#Nam's daughter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aft3rhrs · 9 months ago

Text

— pastel pink ღ

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: forbidden romance, step!father au

warnings: dead dove, yandere, pseudo incest, cheating, age gap (the reader is always 18+!), corruption, porn, cnc themes, mentions of masturbation, choking, dub con, fingering, daddy kink, rough sex, humiliation, praise, dirty talk, allusions to sadism & masochism, multiple orgasms, use of triggering words in an erotic and degrading manner* (listed under the cut), creampie, aftercare

*use of the words “rape”, “abuse”.

masterlist

Namjoon used to think that you didn't quite understand the consequences of playing with fire. It was not surprising, after all, considering your young age. You were but an inexperienced cub compared to the wolf that raised you, not yet having grasped the unbridled nature of all things wild.

Sooner or later, though, inching too close to the flames was bound to get you burned. Somewhere in the darkest depths of his heart, Namjoon craved to inflict the pain of the heat on you, mark his territory with a swirl of scars.

Wasn't every father's daughter his most precious gift? Pretty like a doll, with a heart that had flowers and thorns tangling through it. A bricked, bleeding house that welcomed no intruders. He wanted nothing more than to keep it safe.

It was those protective instincts that had always kept him in check, tamed, in constant agony over something he could never have.

Until tonight.

Until it turned out your doe eyes and the pastel pink of your bedroom were misleading lies; and you yearned for the burn of the fire, simply too afraid to dive into its scorching depths.

And what was his duty if not to help you experience life, fulfill all your soul's desires? With immense love and a guiding, fatherly hand, now stuck in between your soft thighs.

"Is this what you like?"

The hoarse whisper made you clench. You whimpered in response, your eyes growing warm.

"No."

You knew it was pointless to lie; he could feel you soaking his fingers, pulsing around their thick girth. But it was too much handle, and the filthy video playing on the screen made you want to shrink.

"Yeah," Namjoon coaxed, breathing into your ear. "You like watching old men fuck their daughters? Like watching them abuse their good little girls?"

Relentless, he pumped the digits in and out of your poor cunt, and the tears overflowed, a dangerous combination of the shame and the orgasm rippling through you. From deep inside your tummy, all the way through your spine, prompting your thighs to tremble on top of his.

What a stupid mistake; to lie down and let your eyes flutter closed right after coming. You weren't even sure when you drifted off, your laptop barely shut, still resting by your side. Namjoon came into your bedroom to check on you, tuck you in and turn off the light, as he'd done a hundred of times before.

The website on the screen caught his eye.

Dreams were safe; reality was different. No one was ever supposed to see this side of you. Especially not the man whose name was stamped all over the walls of the private, forbidden rooms that took up the space in your head. Not the man you looked up to, respectable and smart, all warmth and dimpled smiles, with such deep, kind eyes behind his pristine glasses.

Not Namjoon.

"Fuck," he cursed softly, one arm curled around your waist, grounding you. "That's it..."

Hips stilling, you attempted to catch your breath. Dizziness washed over you. You've never felt this good before; and perhaps a part of the reason why was that you were doing something very bad. The thought of your mother coming home still lingered at the back of your mind — no longer an imminent threat, the bullet dissolving in the haze of the bliss, though its existing chill persisted.

This would be quite a sight for the poor woman to witness; her husband's fingers buried deep in her only daughter's cunt, legs spread wide open on his lap. The lewd porn playing on your laptop only served as the final nail in the coffin.

You winced as Namjoon slipped out of you gently, disoriented. Your legs felt like jelly, but his hold on you was secure, your only safety net.

He stood up, lifting you with him. He didn't try to lead you back to your bed, instead placing a large palm on the small of your back and pushing forward.

You let your cheek rest on the cold surface of the desk, trying to ignore the dirty sounds of sex coming from the screen. Maybe it was the emotions muddling your brain, but you couldn't move, helpless as an animal with their leg caught in a trap.

In spite of the carelessness on your part, you've never imagined Namjoon reacting this way. You'd thought he would have been disgusted, concerned — embarrassed at the very least — and the topic would never be brought up.

Yet here he was, unzipping his pants, about to fuck you on the same desk you occupied to complete your homework every night. In the same room that used to be adorned in plushies and fairy lights, saturated with all of your innocence.

It was different than any taboo feeling or thought you might have entertained in secret; the forbidden fruit no longer a fantasy, but a sin weighing down on the palm of your hand, ripe for the tasting. Its only price was being cast out.

Namjoon caressed your ass, the foreign sensation causing more slick to dribble down the apex of your thighs.

"Such a good slut," he breathed.

The word whipped through you, leaving your skin stinging and lungs emptied of air. He hasn't addressed you with anything but respect before; in fact, you didn't think you've ever heard him use such vulgar language.

You clenched, as though the degradation chipped away at your brain, dumbed it down to a blissful void.

"No," you whined out in protest; of what, you weren't sure anymore.

You felt his hand lock around your wrists.

"Yeah, you are," he cooed. "You're my little toy, and toys get played with. I may be too old for that..." he slid your underwear down your thighs, "but you're not, are you, baby?"

A shiver ran through you, arousal mingling with a tinge of fear the moment he leaned over you, his chest resting firm against your back.

"Don't you want daddy to play with you?" He whispered, flooding your nape with goosebumps. "Seems to me that you do."

This wasn't the Namjoon you've grown to know; this was something different, sinful and ravenous. The rattle of the cage was nothing compared to it being set loose, claiming ownership over you, corrupting and consuming.

But you were wetter than ever, slick flowing like honey and coating the heated, swollen tip of his cock as soon as it pressed against you.

Namjoon was faring no better; his collar open and tie loosened, shirt wrinkled with the memory of your fingers grasping at it. All of his self restraint was gone, the cracked lock broken and the dented cage empty.

You did that.

He had a wife, a job, a good reputation. He worked hard to achieve success, however, the path laid out before him has always looked rather bleak without you in the picture.

And any doubts that troubled him in the past went up in the flames the moment he peeked at your laptop. Of course it was him you longed for, his cock you needed in your little pussy. You were daddy's perfect little girl, all too aware of your purpose. To be ruined and loved and owned by him.

His hand encased your neck, a grip that instantly made your head tingle. He pulled you up, letting you sink into his chest. His breath tickled your ear, and the girthy cockhead pushed against your slit once more, leaking.

"Why are you shaking, baby?" he inquired, sliding his free hand up your stomach. Palm wide open, only to close around your breast and squeeze. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

No. Yes? No. It was so wrong. You shook your head, like that would change anything; turn back time, conceal the truth, get you out of trouble.

Namjoon chuckled.

"It is," he husked, plush lips brushing against the shell of your ear. He moved his hips, rubbing himself against your nub teasingly. "You wanted daddy's cock, just like all these dirty girls on screen."

He eased his hold on your throat, but his hand remained around it; a reminder that he was in control.

Your head was swimming as more oxygen rushed in, but it made almost no difference. His words, his touch, they had a hold on you too, squeezing your lungs, making your clit throb beneath his touch.

"Wanted to be mine..." his tone mellowed out to silk, seductive and light. "Wanted to be my pretty, little angel, and take it behind mummy's back, hm?"

Eyes teary and barely open, you gasped.

"Even better if I just make you take it, right? You won't have to feel so guilty, and you can still slobber and cream all over it."

Your knees were close to giving out, wetness gushing obscenely onto his thick length. As if he could sense it, Namjoon tightened his arm around you, lifting a hand to wipe away the tears that fell.

"Oh sweetheart," he shushed, "see? Daddy knows what you need. Your eyes are wet, but your pussy is wetter. Bet it's tight, too. Tighter than your mother's."

He palmed his cock, at last positioning it back at your small entrance.

"Not that I ever wanted hers anyway."

It seemed your soul left your body the moment he sank in, and he swallowed all of it with his kiss. Any remnants of your thoughts, integrity or coherence; all swiped away with the lick of his tongue and the delicious stretch that left your cunt clenching and insides churning.

The noise he let out sent a thrill through you. He broke the kiss, broke you, his gleaming eyes hooded and adoring, staring deep into yours. Time seemed to fizzle out of existence.

Then he thrusted.

"Fucking whore."

A croaky whisper, followed by a moan you barely recognized as your own.

"I tried to stay away, but my baby just had to be a fucking whore. Couldn't help wanting daddy to rape her."

You shuddered, breath caught in your throat and hand clutching his bicep.

There was no going back, and at this point, it didn't matter. At this point, exposed and full of him, you ached for more; and like a good dad, Namjoon was there to cater to your needs.

He pulled out, only to slide back inside the velvety heat, pleasure bursting and simmering through. No more teasing; just shivers, and long, deep strokes that made his balls slap against your skin.

His breath fanned your neck, unsteady, edged with soft groans. He barely fit inside you, but your pussy took him so well, as though it was always meant to be his.

The way he fucked you drowned out whatever porn was still playing on your laptop, long forgotten, nothing compared to the depravity happening right in front of it. He pounded into you harder, keeping a steady pace. The desk began to thud, repeatedly hitting the wall behind it.

"Like that?" He mumbled into your cheek, his thumb lazily rubbing your stiff nipple. "Right there?"

He required no verbal answer. Not when you were so soft and pliant in his arms, the rush taking over. Still, he enjoyed the way you squirmed at the questions, eyes closed and luscious lips wide open, making the most heavenly little sounds.

