Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

☆♡ Rhaenyra ♡☆

He was trying to be subtle.

He was failing to be subtle.

The jingle of the bell over the door broadcasted his arrival, as did the bitterly cold breeze that followed him into the cozy shop. It was unavoidable in November and because it was November she was bundled up to the point where she scarcely noticed the temperature shift.

Still, she shivered a bit—not from the wind, but from the intensity of his stare, because no winter coat could keep her from noticing that.

She tapped her foot, willing the barista to finish making her drink so she could leave.

She liked this place because it was family-run with an authentic sort of rustic charm. The staff was friendly and everything about it felt more inviting, especially compared to the identical Starbucks you could find on every corner.

She avoided the big chains like the plague. She didn't like spaces or people who had been streamlined into something dull meant to appeal to the largest part of the population possible.

She had been the byproduct of that once, and she didn't like being reminded of that. 

The downside was that without corporate quotas hanging over their heads, the people here had little motivation to be fast. 

When the mystery man stepped up to the counter to order, he was in her line of sight for the first time and suddenly she was the one staring. He was tall, dressed sharply in a collared shirt, slacks, and wingtip loafers polished in a way that made her confident he had a cobbler on speed dial. 

It was typical high-end business attire, but instead of pairing it with a predictable and boring overcoat, he had on an aviator jacket—that was different. 

And then he turned and caught her staring—fuck. 

She should look away.

She didn’t look away, though, because he was hot. Like maybe he got that Brioni jacket when he was modeling for them sort of hot. 

It was still rude of him to stare at her but it was less bothersome now that she knew he looked like this. 

Fuck. He was walking towards her.

Ugh. She should have known he would—that was men for you, a single look in their direction was seen as an invitation that you were down to fuck. Which she kind of was—it had been a while—but she probably wasn’t going to fuck him.

(Key word there being probably.)

Annoyingly, given that he was rude, he was even hotter up close. A bit older than she had first thought—definitely in his forties, when she usually stuck to guys in their thirties, but maybe it was time to branch out? He didn’t look old-old , just like…legitimately old enough to be her father, which made her daddy issues sing in a way they never had when she was with her last boyfriend.

(She had seen Criston’s ID. He was thirty-three. But she swore he was blessed with eternal youth, he still got carded when he tried to buy beer.)

What came next was funny, since it validated the assumption she had made based on age alone. 

♡

“I’m sorry for staring, I was trying to decide if it was more polite to ignore you or to say hi while admitting I don’t remember your name,” he said with a bashful grin.

It was distracting. So much so that she blinked a few times as she tried to comprehend his words. Before she had even managed that, he was talking again. 

“I swear I listen to my daughter! She just has a lot of friends,” he said, as if he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone thinking he was a neglectful parent, not even for a single second. 

His tone was light though, ending with a soft laugh, “I just can’t keep up—she is too lovable and I’m too forgetful—can I blame that on my age?” 

Oh. 

He had mistaken her as one of his daughter’s friends which meant;

1. He was an actual daddy. 
2. Presumably, she was close enough to his daughter’s age for her to plausibly be friends with her.
   
   

A normal response would probably be: gross.

Her response was more like: hngh.

Could she blame that on her fucked up childhood?

♡

“I think you might have another decade or two left to wait before you can use that excuse—" She said, because really, he wasn’t that old, “But if it’s any consolation, we haven’t met before and I don’t know who your daughter is, so it would be a bit strange if you did remember my name.” 

Though it would hardly be the first time.

She had dealt with her fair share of creepy dads who dragged their kids along to meet-and-greets just so they’d have an opportunity to try and grab her ass during the photo op. The fact this guy couldn’t even remember her name was a green flag if she’d ever seen one. 

And, she was pretty sure he wasn’t just playing coy—because he looked really embarrassed, though he recovered pretty quickly, shrugging it off and offering an apology, “I—well, fuck. I’m sorry. You looked so familiar I just assumed…” 

The woman behind the counter interrupted him—a fact he looked grateful for, right until she started speaking, “You aren’t bothering her, are you?” The older woman asked, “I won’t have you chasing away good girls from my business—and where are your girls? I practically raised them and now you let them forget me!” 

The man no longer looked so grateful. 

“I’m not chasing anyone, I’m having a conversation—and you didn’t raise them, you babysat them twice. It’s been two months, not two decades, Alarra—they remember you just fine.” He said, exasperated. 

The woman—Alarra?— huffed, setting down the drink and pushing it towards Rhaenyra, “A double tartufo affogato for you, you—"  she pointed at the man next to her, “Will have to wait twice as long, punishment for talking back. I raised you better than that.” 

He sighed when she turned away, “She didn’t raise me, either, for the record.” 

