon pit. The dark of the evening was beginning already. There would be nobody to stop you now; you were sure of it. You looked over your shoulder once more before turning the corner.

[rosaline-black]

I would love a blurb where hotch has a girlfriend whose love language is physical touch and gift giving 😍🫶

Went for just physical touch today because I believe wholeheartedly in touch-starved!Hotch

this is short but incredibly fluffy. Like almost grossly fluffy tbh

Also I’m currently accepting hotch blurb requests so feel free to send them in!!!

Hotch would consider himself good at his job. He noticed the smallest details about his team just because he was very intuitive. He knew Prentiss was a nail biter after a week of knowing her, he knew Reid would blink more as his anxiety increased and he knew that you showed love by small touches.

3 minutes and 42 seconds. 3 minutes and 42 seconds of torture as he tried to pretend like his heart wasn’t imploding at the mere sensation of your hand planting itself on the sleeve of his blazer.

When you first started dating Hotch was apprehensive. You’d known each other for years, you’d known him when he was married, when he was divorced. He’d known you through break ups and relationships you swore were the real thing. But as time ticked on, and he noticed more about you, more of your declared touches. The more he realised as cliche as it was, that the ‘real thing’ was actually in front him the entire time.

So right now, as you both sat side by side on the jet, your cursed hand resting on his arm, did Hotch relish in the feeling for the first time. He appreciated everything you did. The careless smiles and crude snorts that followed laughter you’d been bellowing after one of Prentiss’s sarcastic quips. Even the things you’d sworn you hated. He adored all of it. All of you. Especially the touches.

It took him a while to get used to it. Before you there was Haley, and well before she passed and even before the divorce papers had been signed he had been separated from her in physical form.

So yeah, it was safe to say Aaron hotchner found it tricky to function when you so openly loved him. Hugged him in front of everyone just because you wanted to, put your hand on his shoulder when you were standing behind him in briefings just because you wanted him to know you were right there. He’d never felt so wanted.

“What’re ya thinking about? I know it was a tough case but we caught him Hotch… he won’t be able to do that-“

“You… I was thinking of you…”

Your eyes widened like the rest of the teams did. It was rare to see Hotch express any kind of emotion during work but ever since the two of you had finally gotten together after literal years of pining, well they had all noticed the subtle changes in their unit chiefs earnestness.

No one was brave enough to interrupt the extremely romantic (and slightly nausea inducing according to Prentiss) moment except one Derek Morgan who had a sarcastic quip just waiting to be spoken.

“Woah there Bossman… next you’ll be getting down on one knee at the plane runway…”

Funnily enough Hotch couldn’t find it in himself to be angry. Not when he could practically see your cheeks radiating heat at the mention of marriage. Not when you’d now been touching him for 5 Whole minutes.

[scarletttries]

Roman Roy (Succession) Fluff Alphabet

Pairing: Roman Roy (Succession) x Reader

Rating: Pure Fluff

Word Count: 4.9k

Author's Note: thank you so much to the lovely person in my inbox that requested the Fluff alphabet for Roman, you are an absolute genius 😍 this boy is crying out for 26 affectionate letters and here they are! Thank you to everyone else who has sent in Roman and Kendall requests during the new season, I am working through them ☺️♥️

a - affection (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?)

Affection is hard for Roman Roy. He needs it, he craves it, he looks at you with sad, longing eyes until he gets it. And then when you wrap him in your arms, and pull him into your lap, letting your lips rest against his forehead ever so softly...he withdraws. He makes a quip and he's halfway across the room, panicking about the possible display of weakness, and steeling himself never to do that again. Until an hour later his head is slowly lowering onto your shoulder again and the cycle continues.

It will take months in your relationship before he finally lets himself just be held, and starts to initiate it himself; bringing his hand gently to the side of your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek while he leans in for a kiss, ignoring the warning bells going off in his head and just enjoying that he gets to do his with you. And how nice it is when you smile and kiss him right back.

b - beauty (what do they admire about their s/o? what do you think is beautiful about them?)