He wasn't going to last; there was no time to waste, besides, the simple fact that your warm, wet hole was taking his cock — raw — was enough to push him close to the edge.

Desperate, he took a hold of your jaw and turned your face towards him. His lips were an inch away from yours, the intimacy of it tender and aching, like a bruise.

"Say, 'thank you, daddy,'" he murmured. '"Thank you for fucking my tight, little cunt.'"

You responded with a mewl, your muscles tensing along with the knot in your tummy.

"Gonna—"

Namjoon groaned. Too out of breath to finish the sentence, too fucked out, you let yourself go limp as he pummeled into you.

"Come?" He suggested, wanting to laugh at how quickly you nodded, but your walls were getting so tight only a moan came out. "Fuck. Good girl, making daddy so proud." His forehead touched yours, as if he could get any closer. "You deserve a reward."

The moment you clamped down on him, he muffled the cry that broke through with his lips, crashing them into yours. He kissed you hungrily, tongue and teeth, reaching the peak of his limit as your cunt quivered, effortlessly massaging his cock with the convulsions. He couldn't resist its pull sucking him in, trapping him in place to do what it was made for.

He groaned loudly, letting his seed spill as deep as it would go, letting you see stars right there on the ceiling; like the glowing stickers he used to put up there for you, just an old father and daughter tradition. Your eyes rolled back, and it had him gritting his teeth, grinding into you until you couldn't stand, and his own legs barely kept him up anymore.

He panted softly, gulping as you melted into him, both of his arms hugging your waist. Slowly, the heat was receding, and in its stead serenity crept in.

It was quiet when he washed you up, his hands gentle, wiping the mess in between your thighs and the sweat off your brow. Dressed in a clean shirt and underwear, you climbed under your blanket. Beyond sleepy and sated, your heart still felt heavy.

The edge of the mattress dipped as Namjoon sat down beside you, extending his arm to cup your cheek. Only then did he meet your eyes.

"I love you."

He's said it to you before, but it felt different now. It was different. And it made him hesitate, reduced his voice to a whisper.

"You're the best thing... that's ever happened to me. That's never gonna change. You know that, right?"

You nodded, wondering how in such a messed up situation a few words could feel so comforting. Perhaps it was because they were coming from him. Would that always be enough? Will it feel the same when you wake up in the morning?

Namjoon bent down to press a lingering kiss onto your temple, coaxing your eyes to shut.

"Don't worry about anything, okay? Just trust me, baby. And get some rest."

You relaxed, acknowledging the request with a small sigh. He watched you fall asleep, stroking your hair, trying not to dwell on how much he wished he could stay. At least he'd be able to get into bed before his wife came home.

In the darkness of his bedroom, he settled into the cool sheets, his glasses set aside and clothes neatly folded. He heard the front door unlock, the keys jiggling, and closed his eyes.

Time to sleep.

Time for a change of plans was awaiting him tomorrow.

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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 10 months ago

Text

you had me at 'hello'

the sequel to daddy all along

pairing: dbf! leon x f! reader

cw: alcoholism, p in v, masturbation, oral sex

word count: 10k

a/n: "when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible" <3 (quote from when harry met sally, title from jerry maguire)

thank you to @thevirgincherry for your feedback!

Leon remembers when you used to call him on the phone as a child. You’d interrupt his work, and Hunnigan would tell him to hang up, but he’d ignore her for a few minutes. You were too important. You’d pace around the living room, telling him about your day at school, what you did at recess with your friends and the art project you’re working on. He loved to hear about it. Most days, it was the only good news he’d get.

It pained him to hang up, but he promised you he’d call to say goodnight, and he did. Even when he drank, he stepped outside the bar and tried his best not to slur his words.

“Do you have a daughter?” A woman he’d go home with would ask.

“No,” he’d say, but it felt like it.

When FaceTime was invented, it became your favorite activity. Leon would pay extra for an international phone plan and for wifi in every hotel room, so he could talk to you. He kicked a woman out of bed once to speak to you. He never saw her again and hasn’t thought of her since.

“It’s an important thing for work,” he told the woman.

She knew he was lying when she heard a little girl’s voice on the other end while she was putting her clothes back on. He didn’t bat an eye at her expression - confusion, distaste, bitterness, who cares? Not Leon.

You’re his favorite girl, the only girl he’s ever cared about.

The morning after your 21st, Leon gently shrugged you off him. He washed his face in the mirror, hoping to wipe away the previous night’s mistakes, but he was still the same old Leon. A fuck-up, an idiot, a pervert who slept with a girl he’d known since she was a baby.

When you woke up, he was in the shower. You’d go on to ask him if he jerked off, and he’d say no, but he did. It wasn’t lust, it was procrastination - five more minutes before he’d have to face you. He tried to think about Ada with one hand on the wall and the other on his dick. Your name slipped out when he came, and it felt like another violation, in addition to lying and then cumming down the drain with your shampoo bottles - the ones containing the sweet scent of you - scrutinizing him.

A long time ago, Leon promised he’d never lie to you. It was the one promise he’d kept - until that morning when he told you ‘something important came up, and he had to leave ASAP’.

You could see it in his eyes, but you took out your anger on your father, who deserved it more after he came home that afternoon with an obvious hangover. You screamed at him until he told you to go upstairs. You were already on your way.

Leon only knew how to deal with his problems in three ways: call his therapist, drink, or fuck. That day it was either drink or fuck because there was no way he could tell his therapist that his mental crisis was caused by fucking his friend’s daughter, a girl who was decades younger than him. It wasn’t an illegal act, but he still felt like he deserved to have the cops called on him. I should get the death penalty, he thought. Unfortunately, capital punishment was not allowed in D.C., but Leon considered the fact that his actions may have been heinous enough for him to be granted an exception.

He decided on alcohol. He went to the ABC store, bought a handle of whiskey, got home, and dumped it down the kitchen sink. Nope. He promised everyone he was done with that. His therapist, Hunnigan, Claire, Chris, himself, and most importantly, you. He promised you.

Sex it was, then. He never promised anyone he’d be celibate. Leon was well over 40, so he didn’t use Tinder - though he had heard of it. He looked through his contacts list like a little black book, and his thumb hovered over a few names. He debated and picked Claire. Another idiotic decision.

“Hello?” Her voice already sounded suspicious. He didn’t call Claire on the phone often. They usually stuck to emails and texts.

“Hey, how are you?”

“I’m okay, Leon. Why are you calling?”

“I just wanted to talk. Do I need another reason?”

“Are you drunk?”

“No.”

There was a long pause until she said,“If I promise not to bring it up again, will you admit that you’re trying to get me to hook up with you?”

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Goodbye, Leon.” She hung up on him. He should’ve expected it. He texted her an apology later, which she accepted.

Soon after, before he could make another mistake, he received a text from a number he hadn't saved. “Are you in D.C.?” It read.

“Who is this?”

“A.W.” She wouldn’t even sign her full name - didn’t want a paper trail. Classic Ada.

“Yeah, I’m home right now.”

“I’ll be there in an hour or so. I have some things to finish up.”

“K” Leon texted and left the door unlocked.

He knew it was her by the click of her heels.

“In the bedroom,” he called.

“Perfect,” she said when she reached the threshold, “Nice of you to be ready for me.”

He shrugged and smiled because he was tired and had been in that position for hours, but he’d pretend like he’d done her a favor by getting down to a pair of sweatpants before she arrived.

She worked on getting out of her dress. “Not going to help?” she asked, annoyed.

“Thought you could do it yourself,” he said, teasing her.

“Thought you treated your guests nicely.”

“I’m about to.” And he did. At least, nice enough. They didn’t talk during sex because they never do. They’d worked out the logistics of their arrangement long ago. It was a pretty sweet deal, especially since there were never any condoms involved. Leon didn’t mind paying the 40 or so for Plan B in the morning. He couldn’t give less of a fuck what the cashier at the pharmacy thought of him.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked after round two. He used to have more stamina.

“About what?” She was slightly more interested and less suspicious than Claire was when he’d called her earlier that night.

“I need advice.”

“That’s new. I’m flattered.”

“You know that girl, my friend’s daughter?”

“The one you’re always gushing about? She’s practically your daughter.”

Yeah, you really were his little girl, considering even Ada had heard about you from Leon.

“Don’t say that.” His defensiveness was a confession in and of itself.

“You slept with her,” she said, matter–of-factly.

“How’d you know that?”

“I can see the guilt in your eyes. She’s an adult, right?”

“Yeah, just turned 21.”

“Okay. Nothing illegal, then. Just… an interesting situation.”

“Yeah, I fucked things up pretty bad.”

She hummed in agreement. There was no pity, but no ridicule either. She cared enough not to laugh at his idiocy.

“What do you want me to say?” she asked.

“Whatever you’re thinking.”

“Either be with her or don’t. Don’t string her along.”

“You’re one to talk,” he mumbled. He wanted the remark to pass through the air as a bit of his dry wit and not his eternal bitterness.

“I’m not stringing you along. You know that this is all we’re ever going to be.”

“That’s what I told her.”

“But she’s 21. You’re much older, and if you can’t wrap your pretty little head around this arrangement yet, then…”

He was 21 when he met Ada. And she broke his heart without giving him any reason to think whatever they had was more than a kiss. Ironic. He wondered if she knew the way she was playing with his head at the time. He’d always liked to believe she had a good heart, it was just deep, deep, deep down under all the layers of mystique and her cold disposition.