Rhaenyra’s lip twitched, yeah, she could believe that, but the fact he sounded fond even when dispelling exaggerations made him all the more attractive. She reached for her drink but made no move to leave, instead asking, “How old is your daughter?”

He smiled—lighting up at the mention of her, fuck, she wanted someone to smile like that when they thought about her.

“My oldest is seventeen, Baela, my youngest, Rhaena, is thirteen.” 

Ah, well, that explained it. 

She cleared her throat, “Well—I still don’t know who your daughter is, but she probably knows me. I was kind of a big deal a decade ago on Disney Channel—so you might recognize me from that.” 

Ugh. This was awkward. She wasn’t sure she had ever had to explain the reason for her fame, and she hoped she never had to again.

He took it in stride, though, looking confused for a single second before recognition flooded his face—and then he was laughing, “Fuck—I can’t believe it—of course you look familiar, Baela begged me for a backpack with your face on it for her seventh birthday. Wow.” 

He looked amused by the situation but otherwise indifferent which was a welcome change from the usual response she got when recognized. 

“Do you want me to sign something for her?” She offered, because, all things considered, he had been pretty respectful and she liked to reward that unfortunately rare behavior. 

“No—no, I didn’t come over here for that, I’m sorry to have bothered you—can I make up for it? Cover your coffee?” He asked, “Or something sweet? You look sweet.” 

She wasn’t sure if he was trying to flirt or just that smooth, “You can’t buy off embarrassment,” she teased, “And I can afford my own pastries.” 

He frowned, “Well, I can try.” 

“You’ll have to try harder, Mr…?” 

His lip twitched, “Targaryen. Daemon Targaryen,” he extended his hand to her and she clasped it offering her own name, since he had already admitted he didn't know it, “Rhaenyra Arryn."

She may have been looking a little too hard at his hand. At first, she was looking for a ring, though she was pretty sure Alarra would have dropped the nugget of him being married. Since she hadn’t, Rhaenyra soon found herself admiring his fingers rather than searching for anything. 

And damn it, she mourned the loss of his fingers on her skin when the handshake came to an end. 

“Will you give me a chance to try harder?” He asked, “Over, say, dinner?”

She should say no. 

Instead, she said, “It will have to be a very expensive dinner.” 

She didn’t get out of bed for less than five figures—the price to get her into someone else’s bed was even higher.

He grinned, “Of course. Anyone who agrees to go out with me has exquisite taste, and I don’t make a habit of disappointing them.”

It was a cocky statement—but she thought it might be true, too. 

☆

It turned out all it took to get her into his bed was a very fancy and very private dinner. It must have cost a small fortune.

He just grinned, “A small price to pay for your happiness.” 

Really, how could she not fall in love with him? She was only human.

☆ Baela ☆

At this point, Baela was pretty sure most of the population in english-speaking countries would recognize the face of child star turned pop star, Rhaenyra Arryn.

Baela wouldn’t really call herself a fan—not anymore, at least, but when she was younger, she had definitely been a Disney Channel fan. 

And, for a time, the Disney Channel was basically the Rhaenyra Channel.

The girl was everywhere and in everything, as, in typical Disney fashion, she went from guest spots on a slew of shows to being the star of her own—with a few original movies in between to test the waters before fully turning her budding career into a blooming one. 

She was highlighted and promoted heavily for several years— years that happened to coincide with Baela’s interest in the network 

Baela liked to think she was a bright child, but the marketing strategies set up by the juggernaut that was Disney were smarter than any individual, especially individuals who were under the age of twelve. She had fallen right into their trap of thinking their stars were just like her, and fully convinced that if she actually met Rhaenyra Arryn, they would be best friends.

At the time, when asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, she had happily informed the teacher she was going to have her own Disney show, because if Rhaenyra Arryn who was raised by a single mother in a tiny mountain town in the middle of bumfuck nowhere could make it, then surely Baela could too. 

That never happened, obviously. She grew up—and Rhaenyra did, too. Right before her eyes, even. The girl who was four years her senior was just a couple of years shy of being a beautiful woman by the time Baela quit watching—choosing to enjoy her awkward pre-teen-to-teen transitional era with far more mature pieces of media and literature. 

Twilight. It was Twilight. 

But that was ages ago. Baela’s career aspirations had well and truly changed, and Rhaenyra’s had, too.

By then Baela wasn’t a fan—but she also wasn’t not a fan, she just didn’t care that much. But you didn’t need to care to know what Rhaenyra Arryn was up to, because anyone who used the internet knew the gist of how her life was going, you simply couldn’t escape it.

Because Rhaenyra Arryn was an anomaly.