Roman thinks you are the most beautiful person he's ever seen, not because of the way you look, although he loves every inch of you, but because of who you are. The patience you have when he doesn't know how to do something simple because he was never taught. The warmth in your smile when he makes a dumb joke that makes him desperate to think of another. The way you move around him is calm and gentle, and every touch is soft, and no matter what, he never feels scared around you. Not even for a second. In fact when he looks into your kind eyes and you offer him a soft, warm hand, he feels truly safe. And for that you are a true vision of beauty, like a real life angel come to save his wretched soul and lead him to salvation.

c- cuddles (do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?)

d - dates (what are dates with them like? do they plan them out or are they spontaneous?)

Once the initial back and forth of trying to accept your affections is over, Roman will be big on cuddling you. Only ever in private, but he will practically collapse into your arms at every possible chance, losing the use of his spine the second you both settle down on his huge designer sofa, laying over the top of you so he can hear your heart beat with his ear to your chest, a constant grounding reminder that you're real and you're here with him. Run your fingers through his slicked back hair and rub gentle circles on his back and you've got a personal heated blanket for life. In public Roman is much less obvious with his affections, having to settle for leaning his shoulder subtly against yours for reassuring contact, hand trembling with anticipation the whole time.

e - ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Not one for planning, dates with Roman would definitely be on the spontaneous side, and honestly probably a little weird to start with. He's never really 'dated' before, usually relying on Roy family events and galas to act as occasions to bring his 'plus ones' to. But with you he wants to do this for real, so he reluctantly asks Tom where he took Shiv on dates before 'their marriage imploded killing thousands.' He'll try the usual spots like museums, galleries, restaurants, constantly asking you what he's supposed to do next like he's missing something while you walk around together. Eventually you'll show him how it's done, setting up a blanket fort with movies and take-out in your humble apartment and teaching him that the only thing that matters about a date is that you get to spend some time comfortably together.

f - fiancée (how do they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?)

Roman's the type of guy to overact to the smallest fight, make a cutting comment and then saying it's over, charging out the door before the other person can fathom a reply. He'd no doubt grow to regret his hasty decision after a while, but feel like going back would be showing weakness, resigned to moving on with his life. Luckily he knows you are far too important to risk losing, so even when he's desperate to slam the door and run away, he makes himself stay, knowing he never wants you to be someone he has regrets about.

g - gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

It would start with a comment from Connor after he's seen you with Roman at a few family functions, about how happy he seems with you, and how 'he didn't think his little bro would ever settle down, but to let him know when he needs the number of a good wedding planner.' Roman would panic at first, brushing him off with a sick joke about how he likes to 'live in more sin than Connor could imagine', and spiralling with the thought that everyone's expecting him to get married any day now, including you. He'd turn the thought over in his head while hiding in one of a hundred mansion bathrooms, feeling suffocated and left adrift at the same time. Like he has no choice but to ask soon because it's what's expected even if he doesn't want to, while also desperate to give you a ring that very second in case you think he never will and that'll make you leave him. After 15 minutes of hyperventilating on the toilet, Roman emerges from the bathroom to find you loitering down the hall. The second you give him that kind, reassuring smile and ask if everything's okay, he knows he's going to ask you, not because he should but because he wants more than anything for you to always look at him that way. It'll take him a while to build up to it, but he'll know pretty soon that it's only a matter of time.

h - hugs (do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?)

Roman is simply the softest boi. A lifetime of being his family's punching bag mean he never wants anyone else to feel that way, so every feather-light touch will be delivered with a shaking hand, whether he's carefully steering you through a crowded room so you can both get safely to a quiet moment together, or he's caressing your arm before leaning in for a surprisingly sweet kiss. Aside from the obligatory snarky comments, he's gentle with his words too, going out of his way to thank you for the slightest favour, the tell you how nice it feels when you praise him, when you touch him, to always let you know that he's thinking about you, even when his head is full of Roy family toxic waste. Be sweet to Roman, the first true act of kindness he's ever really received, and you will get a kind, soft, sweet boy in return, whose been waiting his entire life for the chance to freely show this softer side of him.

i - injury (how would they act if they got hurt?)