He was supposed to be the good man, the hero, a beacon of morality, of all things just. But he was on Ada’s level now. Ada the heartbreaker.

“Can you just tell me what to do?” He asked, pissed off at his own indecision.

“Why? So you can blame me later when you don’t like the choice you make?”

She knew him well. He stayed silent.

“I’m not going to be your scapegoat,” she said.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but thank you for your honesty.”

She laughed - almost, but it was genuine amusement because, despite it all, she did care. People never really stop caring do they? She left in the morning and didn’t need an excuse, not like Leon did with you.

You told yourself you wouldn’t call, but weeks went by, and you hadn’t heard anything. You were wondering if was alive at that point. And you missed him. So you called.

His phone vibrated on the bedside table; he picked it up, looked at the caller ID, and saw your name. A part of him still got that same warm, fuzzy feeling that he always felt when you called, and the other part was full of dread and guilt.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” you said.

There was a lull. Dead air, not peaceful silence.

“How are you?”

“I’m okay. How are you?”

“Doin’ fine.” It was a lie. You missed him too much to be considered “fine.”

Your hands should not have been traveling downward, but they were. They had a mind of their own that lived between your thighs. You couldn’t help the fact that his groggy voice made you ache.

“What are you doing right now?” You suppressed the urge to ask him what he was wearing and where he was. You imagined him sprawled out in bed, naked and ready for you.

“Nothing. I was lying in bed, nodding off when you called.” He wasn’t nodding off, but he was in bed, mind filled with memories and stress per usual.

“Sorry to interrupt your relaxation, then.”

“It’s no big deal.”

He told himself that he’d keep one hand on the phone and the other fidgeting with whatever he could find so as not to reach any lower than his waistline. But there was something about your voice, the way you were talking - it was different than usual. He was probably just imagining things, but it sounded like you were touching yourself.

He was getting hard already, and it was distracting. He had to do something about it. It was either jerk off to the sound of your voice or think about something horrific and grotesque to make his dick go soft. He spent enough time thinking about dead bodies and parasites, so he indulged himself and decided to worry about the consequences later. It’s not like you’d know anyway. Leon could be stealthy.

“What are you up to?” he asked.

“Calling you.” Your little laugh was light and airy, and maybe he wasn’t just imagining things. It was the voice you used when you asked him, so coquettish, to kiss you.

You thought you heard him moving around, and then he dropped the phone. He was trying to hold the phone between his ear and his shoulder while taking his pants off.

“Sorry. Dropped you,” he said when he retrieved the phone.

“How’d you do that? It just slipped out of your hands?”

Fuck. She caught on quick. Too smart for her own good.

“Guess so.” He didn’t have an excuse. All of the blood that was supposed to be in his brain was in his cock, which was now painfully hard.

“What have you been doing these past weeks?”

“Work mostly.” Thinking about you. I can’t get you off my mind, no matter how many other women I sleep with.

“Anything fun?” your question felt pointed even though it wasn’t.

“A little bit.”

“Like what?”

“Some things should stay a secret. I’ll tell you when you’re older.” He would never tell you about his escapades with Ada.

You thought you knew what he meant. You couldn’t decide whether to be jealous or not. You were too focused on remembering what he looked like during sex, and it was a glorious sight. Someone should paint him, sculpt him, anything to preserve his beauty, you thought. It was worthy of a new renaissance.

“Have you been up to anything fun?” he asked, not sure whether he wanted to hear about any of your sexual escapades or not.

“No. Just lounging around the house mostly.”

“Hangin’ with your dad?”

“Can we not talk about dad right now?” Your dad really kills the mood.

“Are you guys not in a good place?”

“It’s not that, I just don’t wanna think about him right now. I’d rather think about you.”

The words came out more suggestive than you intended. You could hear his breath hitch, and it might have been arousal, or it might have been surprise, but he knows.

“Oh? You’re thinking about me?”

“What else would I be thinking about?”

“I don’t know.”

He coughed to hide a groan that wanted to leave his mouth while you were biting your lip to hold back any moans.

“Leon…” you said, and it was the same voice you used to call him daddy the night he found out what it felt like to be inside you.

“Uh-huh?”

“How do you feel about me?”

I love you. “You know how I feel about you. I think you’re great. You’re a great girl.”

“A good girl?”

Fuck it. He’ll take the bait. “Yes, you’re a good girl.”

“Even now?” He could hear your pouty lips and dewy eyes. He could see the image of you coming undone beneath him. Angelic, soft, heavenly, ineffably so.

“Why wouldn’t you be? Are you up to something… naughty?”

“Maybe. It depends. Are you?”

He didn’t answer because you both knew that you were in the same state - naked and needy.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“In bed.”

“What are you wearing?”

“Your shirt.”

The one he left there. It only aroused him more. It was a white t-shirt, and the fabric was thin enough that if Leon were there, he’d get a peek of your nipples hardening through the fabric. He could slip his hands under your shirt and play with your tits. He could, if only things were different.

“What else?”

“Nothing.”

Nothing. You are naughty.

“Nothing?”

“Are you wearing clothes?”

“Barely.”

“Why did you drop the phone before? Taking your dick out?” You were so flippant and crass that it should’ve sounded ridiculous, but Leon was too hard to care.

“Might have been.”

“Did I catch you while you were already jerking off or…?” Or was it me?

“No, I wasn’t when I picked up.”

“But you are now.” It was not a question.

He took a deep breath. “I’ll admit it, as long as you admit you’re touching yourself too.”

“I am.”

“Is that why you called?”

“No, I wanted to check on you.” It was true. At least, in your conscious mind, but maybe your subconscious always knew that you wanted to do this.

“And what? You like my voice that much?”

“Yeah.”

Leon closed his eyes and allowed it to happen, giving himself this one little sin because he’d been good for so long, more than good - heroic.

“What are you thinking about, baby?”

“You, Daddy. I told you.”

Daddy? Jesus Christ. Leon was sure he was pushing his luck with God. He was getting more than he deserved in this bargain. Honestly, he never deserved anything you gave him. You were so perfect and he felt like he was ruining you.

“Be specific, princess.”

“I wish you were touching me.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“I want your fingers inside me.”

“My fingers, huh?”

“No, more than that. I want your mouth, too. I want all of you.”

Your voice faltered mid-sentence like you were getting closer to your peak, but by the end of your statement, your confidence overrode anything else. You didn’t just want his fingers, his mouth, his dick; you wanted all of him. You wanted his fucking heart and soul.

“You have me.”

“I want you here, inside me.”

He needed to be inside you. Fuck his dignity, fuck his sensibility, fuck his morality. He needed to feel your warmth around him again.

“I want that too.”

“Did it feel good for you? Did you like the way it felt with me?”

You were begging for a yes, and it was easy for him to give it to you. The truth is easy.

“The best. You’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“You’re lying.”

“I wish I was lying, princess.”

“Leon,” you whined, and it didn’t matter that you weren’t physically there; the sound reverberated through his dick, and he was dangerously close.

“I know,” he said, “Me too.”

“Can I? Please?” You didn’t have to ask, but it was hot when you did.

Leon wanted to make you beg, but he needed you to come first, and if he heard you say please again, he’d risk coming before you - no, he would come before you. He was already teetering on the edge.

“Come for me,” he said.

And you did. You were muffling your moans with your hand over your mouth, but you were close enough to the phone that Leon could hear it. He was lucky he was alone because he didn’t hold back when he moaned out your name. He shouldn’t have done that at all, though. Just another tally to add to the endless list of sins.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, meaning it two-fold. Please do not mention this.

“Am I going to see you again?”

“Yes, you’ll see me again.”

I’m never going to leave you, and you know it.

The next time you two saw each other, Leon picked you up from the hospital. You were not the patient, thank God. It was your dad. Drunk driving accident. Leon was more pissed than anything else.

The nurse asked if they should call your mom, and you laughed. Dare you to try, you wanted to say. They understood.

“Is there someone you can call?” They could see the loneliness behind your stoic facade.

“I can try.”

You called Leon.

“Hey,” he answered, not knowing his nonchalance was inappropriate for the circumstances.

You didn’t cry when you drove to the hospital. You’ve been your father’s emergency contact since you turned 18. Your heart was beating out of your chest, but no tears fell. You didn’t break until you heard Leon’s voice.

“I need you,” you cried into the phone.

If it weren’t for your tone, he’d think you meant, “I need you in my bed,” maybe even, “I need you inside me.”

But you were crying. He could hear the tears before they’d fallen.

“Where are you?” He masked his panic with sternness.

“Hospital,” you managed to say through your sniffles.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Leon was already grabbing his keys and jacket, imagining the worst.

“It’s not me, it’s dad.”

Leon was only slightly relieved. He doesn’t want your father dead, but you’re his girl; you can’t die on him.

“I’ll be right there.”

Leon didn’t drive fast, he drove safely.

“Name?” The woman working at the front desk asked.

“Leon Kennedy.”

“Relationship to the patient.”

“A friend. His daughter called me. I’m here to come get her.” He knew they’d want more of an answer than ‘friend’, and he was more than just a friend. He spoke with such conviction as if it were his right to be there as if they had to let him see you.

You didn’t talk on the way home - not to your house, but to Leon’s apartment. You insisted. You couldn’t be in that house, and Leon knew precisely why.

It was over a decade ago. You were at least 6 or 7, but no more than 10. It was one of those things that Leon tried to forget.