Everyone before her—and pretty much every one after her—had spent their years post-escaping the Disney machine doing one of two things:

1. Rebranding and marketing themselves like crazy with hopes their adoring fans would still like them now that they were grown up. Desperately trying to balance their PG reputation and appease parents by not being too grown up or too sexy while also trying to appeal to people their own age.
   
   
2. Rehab.

Rhaenyra had done neither. She had just…disappeared—well, kind of.

☆

☆

Rhaenyra Arryn bought a huge house and spent nearly two years posting occasional updates to her Instagram. Not the sort you’d expect, either—she wasn’t on red carpets, sets, or glitzy nightclubs. 

She posted fucking paint swatches, bragged about her garden, and complained about her neighbor’s goats eating all the wild berries before she could pick them.

It was bizarre in its normalcy and her refusal to speak to the press made fans go crazy with speculation because she hadn’t announced retirement, but she didn’t hint at a comeback, either. 

She never did. 

When she had an announcement to make, it came in the form of her first album—one that was composed of twenty songs and released on her corresponding birthday.

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: I’m thrilled to sit down with you today and excited to get some answers to the questions you’ve probably heard nonstop since you traded the limelight for growing lime trees. 

I: For starters, can you tell us what motivated you to step away? 

R: I’ve been working since I was four years old…I didn’t have a childhood, I didn’t have control over my life at all and there is no changing that. But when I turned eighteen, I could control it and I wanted a fucking break, there wasn’t much more to it than that. 

I: Understandable. Then I suppose the next question is, what motivated you to come back?

R: I’ve always been a performer, even before I had an audience. When I learned something new, I wanted to tell people about it or show them. I thrived off the validation that came from people paying attention to what I was doing. I don’t think any length of time can change that—two years certainly didn’t. 

So, I suppose the motivation was the fact I made something I am proud of, and I wanted to show it off. 

I: The ‘something’ you’re proud of is your new album, yes?

R: Yes! It was a huge labor of love.

I: You can hear that in each song, it is really phenomenal—but you’ve always been best known for your acting. What inspired you to go in this direction? 

R: It wasn’t intentional. My first therapist—who I saw for like a month after my mother died, told me to start writing whenever I felt something. If I was angry, happy, sad, whatever, I should put it on paper…so I did, and I never stopped.

It’s easy to feel like a robot when you’re acting so much and so young and it was comforting to look back at a diary and realize I was my own person with my own thoughts and feelings. 

So I have this documentation of the last decade of my life and it differs so drastically from what people have seen from me, and who they think I am, and that is…frustrating. I suppose in some ways that protected me from the negativity since it wasn’t really directed at me, because they didn’t know me. But the flipside was feeling like people’s support was undeserved because they didn’t know who they were supporting.

I knew if I ever returned, I’d want to show people who I am—I’m allowed to do that now. But I wanted to be really confident in who I was before I let people see it, and the past years have been devoted to figuring that out. 

I confronted a lot of my past along the way, and I wanted to share it in some way, the way I remember it. But I’m twenty years old I’m not going to write a fucking memoir and I don’t want my life to be a lifetime movie.

Music…it was a good compromise. A way to market the emotions I felt when exploited at such a young age, but this time it’s on my own terms, in my own voice, and the sales are going into my own bank account. There is no other form of media that would give me that, it had to be music. 

I: If it was just a compromise, does that mean you will be returning to other types of media in the future? Film? Television?

R: Maybe…probably. I really loved it, you know? At least at first. My mom never wanted me to be an actor but I loved performing, I wanted to be on stage and to be seen and she indulged that. It was my choice. But it isn’t a choice I—or any kid—should be allowed to make, I don’t think. 

I: What makes you say that? 

R: Parents are supposed to protect you when you are too young to know better. It’s why I couldn’t have chocolate for breakfast. But forgoing my childhood was allowed, even if it was far more detrimental because it paid $20k a week. That is a hard thing to say no to. 

By the end of it, I didn’t love acting at all. I didn’t have a choice. I hated that. I don’t think I ever hated acting, but it is hard to separate those two things right now.

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

Since then, she had been everywhere. Maybe not physically, but in terms of the internet, she had an inescapable presence. Offering both an intimate look into her home life while making the occasional public appearances that proved she was alive but little else. 

She had released some more music. A movie too, Baela was pretty sure—there were pictures of her on the red carpet with some hunk, but Baela had never gotten around to watching it. 

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: It seems like a crazy question to ask now but did you ever worry about returning to the industry? Irrelevancy seems to be the enemy of many child stars, even ones who never step out of the spotlight.

R: No—relevance and happiness have very little connection in my mind. I want people to like what I put out, obviously, I’m human and maybe a bit of an attention whore. But if people don’t like it, or no one watches it, or if I cease to matter in the eyes of the public then so be it. I'll still matter in my private life, and that is what...well, that is what really matters, I think.