You can tell Roman grew up touch starved and alone because every time you hug him he stands there, rigid as a board for a spilt second and then melts into your arms like he's been waiting for that feeling his whole life. Like with his need to cuddle, he's all over you at the end of a long day, collapsing into your arms, or pulling you on top of him to feel like he's offering that loving comfort back to you. His hugs are always long and slow, bodies entwining as much as possible, limbs wrapping around you until you can't escape his grip if you try, the comforting teddy for a wounded inner child.

When Roman gets hurt, no matter how accidental it may be, it's truly heartbreaking. The second you start to fuss and check he's okay, and apologise if it was you who slightly knocked him, he shuts down, withdrawing in on himself and turning all his pain inwards. He'll tell you it's fine, it's all his fault, he was in the way, you were right to hit him, he was being annoying, he's the one who should be apologising. It'll take a long time to slowly teach him that he never deserves to get hurt, and that he can accept your help safely, you're not going to tease him or make it worse, that it's all going to be okay. One day Roman will come crawling to you for help when he's not feeling well and it will take everything in your power not to cheer and cry with pride as you wrap him in a blanket and steer him back to bed.

j - jealousy (how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?)

When you're hurt or injured I'm afraid Roman's useless. He's upset, he's overwhelmed, and you have to calm him down and give him very simple instructions if you need his help, praising him for each favour and telling him he's doing a good job at looking after you when he takes 45 minutes to successfully make a cup of tea.

k - kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to be kissed?)

Jealous Roman isn't loud or angry or the kind to make a scene. No, the first time he feels the green-eyed monster weighing down on his shoulders at some Waystar Christmas party, you the centre of attention for the half the fellas in the office, he just feels hollow. Despondent even. Like he was stupid for ever thinking he'd be able to keep you interested, that you wouldn't get a hundred better offers and realise you deserve better than the runt of the pack. By the time you see him skulking off down a corridor out the corner of your eye, he's all but resigned to you leaving here without him, feeling like he's nothing until you chase him down the hall, shouting his name with a cheerful tone that stings his heart even worse. He'd throw out some snarky line about' how he didn't think you'd notice him slip out through the fuckboy posse holding you hostage.' You'd laugh, but see the hurt underneath it, taking his hand in yours and asking if he's ready to get out there, or if he wants to go back in the main room and get inappropriately handsy with each other where everyone can see. He'll always choose to slip away quietly, but he wouldn't mind if a few of the guys from the office notice you two leave together.

l - love language (what is their love language?)

It took a long time for Roman to really ever want to kiss someone, so it still takes him a little by surprise when he has the overwhelming urge to feel your lips against his. At first his movements are awkward, his arms straight by his side as he presses his mouth a little too firmly against yours. Over time, you help him relax into it, letting your fingers rest at the nape of his neck and slowly moving your lips against his, letting him savour the taste of you and gradually chase each movement at his own leisurely pace. Once he gets the hang of it expect to constantly find him pulling your hips against his and cupping your face to gently bring your lips together, his tongue dancing over yours until you have no choice but to break for air, his eyes soft and loving as you pull your head away, knowing it won't be long until he needs to feel you close again.

I think the big two for Roman would be Acts of Service and Physical Touch. I think he's not gonna care that much about gifts given he's never really wanted or needed anything he couldn't get immediately, and he's constantly being lied to and manipulated, so just saying nice things doesn't affect him as much as truly showing him. He loves your quality time together, but the right five minutes with you can completely turn his day around.

For Physical touch it's already been covered, but give his hand a squeeze, his hair a gentle touch, his cheek a kiss? You'll have this boy melted into a puddle immediately. He's been so used to touches being rough or causing pain, that your soft, loving embrace is one of the ways he knows you truly love him, and he truly loves you.

m - mornings (how are mornings spent with them?)

Brought him a bottle of water because you notice he doesn't drink much? Brought his favourite shirt from his apartment because you knew he'd be sleeping over and you wanted him to feel his best the next day? Something as small as putting toothpaste on his brush and handing it to him before doing the same with your own would have him staring at you like you rearranged the stars for him alone. He can't believe you would go out of your way to do something for him, when you have to take care of so much more in your day to day life, so every tiny favour and gesture would make him desperate to try and make you feel that same joy. Even if he would most likely go overboard ranging from buying you a robot vacuum because you don't like cleaning to buying your apartment so you never have to pay rent again.

n - nights (how are nights spent with them?)