You called him on the landline and gripped the phone with both hands, slippery with sweat.

“Leon, I need you.” He swore he could hear a whispered ‘help’ at the end of your sentence, or maybe it was just his instinct.

Thank God you called his cell. He talked to you while he drove.

“What’s going on, sweetheart?”

“Dad. I don’t know what happened.”

“Is he okay?”

“No. He’s in the kitchen. On the floor. He’s not moving.”

“Is he breathing?”

“I think so.”

“Did you call 911?”

“No, I called you.”

I can be your father figure, your guardian, or the one who tucks you in at night, but I am not a paramedic.

“You need to call 911. Tell them what you told me.”

And you did. Leon got there after the ambulance arrived.

“Sir,” they stopped him before he could enter the front door, “we’re dealing with an emergency. We need you to wait out here.”

“I can’t.” He brushed them off and called your name. You came flying out the front door.

“Who are you?” One of them asked.

“Leon,” he said because that was the only answer.

He slept on your bedroom floor that night.

No, he didn’t sleep. He watched you sleep, constantly checking to see if you were breathing.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Leon offered.

“No,” you said.

“No? I don’t have a guest room.”

“I wanna sleep in your bed with you.”

Do you want to sleep with me? Absolutely not.

He raised an eyebrow, not daring to say the words aloud lest he put them into your mind.

They were already there, and you both knew it.

“Not like that. I just don’t wanna be alone. And I don’t think you wanna sleep on the floor.”

“No funny business.” He held out his pinky finger for you to take.

“No funny business. Serious business only.” You took his pinky and cracked a smile that mimicked the one he was holding back. You shouldn’t be laughing at a time like this, but you have to if you want to avoid crying.

Leon let you wear his clothes to sleep because you didn’t bring a change of clothes. You didn’t stop at home. It wasn’t the same as last time.

He was about to turn off the lamp on his bedside table when you said, “Leon?”

He turned to see you lying on your side, facing him.

“Yeah?”

“One kiss?”

“I thought I said no funny business.”

“I’m not trying to be funny at all.”

“I know,” he breathed the words into your mouth as he accepted his fate.

You gripped his shirt for dear life and wrapped one leg around his hip. He expected your tongue to be in his mouth and your hands in his pants soon. But he was wrong. It didn’t go any further than that. Your lips left his, but you never entirely pulled away. You clung to him.

“I just want to feel loved,” you whispered, answering questions he didn’t have the words to ask.

“You are,” he said confidently.

You fell asleep on his chest. This time, he did sleep because he could feel your steady breathing.

You found him in the kitchen, making breakfast in the morning.

“I have good news,” he said.

“Pancakes?”

“No. I mean - yes, if you want, but that’s not what I meant. Your dad’s awake.”

“Really?”

“Really. You wanna stop by your house on our way over to the hospital? For a change of clothes.”

“I can’t wear this?”

“I don’t think the hospital staff would appreciate you not wearing pants.”

“Why not? They make everyone wear those little hospital gowns anyway.”

“You’re not the patient. Plus, I think your dad would prefer you in pants, too.”

His expression told more than he was willing to say. He’ll think we had sex. We didn’t. But we did.

“I was kidding.”

“I know you were.”

“I’d like to see you in one of those hospital gowns.”

“I hope you never have to.”

“We could play doctor and patient.”

He turned to face you, mouth agape in surprise but holding back his laughter.

“If we did - which we won’t,” he held out a finger as he spoke, “you would be the patient.” Joking is a slippery slope.

Your dad went to rehab. Finally, it was a win in everyone’s book. Leon moved into your guest room during the months that your dad was away. It wouldn’t be fair to leave you alone when your life had been shaken up like that. Leon made it clear from the beginning that you would be sleeping in separate beds. He loved you, but not like that.

“You don’t wanna do it again?” You asked one night.

“Do what again?” Leon was tired from work. You were used to seeing the good version of him. He can’t hide behind the facade of the happy-go-lucky, charming guy 24/7.

“Have sex,” you said, making sure to enunciate, “with me.”

“No. We’re not doing it again.”

“Why? You said it was the best ever.”

“Why? Because this,” Leon gestured between the two of you, “cannot get more complicated than it is. I cannot take care of you and fuck you at the same time.”

You’d never seen him get so serious. Even on your 21st, when you were flirting with him, and he tried to brush you off, he was still being playful, still willing to let you try to win him over.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You stood still until Leon grabbed the remote control and un-paused the TV. Then, you turned on your heels and walked upstairs. You put yourself to bed that night.

You hadn’t realized the possibility that you were anything but an angel in Leon’s eyes. You were a burden to your father, a bigger burden to your mother - enough that she packed her bags and left, but being a burden to Leon - you’d never imagined it. Maybe he was just strong enough to carry the weight of you. Maybe your problems were too heavy for him now.

You didn’t cry. The wells had dried up. You cried them out over your parents. There weren’t any left for Leon. You fell asleep to the sound of the fan overhead.

You and Leon didn’t speak about it. He wanted to say, “I’m sorry for talking to you that way,” but he didn’t want to open the door for you to proposition him again. Maybe you’d just forget, he hoped.

Leon continued to be distant, and you had no one else you could talk to the way you did with him. You had no one but a few friends from high school who were home from college. You loved them, but you couldn’t relate to them a lot of the time. You knew they would accept you if you talked to them about your dad and his situation, but it always felt like there was some sort of wall between you and the rest of the world. One that was never there between you and Leon. Sometimes your dad managed to break through it, too. Sometimes.

As your father progressed in his recovery, you allowed yourself to let optimism back into your life. You went to visit him one weekend and ate lunch out in the yard.

“How’s Leon?”

“He’s fine, I think.”

Your father could see your attempt to evade further discussion.

“Is that it? You used to talk about Leon all the time when you were a kid,” your dad smiled as he spoke, “I’d come home, and you were always blabbing on about ‘Leon, Leon, Leon’.”

“Not much to blab about. He’s just Leon.”

Your dad accepted whatever you were willing to say and whatever you weren’t. He asked you about your friends, too. You’d spoken to him over the phone, and for the first time in a long time, he’d remembered what you spoke about. You didn’t have to retell the same stories because he was sober now. Your dad was drunk so often you thought you hated him, but sitting next to him on that sunny afternoon, you remembered why you loved your dad. He didn’t mention the tear that slipped down your cheek when he pulled back from his goodbye hug. He just gave you an extra “Love you, Kiddo” with a smile before sending you off.

Leon lived in your guest room, but emotionally, he was miles away. He had always been a workaholic, but it felt like he managed to spend even more time at the office than usual. One afternoon, when Leon was at work and you were sulking in your room, you got a call.

Leon used to schedule his lunch breaks around you. When you were in middle school, struggling to make friends, you sat at a picnic table out in the courtyard on the phone with Leon. You cried on your first day. Your voice shook with every word, “I can’t do this.”

“You can do this.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you’re you. You’re my girl.”

You told the mean girls who bullied you that you were talking to your boyfriend who went to a different school and they were stupid enough to buy it. Leon made you promise to stop, threatening to spill your little secret.

One time, you went to the nurse after having a shitty third period, and subsequently getting cornered by the worst of the bully clique. They told you that you had to call your parents if needed to go home or you had to go back to class. You called Leon and lied, saying you felt too sick. He knew you were lying and he didn’t have to call you out on it for you to see that you’d been caught. You climbed into the passenger seat and he flashed you a look.

“So, what’s really going on?”

You dished out the gossip over milkshakes. You sang Sheryl Crow on the drive from the Burger King drive thru to the pond just far enough away from the school.

“This is a one time deal,” he said, “or Hunnigan will take the stick out of her ass and make me into a kebab with it.”

You laughed so hard that vanilla milkshake came out of your nose. At your expense, Leon laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes.

“You better not tell your dad about this either,” he said.

You pinky promised on it.

Middle school was long gone, but the days of you needing him were not. He was the one to break first. He needed you, too, it seemed.

“Hello?”

“Hey, princess. I have an important question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“There’s a thing I have to go to for work… that I completely forgot about until Hunnigan reminded me… it’s an event with a bunch of diplomats and shit - point is, they’re sending me as the rep for the DSO and I need a date.”

“What’s your question?”

“Will you be my date?”

“When is it?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow? How formal is it?”

“Black tie-ish, maybe, I guess. I don’t know that much about dress codes. Hunnigan usually helps me with this.”

“I don’t have anything that formal.”

“That’s why I’m giving you advanced notice. So you can get something.”

Fuck it. “Okay,” you said.

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll be home early tonight and we can figure out the plan for tomorrow.”

You were not Leon’s girlfriend, not his wife, not his daughter, but you were his date for the night.

This wasn’t the first time you and Leon had danced together. He’d gone to a father-daughter dance with you when you were in kindergarten. Back then, you wore a little pink dress, cheap tulle fabric, and a tiara atop your head. Tonight, your gold dress was form-fitting around the hips with a tailored hem so you could dance without tripping over your feet. It didn’t quite brush the floor, the fabric stayed clean. The slit halfway up your thigh could only be seen when you moved. The classiest tease.

“Dance with me?” you asked with your hand out as an invitation, already inching towards the dance floor.

He thought about it for a good moment, and with an eye roll, he took your hand.

“For you,” he said.

It felt like prom night, in the awkward ‘where are we supposed to put our hands’ way. There was a novelty about it. Your arms around his neck and his carefully placed at your waist, no lower. You swayed back and forth, and Leon felt at peace for the first time in a long time. There was no pressure to be the father you never had and no expectation of the two of you sleeping together. It was just you, beautiful as ever, smiling as you swayed back and forth in time like you’d practiced.

“Did you take dance classes?” you asked him.

“No, why?” he asked.

“You dance effortlessly.”

“It’s not hard. You’re doing it too.”

“But you’re leading.”

“It’s simple,” he says, counting each step 1-2-3-4, slowly leading you through a box step.

Your smile made Leon smile. You made him giddy like no one else.

“Can you twirl me?” you asked because you knew he could unless he’d somehow forgotten how to in the years since he’d done it when you were a little girl.

“Of course,” he said with an unwavering grin as he spun you around, and to your surprise - and delight - he dipped you, too. He even dared to press a kiss to your cheek when he pulled you back up.

I love you. It was on the tip of your tongue, but you kept your mouth closed. Your smile said enough.

You and Leon made the mistake of getting tipsy on champagne, but the open bar was too tempting for either of you to refuse.

“I usually leave these things early,” Leon said to you around midnight.

“You usually don’t invite me.”

“I should more often because you are a great dance partner.” It became effortless once you got the hang of it, so you both danced until your feet hurt, and then you danced a little more.

“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed my dancing because I’ll probably never walk again after tonight,” you said, leaning onto him for support, “I need to get these shoes off.”

Wait until we get home, he tried to say, but what came out was, “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

Leon had complimented you a thousand times. This should not have felt so novel. You were always his pretty princess, right? But his smile was not light and playful like it usually was with you. The look on his face was so sincere. The redness rising in his cheeks was the confession. It was real.

“Should we go home?” You asked, secretly hoping you could get him to crawl in bed with you when you got there.

“We have to wait until one of us sobers up enough to drive unless you want to get a cab…” he said, “or, we could get a room.”

Leon’s face lit up, almost like he was proud of himself for coming up with the idea - a little giddy about it, too.

You had an even better idea to accompany his genius plan. “Can you hold the glasses while I get us a bottle?” You whispered.

“What?” He whispered back.

“Here.” You thrust your champagne flute at him after you down what was in it. “I’m going to go grab us something.”

“Wait,” Leon said, stopping you.

“It’s not like they’re going to miss it.”

“I didn’t say ‘no’, I said, ‘wait’. Let me book us a room first. Then, we'll come back to conduct your little ‘operation’.”

Leon made mistakes, but he wasn’t completely careless. He flashed you two room keys a few moments later.

“Take this,” he said, handing you one, “and go up to the fourth floor, room 405, take the glasses. I’ll get the bottle.”

You nodded and snuck out. You were lucky that no one was in the elevator to catch you with stolen goods since you didn’t have a jacket or a big enough purse to hide them in. You opened the door to find a lovely room with only one bed for the both of you to share.

“Perfect,” you said to yourself. You stepped out of your shoes and slipped off your dress. You were down to only a thong, no bra. Seducing Leon was a secondary motive. You really just wanted to get out of your clothes.

You covered yourself with the sheets before Leon walked in. You wanted it to be a surprise, and you were freezing your ass off. He swallowed hard when he saw your dress pooled on the floor.

“So?” He asked, holding up the bottle. “Want me to do the honors?”

“Yes, please.”

He poured one glass for each of you and said, “A toast?”

You nodded and held up your glass, giving him the go ahead.

He hesitated. “A toast to you,” he said, “for being the prettiest girl in every room.”

You clinked glasses with him and tried not to look too emotional.

“Like Celine and Jesse, right?”

“Hm?”

“Stealing the champagne. In Before Sunrise they steal a bottle of wine and wine glasses.”

“Yeah, I forgot about that. I think I’m Celine and you’re Jesse, though.”

“You do? Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have.”

You put your glass on the bedside table while Leon took off his shoes and his jacket. He left his glass sitting on the dresser next to the TV. Every rational part of his mind would be telling him not to do this, but they had all been lulled to sleep by the alcohol.

He didn’t climb into bed next to you. He leaned over and kissed you. It was better than you remembered. You reached out and pulled him in again when he pulled away to take a breath. This time he didn’t argue, he leaned into the kiss. It was more passionate than the last time you’d done this.

Leon murmured something about taking his pants off and you made no effort to stop him. The room was quiet minus the clinking sound of his belt buckle and then the pop of a button and the pulling of a zipper. You’d seen Leon’s dick before. You were eager to see it again, and yet, waited patiently while you watched him undress. His calloused hands ran down his torso, taking his shirt off button by button. He hung up his clothes in the closet, though he’d send them to the dry cleaners regardless. He wasn’t sexy, hot, DILF-ish. He was beautiful. You pretended you were watching your husband take off his suit after a long day at work. A familiar man, one you’d chosen to lie down next to every night. You longed for that choice.

He returned to you in nothing but his underwear, matching you in his state of undress.

“Wanna let me in?” He asked.

You lifted the covers. When he got under the sheets, he lay down on his side facing you. Your bodies drifted closer to each other until your skin was touching his. His lips were on yours again. You weren’t sure whether or not to ask. You didn’t want to shatter the delicate moment.

His hands roamed your body, ending up on your waist.

“Can I touch you?” you asked.

“Mhm,” he said. Not a reluctant yes, but a guilty one. If he didn’t say it, maybe it wasn’t so bad.

He watched as you palmed him through the fabric of his underwear. His breath hitched, and you asked, “Can I go down on you?”

He didn’t respond at first. “Please?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he said. His gaze was hazy and warm despite his icy blue eyes. He changed his position so that you could be on top of him. You kissed down his stomach, making your way down to the v-line of his hips. He pulled the covers down before you could dip your head below them. You thought it was a courtesy. So you could breathe.

He said, “I wanna see you.”

You were slightly nervous for your performance, but he looked pleased with the show by the time you’d gotten his dick out of his pants. You licked a stripe up the side while you looked into his eyes. He rubbed your cheek and smiled.

You took him into your mouth, slowly easing yourself down so as not to gag. You couldn’t go all the way down, but he didn’t mind at all. He was focused on trying to keep his eyes from closing and his head from lolling back.

His breath was ragged and his hands ran through your hair. He didn’t dare move his hips.

“Fuck,” he said, “C’mere.”

It was clear he was getting close. He pulled you up so that you were on top of him, your noses touching. He asked in a whisper, “Do you wanna do this?”

He was nervous. You could hear it in his voice. You’d had sex before. It wasn’t your first time doing this with each other. But, it was your first time making love. Something Leon hadn’t done in so many years it felt brand new to him, too.

You nodded and he swiftly flipped you over, so he was on top. He was going to take care of you. He always took care of you. That was the one thing that never changed between the two of you.

He kissed you with such a passion that every other kiss you’d shared before that was put to shame. Every time he touched you, he did so with reverence. The last time you were naked and entangled, it was morally dubious at best, a cardinal sin at worst. This was something holy.

He slipped your thong down your thighs and you kicked it off, letting it disappear somewhere in the sheets. He’d peeled back the final layer that stood between your skin and his. Leon paused. Everything paused. All that was left was your heavy breathing, matching his, and the thrum of your heartbeat, hard, but steady in your chest. Sure of its own existence more than ever at that moment. Leon ran his hands over your entire body, making sure to learn the way every atom made up your physical form. He understood you more than ever when his hands grazed your inner thighs. Your breath hitched when he brushed his fingertips over your clit.

Then, he began to finger you, getting you ready for him - which didn’t take very long.

You felt the head of his cock prodding at your entrance, and he asked, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

It took you a moment, but you realized what he meant: I don’t have a condom.

“Yeah,” you said, confidently as the thought of feeling him inside you without any barrier made you more aroused.

He began with slow thrusts. He kept his body close to yours. He didn’t increase his speed, but you could feel him deeper inside you. When he was finally fully encased by your warmth, he groaned. You could feel his cock pulsate and it made you moan. He never pulled all the way out, he stayed deep inside you for as long as he could, rocking his hips slowly. You wished for your bodies to melt into one. This was the closest you’d ever get.

It didn’t make you scream or cry or swear, but your breath quickened and your legs trembled. You got close to the edge faster than the last time. It took all of Leon’s willpower not to come when you did. You didn’t warn him, though he saw it coming. You arched your back and dragged your nails down his back. You could apologize later if you even remembered. He pulled out just in time to paint your thighs with thick white ropes.

There was the briefest moment of clarity. The duality of ‘this was a mistake’ and ‘I love you’ was at the forefront of both your minds.

“Don’t think about it,” your eyes said when he returned with a wet washcloth to wipe you down.

He got into bed beside you and pulled you close.

You didn’t talk about that night, but things got marginally better. In some ways, it was like the sex had smoothed things over. You noticed the creases forming next to Leon’s eyes when he smiled at you - it wasn’t forced anymore. But that was all it was. When you brushed up against him in the kitchen, he walked past you, not thinking anything about it. You wanted his arms encircling your waist, his face in your neck, pressing kisses to your skin. Since that night, your thoughts were filled with wedding bands, baby clothes, watching Leon get dressed every morning from your shared bed. You wondered sometimes how well he remembered that night in the hotel. His credit card sure did.

You started spending time with friends. You needed to get out of the house before you made yourself crazy. When you did go out, you stayed out late, and Leon gave you the typical “if you’re going to drink, don’t drive,” which was all too pertinent given your dad’s situation.