Roman is absolutely not a morning person. When he sleeps over be prepared to wake up to a very grumpy face, groaning in protest about the blaring alarms coming from both your phones. He'll insist on pulling the plush layers of duvet quickly back over the both of you, blocking out the daylight and the rest of the world in favour of just the two of you staring into each others eyes as slowly his demeanour starts to thaw and he accepts that you both need to get up. He'll steal a quick kiss for motivation before racing into the kitchen, putting on the coffee machine he has now very proudly learnt to use so he can feel useful in the mornings while you pull some breakfast together.

o - open (when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Before you came into his life, most of his nights ended with him crawling into bed alone, slightly tipsy, mentally replaying all his perceived failures that day. Now his bedtime is preceded by 45 minutes of hassling you; lying on top of you on the couch so you can't get up for bed, hiding your pyjama top as you start to get changed and claiming he has no idea where it is, but you look great so he wouldn't worry. Once you finally get into bed prepare for an endless monologue of little thoughts and insights, the light flicking back on every time you try to turn it off until eventually he lulls himself to sleep, curling up right next to your back, no matter how much space is free on the kind sized mattress.

p - patience (how patient are they usually? what tends to wear their patience thin?)

Roman's openness is very similar to that of a specific kind of mysterious local corner store/bodega: Never open when you think it should be, but sometimes you'll happen to be walking past at an ungodly hour and it will be open AND have the exact niche thing you need, following seemingly no pattern for its operating hours or inventory. In the same way, sometimes you will ask Roman a simple, first-date level, personal question and get nothing in response but a snarky line and cold shoulder. Then at 2am you'll find him at your door with a story from childhood that leaves you in tears and his favourite candy because he wanted you to know that about him after all. It's a bit of trial and error getting to know Roman, but as he slowly learns that his thoughts and secrets are safe with you, then he stops locking the gates to himself and starts giving you a key to let yourself in.

q - quality time (how do they like to spend with you?)

Being a Roy means you rarely have to wait for anything that you want, and growing up surrounded by short fuses. This makes Roman a little bit quick to throw out a cutting remark and start to get snippy when things aren't going his way. He hates that part of himself though, and wants to be more patient and understanding like you, so he's quick to apologise, sometimes going a little overboard with the apology to show just how much he means it (like when he got a telling off from Logan for sending a hundred bouquets of tulips to your desk, disrupting Waystar for the afternoon and throwing the Dutch economy into turmoil.)

r - remember (what is their favourite moment in your relationship?)

Like how it was unnatural for Roman to start going on dates with you, given how little of his free time he's ever really been in control of, spending time together also starts off a little uncomfortable for him. Sure when you're at work at Waystar he's happy to just sit on the floor by your desk, chatting shit and ignoring the strange looks for passersby as they try to have normal work conversations with you. And if you go to a cafe or a bar after work and just spend your time talking about nothing and laughing at each others dumb one-liners then it's as easy company as Roman's ever known. It's when he tries to plan every second, desperate to make sure you don't get bored that you have to slow him down and take him by the hand and ask him what he actually feels like doing with your rare Sunday off, the response to which is pretty much always "Can we just do, like, fucking nothing?" Which you are more than happy to join him in, lounging across his living room while the TV blares in the background and you just enjoy being in each others comfortable company.

s - security (how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?)

The first birthday he celebrated with you, before you were really an item, and you made him actually feel like this birthday was actually something worth celebrating. I have a whole section on this in these headcanons.

t - try (how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Growing up Roman always wished there had been someone around to protect him from his father and his family and the expectations of the Roy family name and now you do that for him effortlessly with your support and patience and kindness. So when Roman gets the chance, he's so determined to play the role of protector, making sure no one can ever make you feel like they have him. Be prepared to be the one reason Roman will stand up to his family and not let them lead him along, stopping any sly comments before they start. And when the inevitable workplace rumours start about the two of you, he'll find whoever dared start them and give them a stirring speech about how it would take him less than three phone calls to completely ruin their life, meaning suddenly no one at work has any opinion on your personal life. In return Roman wouldn't ever want you to stand up for him in an obvious way, he doesn't want to be accused of not fighting his own battles. Instead just protect his heart afterwards, piece him back together when he's broken down, remind him you still think the world of him, and you'll easily be his hero.

u - upset (how do they act when you’re upset? how do they act when they’re upset?)