You didn’t drink that night, so you did drive home. Your friend had a family obligation the next day - oh, what it would be like to have one of those, you thought.

You got home around midnight after having been out since the afternoon. You walked inside, took off your shoes, and planned to go to your room until you heard rustling coming from the living room. You walked into the living room, your living room, your father’s living room, to see Leon balls-deep in some woman you’d never seen before.

With messy hair falling upon his forehead and sweat beading on his brow, Leon locked eyes with you. The mystery woman was facing away. You could only see her brown hair on the throw pillow and her legs wrapped around Leon’s hips. You bolted upstairs, worried you’d be physically ill if you stayed in that room for one second longer.

This time, you did cry - after screaming into your pillow. This was worse than leaving you. There was no contract between the two of you about being with other people; rather, he’d specifically told you to find someone else the first time you’d had sex. It was a one time thing. But it was a one time thing that happened twice, more than twice if you count the time over the phone. Every act of love you shared, no matter how right it felt, was still a broken promise, still a foolish decision, just kicking more dents into your fragile relationship.

This was the greatest violation in all of human history. You wanted to tattle to your father, but what would that do? Yeah, fucking on his couch would get Leon a read of the riot act, but to truly explain the severity, the double backstabbing that he’d done, you’d have to tell your father that you’d slept with Leon. And you sure as hell weren’t going to tell him about that.

There was a knock at your bedroom door.

“Go away,” you yelled.

“Open up,” Leon called back.

“Go tell that to the stupid whore downstairs! I don’t want you anymore!”

She can have my sloppy seconds, you thought. But, in reality, weren’t you having someone’s sloppy seconds the whole time? Leon was your first, your only, but you were a notch in his bedpost.

Leon could scold you about calling the woman a whore, but he didn’t. “She’s gone. I kicked her out.”

“Pumped and dumped her, too?” Just like you did with me, Leon. Only you can’t leave physically.

“Excuse me?”

“Come and go, blow your load, and hit the road; how else would you like me to say it?”

“Open the door,” he said again, but you could hear the smile forming on his face. At least you were funny, even if you couldn’t be good enough for the true once-in-a-lifetime love you wanted from him.

You opened the door, dressed in your PJs, which consisted of a tank top and a pair of panties. He didn’t deserve to look at you like that. You covered yourself with the door.

“What do you want, Leon?”

“To apologize.”

“For what?”

“For having sex in the living room.”

“Why?”

“You know why. All of the reasons why.”

He knew you about as well as you knew yourself. He knew all the ‘whys’ even if he couldn’t verbalize them.

You remember when you were little and got in trouble for a stupid thing you did as a child. You disobeyed Leon in some way - secretly ate a cookie while he wasn’t looking, snuck out of your room to watch TV, messed with his paperwork, etc. You drew him an ‘I’m sorry’ card in crayon.

He wasn’t going to pull out the crayons.

“What can I do to apologize to you?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing. It’s all wrong. It’s all gone. Everything.” Everything we were, everything we could’ve been.

When you were a little girl, you thought you were going to marry Leon. He and your dad both thought it was funny, so you had a fake wedding ceremony. It was innocent at the time. You had ring pops instead of wedding bands, and he kissed you on the cheek, not the lips.

You were going to be ‘Mrs. Kennedy’. Your brain persisted, and Leon only solidified the idea in your mind when he took your virginity. It was the last piece of you that you held from him. He had your soul but never your body. Now, he had that, too. You had an old t-shirt of his and tainted memories. Nothing more.

“What do you mean?” He asked. There was a partial understanding. Everything between the two of you was always going to be different. He’d warned you before you had sex with him. But there was more to it than that.

“I just saw you with that woman. I can never unsee that.”

“You’ve seen me naked before, and you know I’ve had sex with other women.”

And I promised you nothing.

“But, it’s like, you’re totally different now.” You gestured vaguely at his body, something that now held more meaning, a complex layer of disgust covering him.

“How?” I’m the same man I’ve always been.

“Not to me.”

He sighed and held the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“I think you see me as someone I’m not, someone I’ve never been.”

“That’s not true. You’ve always been good to me.”

“But you only know what I show you.”

“So you’re a dick to everyone else? You’re a fucking asshole every moment I’m not in the room with you?”

“I don’t think I’m that bad, but I’m not anyone’s knight in shining armor.”

“You were mine.”

“No, I wasn’t. You thought I was. I didn’t want you to see the bad parts of me. I still don’t. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Goodnight,” you said and closed the door in his face.

There was nothing you could do to forget. You felt something you’d never felt before. You wanted your mom - a woman you had no memory of, someone you’d never known. She left when you were a baby, but your dad never talked badly about her. His words were rare but had a nostalgic sweetness. You’d heard Leon say a few nice things about her over the years, too. You had a picture of her in a drawer in your bedroom. You pulled it out and looked at a face almost identical to yours. You wished, in some way, that both your father and Leon had left with her. Surely she wasn’t perfect - in fact, you should resent her for leaving, but you’d never heard anything to taint your image of her. She was just a woman who made a bad choice once, but you weren’t attached enough to be angry, and no one had cracked the facade you put up around her image. If you had her phone number, you’d call.

Leon was in the next room over, and somehow, he was further away than her and more absorbed in mystery.

Your dad came home. He came home sober with suitcases in hand, holding his arms out for you. You ran into them. You sobbed harder than you ever had. Happy tears flowed easier than sad tears. There wasn’t anything holding you back from crying.

Your dad’s hand held the back of your head while you buried your head in his chest. You ate dinner at the kitchen table together. You felt lost without Leon. He left your house, you stayed, and yet it felt like you’d woken up in a completely different place than the one you’d fallen asleep in. It wasn’t bad, just different. You wished there was a way to put all of the parts of your life together. You’d have to put super glue on mismatched puzzle pieces. It would always be a futile effort. You had Leon, you have dad, you’ll probably never have mom.

“What are you thinking about?” Your dad’s voice called you back to the present.

“Nothing,” you said, faking a smile.

“What are you really thinking about?”

“Mom,” you said. You were, you always got stuck when you thought about her because you were trying to imagine a woman who was a stranger to you.

“Mom? Why?” You expected him to be somber, maybe bitter even, but he was intrigued, it seemed.

“She’s been on my mind recently. I’ve been thinking about you, my dad, my parent, and- and I don’t want to sound greedy because I’m lucky to have you here, but I wish there was more than just us.”

“You’ve got Leon,” he offered.

You scoffed, waving it away with your hand. “Don’t bring up Leon right now.”

“Is there drama between the two of you?”

“No, I wouldn’t call it ‘drama’.”

It’s way, way worse than that, you thought.

“You’ll get over it, he’ll get over it. It always works itself out.”

“Who are you and what did you do with my dad? What’s with all this optimism?” You playfully nudged his shoulder.

“What can I say? This whole therapy thing has given me a new outlook on life.”

He paused before taking on a more serious tone. “And, a near-death experience gave me a new appreciation for life. I didn’t care much about my own life. I could take it or leave it.”

“Dad…” You couldn’t find the right words.

“No, no, let me finish: you are important to me.” He put his hand on your shoulder and locked eyes with you. “I remember going in and out of consciousness the day of the accident, and seeing your face. I hate to see you cry like that. I didn’t realize how much the things I do affect you.”

You raised an eyebrow. I’m your child, you thought, how would it not affect me?

“I’m serious. It sounds stupid. I was being selfish, and I always knew that, but I didn’t realize how much you needed me. You had Leon, and you always liked him better anyway. I figured you didn’t mind being left alone with him sometimes.”

“I don’t mind seeing Leon, but I still need my dad.”

“I know. I was making excuses for my own behavior. I know it’s a little late to say it, but I want to be a good father.”

“Better late than never. Better than mom…”

“No,” he said, “you don’t know your mother’s reasons for leaving. It wasn’t you. She loved you.”

“She left because of you.” You were blunt with him. You usually were.

“She couldn’t take the drinking problem, my constant working. If she could’ve taken you with her, I think she would have.”

“If she wanted to, she would have.”

“No, babies are expensive, and I was always the breadwinner. I think she hoped it would be a wake-up call and I would get better. She thought it was the right choice for you.”

You sighed and tried not to roll your eyes. You wished he’d get angry at her for leaving. Shouldn’t that be easy? Shouldn’t that be right? Whatever, you thought, maybe he’s like you - good at making peace with people leaving.

“I know it wasn’t due to my parenting, but you turned out pretty darn great.”

“I’m kind of a disaster, actually.”

“Blame the ‘disaster’ parts of yourself on me. You’re kind, you’re funny, you’re smart-”

“I’m not that smart, trust me.”

I’m such an idiot. You have no idea.

“I’m not going to ask because somehow I feel like whatever you’re up to, it’s something I don’t want to hear about. Just promise me you’ll be safe, okay?”

“I promise. As long as you promise, too.” You held out your pinky.

“Promise,” he said, interlocking his pinky finger with yours.

You let yourself believe him. You decided to take a dose of his optimism, irrational as it seemed. At least let yourself fantasize, right? You’ve got something. Maybe not everything, but something. Maybe not Leon, but you’ve got dad, and isn’t that what you wanted the whole time?

That same night, Leon went out with a woman he’d been casually talking to - it was time to move on from you, at least in the romantic way.