Poor Roman really feels the pressure when it comes to special occasions. He's got all the resources in the world, but frankly a supreme lack of practical skills. He'll try to follow a recipe from a Michelin starred chef, only to realise nothing looks like it does in the video and now something smells like burning, and you'll be home any minute and the surprise will be ruined. You'll find him crouched under the dining table in tears while the smoke alarm blares, devastated because 'he can't do anything right, and you're going to realise that and run.' A few well timed kisses and a reminder that you know he's extraordinary even if he's not much of a cook, and that you're not going anywhere and he'll be back on his feet again in no time. While he might struggle with the big events, on a day to day level he always puts in the effort, coming to find you at every event and work day, learning how to do simple things to make your life easier, and genuinely being a surprisingly good person to live with when he sleeps over, something that doesn't go unnoticed by either of you.

When Roman's upset it takes a long time to try and coax it out of him, his instincts to just stuff it down and make a joke bubbling up to the surface initially. But slowly he'll learn that a problem shared is a problem halved and he'll start offering up his troubling thoughts before they overwhelm him and lead to a full breakdown.

v - vanity (how concerned are they with their looks?)

When you're upset, Roman is surprisingly empathetic. He likes that he gets to be the person to tell you it's going to be okay, and to listen to whatevers troubling you, rather than another source of vicious mockery when he's spent his whole life surrounded by that. He'll rage about how much bullshit things are when they're not going your way, wrapping his arms around you and grumbling adorable 'oh nos' into the top of your head until you can't help but crack a smile.

w - wildcard (a random headcanon for them)

Roman's never been hugely fussed by fashion or trying to look a certain way, he's had the same haircut since he was 19 and while he sometimes wishes he was as tall as his brothers, mostly he's more concerned with what's on the inside when it comes to his self-love, or self-loathing. That being said, if you were to call him handsome he'd spend the rest of the day with a cocky grin on his face and checking himself out proudly in every single reflective surface he walked past.

The first time you held Roman Roy's hand was a complete accident; he'd been walking backwards up a flight of stairs in front you, so he could continue the conversation he was enjoying so much with you that he didn't dare look away for a second, and almost tripped straight onto his butt. Luckily you managed to catch him by the hand at the last second, and as you pulled him back to his feet it was like his entire world stopped spinning for a second. The soft, warm feeling of your skin meeting his, the gentle squeeze of reassurance as you laughed at his lack of coordination, the couple of seconds too long he kept hold of you for, feeling like his blood was finally reaching his heart, hammering in chest for the first time he could remember. He was obsessed. He thought of nothing else for the next two days, staring down at his own palm to make sure the surge of electricity in his body hadn't left a mark when you'd touched him.

So he made a plan to feel that same way again, using the characteristic he was most confident about possessing; being annoying. He slunk over to your desk as usual, trying to hide the little smile he seemed incapable of wiping off his face whenever he saw you. You were focusing on your work, but gave him a little smile as he sunk on to the carpet next you, feeling his gaze fixed to your hand where it sat moving your mouse to and fro. He started the conversation as usual, complaining about the charity event he went to last night, describing every awful interaction he endured, whining about how much work he had to do today, despite being sat by your side. However every so often he'd slide his hand across your desk and nudge your mouse just as you were about to click. The first time you assumed it was an accident. Then every few seconds he did the same thing, pretending not to notice it was happening. Finally you noticed that every time he did it, he smiled a little at the contact with your hand, fondly remembering your stairwell embrace.

x-ray (how easily are they able to read you?)

So, hoping to succeed in his bizarre little game, the next time his hand moved to nudge yours, you moved a second earlier, capturing his hand in yours and threading your fingers through his. His giddy little giggle at your action confirmed your assumption about his motivation, so you spend the rest of the afternoon awkwardly trying to use your mouse with the wrong hand, while Roman happily clung to your other one, sighing happily every time you ran your thumb softly over his, content to spend the rest of his days right there.

y -yuck (what things do you do that they hate?)