You’d always have some sort of bond.

Leon sat through dinner, dissecting his steak out of boredom. It wasn’t worth the price. He could cook a better one himself. The woman sitting across from him was talking about something, but he wasn’t quite sure what due to the fact that he wasn’t listening.

“Leon?” She said, irritated.

“Yeah?” He said with the least fake-looking smile he could muster.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, why? What did I miss?”

“I asked you-”

“-have you seen the movie ‘Before Sunrise’?”

“Yeah? I never really understood the hype.”

“What? It’s a great movie. The sequel is great, too.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“You should. Maybe it’s unrealistic to think about that once in a lifetime love, but don’t you think we should try to find that? No matter how irrational it seems?”

“You do realize you’re on a date right now, and you’re talking about love and romance like it’s this lofty, unattainable concept.”

“I see your point.”

The waiter comes by with the check and Leon thanks him, and thanks God silently, too.

“I don’t think you’re ever going to find it if you can’t even pay attention to a woman. I like you, Leon, and I’d ask you to come home with me, but-”

Leon knew he shouldn’t see you again, but when he got his credit card out of his wallet to pay for dinner, he saw your picture. He’d always kept it there. He’d change the photo about once a year and keep the others in his bedside drawer. It’s a picture of you in your cap and gown. He was so proud of you; he is so proud of you. He loved you then; he loves you now. The problem is that he’s falling in love with you now. It’s not just familial; it’s not lust, either.

He thought about When Harry Met Sally, which is your third favorite movie after Jerry Maguire and Before Sunrise. The woman asked him if he wanted to take this back to her place, and he was barely paying attention when he said ‘no.’ He gave her a half-assed excuse and dumped tic-tacs in his mouth so he didn’t have wine on his breath because he knew you hate the taste of red wine. He wasn’t drunk, though. If he were, he wouldn’t drive. Leon’s an idiot, Leon’s a fuck-up, but Leon knows he’s a shitty driver. He won’t risk his life on his way to you. This isn’t a tragedy, he hoped.

He forgot your dad was probably home, but fuck it. If he’s really in love, he’ll confess it in public.

“I’m in love with you,” he said when you opened the door. It wasn’t ‘Hello’. You couldn’t say, ‘You had me at hello’ because he began with, ‘I’m in love with you.’

You stared at him long enough that he started fumbling through apologies and excuses. You didn’t say anything. You pulled him into a kiss, which was to say what he should’ve known all along.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #miss oranje fics

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allthecanadianpolitics · 2 months ago

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Years after a push to rename a cluster of islands named with a racial slur in Nunavut, the territorial government says it's working on it. The Old Squaw Islands, the official name recognized by the Nunavut government, are located approximately 40 kilometres southeast of Iqaluit. That hits close to home for Madeleine d'Argencourt – both geographically and personally. "[The term] is derogatory. My first-born daughter is half First Nations," she said.

Tagging: @newsfromstolenland

#indigenous #first nations #indigenous land #racism #nunavut #cdnpoli #canadian politics #canadian news #canada

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devildomwriter · 11 months ago

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A Newborn Queen | Diavolo x Reader

.7K Words | AFAB! Reader | CW: mentions of labor, Diavolo and reader have childten

Every generation the Devil had a son. The son grew up, became the devil himself and their bride or lover birthed them a son or two. That’s how it always had been and how it was expected to always be. Until you. You and Diavolo had already had a son and were delighted to find you were expecting another child. Expecting a son, because anything else was unheard of, you didn’t bother with a gender reveal test.

You gripped Diavolo’s hand in pain of labor. Despite all the magic placed upon you to ease your suffering, the one who gave birth to the child of the devil was doomed to suffer pain. You knew this and accepted it, Diavolo grieved for your pain, he hated to see how you shouted in pain.

Finally, after what felt like far too long, your child arrived. Diavolo moved from your side, grabbing a blanket so he could be the first to hold your child.

The doctor gasped and yours and Diavolo’s hearts skipped, panicked something had gone wrong. But you heard the baby’s cries and sighed in relief. Diavolo, however, was still astounded.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, frightened and Diavolo shook his head to ease your nerves.

He kissed the child wrapped in a blanket in his arms and tears fell down his cheeks as he smiled. He looked at you with more love and adoration in his eyes than you’d ever seen.

He walked to you and dismissed the doctor and nurses as he sat next to you.

“___, meet our daughter.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and you looked at him with as much shock as he’d had. “A girl? She’s really a girl?” Your eyes welled with tears too.

You never thought you’d have a girl. It was unheard of and Diavolo had told you as much. The fact you’d had a child at all was a blessing since conception between demons was so rare. But now you had both a son and a daughter.

Diavolo unwillingly handed your daughter to you for you to hold against your chest. Your mind raced with thoughts of wonder. How incredible was it that you’d really had a daughter?

Diavolo held you close, incredibly proud of you for enduring birth and more in love than ever that you’d blessed him with a daughter.

There was a knock on the door from Barbatos and he was allowed in.

In his arms was your two-year-old son, Chao who stretched out his arms for you. Diavolo stood up and grabbed his son, holding him against him.

Barbatos approached your side with permission and stared in delight at the child.

“Have you decided on his name?” He asked and you and Diavolo gave each other a look and grinned.

“Actually, we haven’t decided on her name just yet,” Diavolo beamed with emphasis on ‘her.’

Barbatos stiffened in shock. For a demon who could see the past and future it was rare to give him such a surprise.

His shock faded to delight and he beamed as though he were the parent himself. “This is a most wonderful surprise,” he exclaimed.

Diavolo nodded and held Chao closer to his little sister. Chao had expected a brother and you suspected it’d take him time to understand he had a sister instead.

“What do we name our Princess?” Diavolo asked as Chao rested peacefully in his arms.

You shook your head, unsure. “I hadn’t even considered girl names.”

Diavolo nodded as it was the same for him. “Chao means chaos…what about something similar for her?”

Chao looked at his dad, hearing his name, and began grabbing at his horns. Diavolo let him, to keep him calm as he discussed this with you.

You thought for a few minutes and you bounced names off each other. “Discord?” Diavolo thought aloud and you shook your head, the nam was too masculine sounding. Suddenly it hit you.

“I’ve got it,” you announced excitedly. “Disarray.”

Diavolo’s eyes widened and he thought about it. He grinned and nodded, “I love it. We can call her Ray for short.” He suggested and you nodded.

“Ray,” Chao babbled and you and Diavolo grinned and nodded.

“Yes, Chao. This is your baby sister, Ray.”

Eventually, Chao grew bored and Barbatos took him away so you and Diavolo could share in your joy. You fell asleep against Diavolo, exhausted from labor and he kissed your head as he cradled your daughter in his arms.

#obey me drabble #obey me diavolo #obey me diavolo x reader #obey me second generation #omswd diavolo x reader #omswd diavolo #obey me as dads #obey me fluff

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asongoficeandfiresource · 11 months ago

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Meta: A Tale of Three Daenerys’

An element of authenticity George R. R. Martin adds to the ASOIAF universe is the repetition of names. The same names appear repeatedly within specific cultures and the spread and popularity of certain names is used to illustrate how one culture has influenced another. Just look at the wide popularity of Targaryen names throughout Westeros, especially Alysanne.

With Daenerys Targaryen, GRRM has created two other characters with her name, so far: Daenerys, daughter of Aegon IV and Naerys, and Daenerys, daughter of Alysanne and Jaehaerys I. Both of these characters seem to be used to lay the groundwork for elements of the canon era Daenerys’ story and character arc.

Daenerys, the Retconned Princess

In The World of Ice and Fire, Jaehaerys I and Alysanne do not have a daughter named Daenerys. In fact, in the main series, Daenerys of Dorne is referred to as the first. But with the release of Fire and Blood Vol 1, Martin restructured the birth order of Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s children, which included not just reshuffling, but also removing and adding children. One of those additions was Princess Daenerys, who took the place of Alyssa as the second born child and oldest daughter of the family.

So the question is, why did Martin retcon TWOIAF just to add a new Daenerys? Part of the reason is likely to flesh out the reign of Jaehaerys and Alysanne with more information and loss. But why name her Daenerys and not Rhaenys after their grandmother or any other name? There is a wealth of Targaryen names Martin could have given this new child, but he chose Daenerys, the name of one of his main five characters in the core series. He likely made that choice to give additional foreshadowing for the canon era character.

At first glance, the two Daenerys’ don’t have much in common with Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s daughter being born into a stable family and kingdom as their oldest living child who grew into a confident girl but died young, while our Dany was born an orphan and an exile, and grew up constantly afraid, gaining confidence and strength in her teens. In that way, they are narrative foils. But where the foreshadowing comes in is with how Alysanne views her daughter.