This is not easy for Roman since he's used to being in a room full of people hiding their true motivations and playing verbal chess to try and get a few moves ahead. If you're having an off day, Roman might pick up on those vibes, but honestly he'll just assume he's done something wrong, and start trying to make it up to you somehow. You'll have to be a bit direct with Roman, but he'll always do his best to do what he can to help once he knows what you're thinking.

z - zzz (what is a sleep habit of theirs?)

While Roman loves being on the receiving end of your kindness and love, it makes his skin crawl when he sees you genuinely getting along with Connor and Willa. You can't help but find Willa genuine and interesting, and while Connor might be delusional and certainly not fit for the presidency, he doesn't lie and manipulate like the other Roys and enjoys having someone who really wants to hear about his camping trips with Roman and the parts of his youth that he rarely gets to remember fondly. Roman feels like there's something hideously wrong with the picture when he finds the three of you sat at the back table of a gala, avoiding business talk and just being human beings, but that's only because he doesn't understand that you and Connor have something very important in common; loving Roman.

No son of Logan Roys was ever to be permitted sleeping with a stuffed animal, so despite a childhood of nightmares and fear, Roman never had a teddy growing up. As an adult he's rarely spent the night alongside someone he truly cares about and trusts, so the first time he sleeps over you wake up to find his little fists clinging to you, like you might somehow drift out to sea in the night. When he realises he immediately apologises and makes a joke about 'not wanting you to swipe his wallet while he slept', but night after night you two always wake up to him holding onto you for dear life, to the point that you'll hold his hand as soon as you get into bed and watch him drift off to sleep so much easier. Bonus tip: when he gets sent halfway across the world on business and can't bring you with him, get him one of those special teddy bears you can record a message in and, once he's made a hundred ultra-masculine jokes about how ridiculous and creepy it is, it will become his prized possession.

[transbookoftheday]

Rules for Ghosting by Shelly Jay Shore

To save his family's failing funeral home—and his own chance at a queer love story—a reluctant clairvoyant must embrace the gift he long ignored in this poignant and tender debut.

Ezra Friedman sees ghosts, which made growing up in a funeral home complicated. It might have been easier if his grandfather’s ghost didn’t give him scathing looks of disapproval as he went through a second, HRT-induced puberty, or if he didn’t have the pressure of all those relatives—living and dead—judging every choice he makes. It’s no wonder that Ezra runs as far away from the family business as humanly possible.

But when the floor of his dream job drops out from under him and his mother uses the family Passover seder to tell everyone she’s running off with the rabbi’s wife, Ezra finds himself back in the thick of it. With his parents’ marriage imploding and the Friedman Family Memorial Chapel on the brink of financial ruin, Ezra agrees to step into his mother’s shoes and help out . . . which means long days surrounded by ghosts that no one else can see.

And then there’s his unfortunate crush on Jonathan, the handsome funeral home volunteer . . . who just happens to live downstairs from Ezra’s new apartment . . . and the appearance of the ghost of Jonathan’s gone-too-soon husband, Ben, who is breaking every spectral rule that Ezra knows.

Because Ben can speak. He can move. And as Ezra tries to keep his family together and his heart from getting broken, he realizes that there’s more than one way to be haunted—and more than one way to become a ghost.

[alishaaxo]

ok there’s a lot of talk on the androw farman and rhaena targaryen situation and i wanna give some of my opinions on it all:

- rhaena did have a horribly traumatic life which makes it understandable why she was so detached to her children and husband. but this doesn’t justify how badly androw was treated.

- androw was disrespected so much that even servants didn’t obey his orders as their superior, nobles would insult him and children even bullied him.

- rhaena had survived a horrible marriage and many atrocities in her lifetime. marrying a second-son of a minor lord could grant her peace to find rest in her life which she never had during the war, along with favouring the house that had granted her and her daughter’s protection.

- androw was 17 while rhaena was 26 when they married. they first met when he was 11 and she around 19-20 i believe. i personally don’t think this means much because this isn’t a grooming situation like some may think but rather a marriage of convenience that everyone likely was aware of.

- it is strange that elissa farman would kind of selfishly allow this wedding to occur when it would only favour herself, her house and rhaena, yet make her little brother never be able to find true love. it wouldn’t favour her brother in a personal level. perhaps it makes sense because elissa may believe her brother would be taken care of as dragonstone’s new lord and favoured in that sense then, but it was the opposite case in reality where he was treated as scum even by peasants.

- the issue with their marriage is not that rhaena didn’t have androw treated like her superior as it was expected for a woman to, but rather to me that he wasn’t even treated with a modicum of respect and rhaena did nothing to temper that. instead she spent her time with her lady-friends and neglected her daughter and husband, leading to aerea to act out and spill a whole chamber-pot on androw’s head in a childish retaliation.

- rhaena doesn’t owe androw her love. marriages in westeros are political and in marrying him she uplifted her minor house while also allowing herself to rest from politicking matters and difficulties that could come from marrying a man from a great house, especially since they could attempt to infringe on her rights as lady of dragonstone. rhaena even told him allegedly to find a pretty maid to bed.

- i think though at this point of her saying so, androw had already become depressed and unwilling to act. he had been humiliated through their travels as he wasn’t respected as her husband, and their marriage itself was questioned which would be rather humiliating for a man of westeros for not consummating a marriage is unmanly to do plus to have this happen all while a bastard is trying to seduce his wife likely also triggered this depression too. he drank a bunch, stayed abed for days and his figure changed from a handsome one to puffy-faced, possibly from the alcoholism.

- after the loss of his sister elissa, androw had nobody and so attempted to make something of himself by becoming lord commander of rhaena’s garrison, only to be laughed not only by rhaena but her LADIES too. i get that tensions were high as elissa who was beloved by them both had stole and ran off, but allowing ladies to laugh in the face of your own husband is a big disrespect that must’ve hurt androw a lot.

- androw was NOT in the right for murder whatsoever. he hurt an innocent maester and a bunch of ladies who did not deserve what he did. even if they insulted and laughed at him, nothing excuses such atrocities.

overall, i feel sympathy for both of them but even in the face of everything that had occurred to her, rhaena had NEVER done such thing on the level if the murders androw farman did against her ladies, her maesters and eventually himself. he did go through lots of humiliating things and i think elissa’s runaway was the trigger for him imploding, especially as she was his one confidant and may have tempered rhaena+ladies’ snarky attitude toward him, but still, no way this justifies what insane thing he did. i think they ended up with a fitting ending, androw did the terrible things he desired but ended it by killing himself, finally escaping the torment of life. but rhaena was justified in wanting revenge and was able to find that by having him fed to her dragon, but i think it was nice he ended on his own terms first because if she had his private parts butchered before murdering him, it would really make it seem like she did indeed un-masculinise him even in his final breath. instead, plain-old fed to w dragon seems better.

tl:dr: sad for them both but murder isn’t the answer so ig im on rhaena’s side more? but the treatment of androw was so diabolical and she should’ve never let that slide from her servants, ladies and own daughter. but im also sick of the ppl trying to justify rhaena because shes a “cool girlboss” and that androw defenders are just “loser reddit incels” because its so much more than that. they’re both broken people who did lots of wrong.

[gentrychild]

Atsv! I have a fun hc that Peter's universe is the one who was supposed to date Deadpool but bc he 'mentored' miles he wound up repairing his relationship with his Gwen and thus never fell in love with deadpool

This is such an excellent headcanon! And it makes so much sense because, yes, Peter B. Parker is the one Spiderman most suited to welcome Wade Wilson in his life! (He would scream bloody murder about it and would be dragged into the dating kicking and screaming but you see my point.)

But it also has the potential to be hilarious because if Peter B. Parker was supposed to be dating Wade and went back with his wife instead... Doesn't that mean that canon is broken?

Does that mean that an incensed Deadpool will find his way into the Spider Society and claim to Miguel's face that he must set him up with Peter B. Parker or the multiverse will implode? Does Miguel have to call Mary Jane and asks her if she would be okay with an open marriage to save the multiverse, please, stop laughing, this is very serious-

Does Miguel curse Miles the whole time? Are the spider teens heavily involved in the whole plan because they find the whole thing hilarious.