Based on a combination of moments in Fire and Blood, there is a possibility that Alysanne had the gift of foresight, like other Targaryens in the series. For some unexplained reason, Alysanne is very insistent on Daenerys becoming queen after her father. This is strange because equal primogeniture is not the norm in their culture. Visenya did not become queen regnant, her younger brother Aegon became king. Rhaena did not become queen regnant, her two younger brothers and uncle became kings, though Aegon the Uncrowned was only a claimant. What’s more, Alysanne never pushes for Rhaena’s rights over Jaehaerys’. But she does push for Daenerys’ rights over her son’s. Why? Because she knows Daenerys will be a great queen:

[Princess Daenerys] so enchanted Alysanne that for a time Her Grace even began to eschew council sessions, preferring to spend her days playing with her daughter and reading her the stories that her own mother had once read to her. “She is so clever, she will be reading to me before long,” she told the king. “She is going to be a great queen, I know it.” – Fire and Blood

This is a rare issue where Alysanne is certain about something, but turns out to be wrong, since her daughter dies before having the opportunity to become queen regnant. It is very possible that Alysanne’s certainty over her daughter’s future and Martin’s purpose for retconning this child into existence was to foreshadow Dany’s eventual position as Queen of Westeros. Often with prophetic visions, they can be misunderstood by the person experiencing them as seen with Daeron the Drunken and Daemon II Blackfyre in the Dunk and Egg novellas. While both of their dreams came true, they happened very differently than what they initially believed. So the great queen named Daenerys who Alysanne might have seen wasn’t her daughter but her distant descendant.

Daenerys of Dorne

The Princess Daenerys who married Maron Martell was initially mentioned in passing in a Dunk and Egg novella, The Sworn Sword, but wasn’t named in the text until A Dance With Dragons where her connection to both the series era Dany and Martell family was emphasized. She is cited by Davos as the person Dany was named after and is the source of the Targaryen blood that gives Quentyn the belief that he can tame one of the dragons. She is also the reason the Water Gardens were built and through that palace was able to impact every generation of Dornish children after her.

Unlike the previous Daenerys, there are quite a few parallels between Daenerys of Dorne and the canon era Dany. They were both the products of extremely unhappy and abusive marriages. They each had significant age gaps between them and their siblings, with their older brother having reached adulthood and had a child or children of his own by the time of their birth. Their brothers married them to men outside of their culture. While Dany was exchanged for the promise of an army to take back Westeros, Princess Daenerys’s marriage was part of a treaty that united Dorne with the rest of Westeros. Both women marry for duty despite loving other men. Each of them are particularly protective and caring toward children. They also look beyond the social status of individuals and see that everyone is equally worthy of protection and a quality life.

While Dany pushes for freedom and justice in Slaver’s Bay, Princess Daenerys used her position in Dorne to benefit children regardless of class:

“Beautiful and peaceful,” the prince said. “Cool breezes, sparkling water, and the laughter of children. The Water Gardens are my favorite place in this world, ser. One of my ancestors had them built to please his Targaryen bride and free her from the dust and heat of Sunspear. Daenerys was her name. She was sister to King Daeron the Good, and it was her marriage that made Dorne part of the Seven Kingdoms. The whole realm knew that the girl loved Daeron’s bastard brother Daemon Blackfyre, and was loved by him in turn, but the king was wise enough to see that the good of thousands must come before the desires of two, even if those two were dear to him. It was Daenerys who filled the gardens with laughing children. Her own children at the start, but later the sons and daughters of lords and landed knights were brought in to be companions to the boys and girls of princely blood. And one summer’s day when it was scorching hot, she took pity on the children of her grooms and cooks and serving men and invited them to use the pools and fountains too, a tradition that has endured till this day."

——

"I told the story to Ser Balon, but not all of it. As the children splashed in the pools, Daenerys watched from amongst the orange trees, and a realization came to her. She could not tell the highborn from the low. Naked, they were only children. All innocent, all vulnerable, all deserving of long life, love, protection. ‘There is your realm,’ she told her son and heir, 'remember them, in everything you do.’ My own mother said those same words to me when I was old enough to leave the pools. It is an easy thing for a prince to call the spears, but in the end the children pay the price. For their sake, the wise prince will wage no war without good cause, nor any war he cannot hope to win.– ADWD

It might seem like a simple thing to allow a large amount of commoner children to partake in privileges alongside highborn and royal children, but this is hugely significant since it allows children of higher stations to form positive relationships with children of lower classes. The rest of Westeros does this at a far smaller degree, but usually at the convenience of the highborn. This act essentially put all of the children who stay at the Water Gardens on equal footing, even temporarily so they can all see that at their core, they are all made the same. This allows the royalty and nobility to empathize with commoners which will impact the choices that will impact everyone. Princess Daenerys’ impact on the ruling family kept Dorne mostly out of the War of the Five Kings, meaning that while the common people of nearly every region have been slaughtered and abused in the conflict, only one Dornishman has died so far, Oberyn Martell, a prince in full control of his actions rather than thousands of commoners ordered onto the battlefield.

Even though Dany is still a queen at war in the series, there are similarities between her motivation and choices. As noted above, both Daenerys’ have a weakness for children. Princess Daenerys fills the Water Gardens with “laughing children”. Dany wishes to do the same:

I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. – ACOK

But more than that dream, when it comes to children Dany shows she is willing to take direct action to protect and avenge them. When the slavers of Meereen murder slave children and taunt Dany by mounting their bodies on milepost, Dany made sure to see them herself: "I will see every one, and count them, and look upon their faces. And I will remember.” (ASOS) Then she avenged them by killing the exact number of slavers in the same way the children were killed. Even when she doubts whether she did the right thing, she insists it was done for the children. Then, when Drogon kills a child, Hazzea, Dany tries to chain all of her dragons so that never happens again, though she only manages to capture two of the three. Despite the fact that she considers the dragons to be her own children, it only takes the death of one child to push her to imprison them, showing just how much she prioritizes the lives of these people. Even when it comes to the children of the slavers, Dany refuses to harm them regardless of what crimes the adult slaver commit:

Dany had grown fond of her young charges. Some were shy and some were bold, some sweet and some sullen, but all were innocent. – ADWD

Where the strongest parallel comes into play is with the way both Daenerys’ realize that there is no fundamental difference between people of different social classes since they are the same when brought down to their bare essentials:

On another island two lovers kissed in the shade of tall green trees, with no more shame than Dothraki at a wedding. Without clothing, [Dany] could not tell if they were slave or free. – ASOS

As the children splashed in the pools, Daenerys watched from amongst the orange trees, and a realization came to her. She could not tell the highborn from the low. Naked, they were only children. All innocent, all vulnerable, all deserving of long life, love, protection. – ADWD

The only thing that separates the highborn from the low or the free and the enslaved are societal restrictions. Since there are no natural physical differences between people of different ranks in society, that means they are all deserving of freedom and good lives. While Princess Daenerys acted upon this realization to effect change through the inclusion of all children from different walks of life into the Water Gardens, Dany fights for the freedom of slaves and allows freedmen places of power in her government and gives them a voice at court alongside people who were born free. Here are just a few of the many examples of Dany attempting to establish equality for the freedmen:

Reznak would have summoned another tokar next, but Dany insisted that he call upon a freedman. Thereafter she alternated between the former masters and the former slaves. – ADWD

Rylona Rhee had played the harp as sweetly as the Maiden. When she had been a slave in Yunkai, she had played for every highborn family in the city. In Meereen she had become a leader amongst the Yunkish freedmen, their voice in Dany’s councils. – ADWD

“The freedmen work too cheaply, Magnificence,” Reznak said. “Some call themselves journeymen, or even masters, titles that belong by rights only to the craftsmen of the guilds. The masons and the bricklayers do respectfully petition Your Worship to uphold their ancient rights and customs.”

“The freedmen work cheaply because they are hungry,” Dany pointed out. “If I forbid them to carve stone or lay bricks, the chandlers, the weavers, and the goldsmiths will soon be at my gates asking that they be excluded from those trades as well.” She considered a moment. “Let it be written that henceforth only guild members shall be permitted to name themselves journeymen or masters … provided the guilds open their rolls to any freedman who can demonstrate the requisite skills.” – ADWD

Princess Daenerys also helped to cement a permanent peace between House Targaryen and House Martell with her marriage uniting Westeros. That combined with the tradition of creating a closer bond between people of different classes and the continued caution on thinking of the people while making decisions that will affect them, she continues her legacy of peace. Our Dany also keeps the people who choose to follow her at the forefront of her thoughts with every decision she makes. She too wishes for peace and takes action to achieve that, even at her own detriment.

“Peace is my desire. You say that you can help me end the nightly slaughter in my streets. I say do it. Put an end to this shadow war, my lord. That is your quest. Give me ninety days and ninety nights without a murder, and I will know that you are worthy of a throne. Can you do that?” - Daenerys IV ADWD

She thought of Doreah, of Quaro, of Eroeh … of a little girl she had never met, whose name had been Hazzea. Better a few should die in the pit than thousands at the gates. This is the price of peace, I pay it willingly. If I look back, I am lost. - Daenerys VIII ADWD

Like all good queens she put her people first—else she would never have wed Hizdahr zo Loraq—but the girl in her still yearned for poetry, passion, and laughter. – ADWD

Conclusion

While the three Daenerys’ don’t have anything close to similar lives, each of the Daenerys’ of the past seem to intentionally have call backs or call forwards to the series era Dany. Both of them seem to foreshadow Dany’s current and future storylines with pushes for social progress and her future as the reigning Queen of Westeros. So far, Martin has included only three characters with this name, but with the positive change Dany is bringing to Essos and will bring to Westeros when she helps save the world from the Others, it would only be natural for the name to grow in popularity.

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen (daughter of jaehaerys)#daenerys targaryen (daughter of aegon iv)#canondany #gotdaenerystargaryen #targnation #targaryensource #asoiaf #asoiafedit #gotedit #hotdedit #gameofthronesdaily #iheargot #usergif #litedit #tvgifs #dailyflicks #house targaryen

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