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

Baela had a good childhood. 

There were some cliches—an adulterous rich dad, divorced parents, a shitty high school boyfriend when she was a freshman, and an even shittier girlfriend when she was a junior. But she had come out alright. Her senior year was going well—no, her entire life was going well, she had even gotten into her first choice of university.

Her parents were good parents, too.

It turned out the whole adulterous dad thing was actually more of a, ‘we’ve been officially separated for years but didn’t want to tell you thing,’ The split was amicable enough that her six-year-old self didn’t even notice anything had changed, it took her until she was eleven and someone in her class showed her the photos for her to ask questions. 

Her family wasn’t famous, but both her parents came from old money and her dad had expanded the fortune even further with his investments. They were the gutsy and high-profile sort or investments that caught the attention of even wealthier people that he now called friends. They were rich enough to be interesting for that reason alone, but not interesting enough to like… follow. 

She had never had to worry about cameras, but they had caught her dad doing some things—or rather, some people—that she really didn’t like to think about.

But technically, he wasn’t doing anything wrong, her mother had made that very clear by affectionately saying, “He is guilty of being an asshole, not an adulterer,” and that was that.

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: Who is here with you tonight? 

R: Oh—this is my boyfriend, Harwin Strong. A man is my favorite accessory, you know, especially this one.

I: That is so sweet, how long have you been together?

R: A year, I think? Or thereabouts. 

I: How did you meet?

R: He was my bodyguard, actually, though he is pretty enough for big pictures, I know. It sucked to lose him in the capacity of guardian but it was worth it to gain him as a partner.

I: That is very sweet indeed—though I think we’re all a bit surprised! No Hollywood stud? Shipping magnates? Quarterbacks?

R: Oh, god no. I’d never date someone famous. Dealing with my own celebrity is bad enough, I don’t need another one. 

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

Her mom and dad were still weirdly good friends. Her mom had kept the house in the suburbs, while her dad kept the apartment in the city. They shared, and vacationed together, at both the cabin in Aspen for two weeks every winter and the estate in the Hamptons for at least a month in the summer. 

It was all weirdly civilized. Like, they got along way better than most of her friend’s parents—even the ones who were still married. 

When the divorce was announced she had received nothing but looks of pity for weeks, like the fact her parents were getting one meant she should expect lawyers, court dates, fighting, and even throwing things, to be the norm in her household until it was over.

But that never happened. 

Her dad never even fully moved out. 

He loved her mother—he loved her, and he loved her sister. He wanted to be close to them, he just didn’t want to be married to her mom anymore. It made perfect sense to her, but her friends couldn’t even comprehend that level of maturity and respect. 

It was kind of sad. 

But even Baela could admit it was a little weird when her mom brought her boyfriend with them to the beach house and her dad just…didn’t care. 

She had been fourteen then, old enough to understand when he shrugged and said, “I do care, I care about her a great deal, you know? I care about her happiness and I couldn’t give her that. But if he can…so long as he is good to you girls, and good in bed then I’m happy for her, not jealous.” 

She rolled her eyes, “Gross.” 

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: For a while, you were considered a role model—do you worry about alienating the audience who appreciated those elements of your public persona?

R: Nope. I spent eighteen years trying to appease the public—I was contractually obligated to. I’m done with that. 

Maybe I’ll lose all my fans because they are so upset to learn that I’m not the innocent virgin they thought I was and wanted me to always be. But that is OK. I’d rather be hated for who I am than loved for someone I’m not.

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

Her dad’s ‘birds and the bees’ talk had gone a bit differently than her mother’s. Where Laena had been thorough and emphasized educating her about her anatomy Daemon had told her, “I don’t care if you have sex, so long as it’s safe sex and good sex.”

At that point, she hadn’t had any sex and his candid approval did not make her any more excited to change that fact. But she would much rather have supportive parents than ones who called her a slut for ‘looking at a boy with lust in her eyes’—seriously, some parents are crazy.  

She knew hypocrisy was plentiful among her friend’s parents, so it wasn’t like this had to sway her parent’s view of her—but it would be really hypocritical if her parents fussed over her fooling around because her dad was like…the definition of a manslut. 

Like, you could google that word and his picture would probably come up as the definition. And there were a lot of pictures to choose from.

She had never met any of the many many women that he had been photographed with in her lifetime—save for her mother, of course. 

Briefly, she had wondered if he was embarrassed of her—but he had been quick to squash that concern, “Fuck, I’m embarrassed of them, Baela, not you—never you. It’s nothing serious, it’s just sex. None of them mean enough to me to introduce to my girls who mean everything .” 

That was nice, but she really wished her dad would get a hobby other than fucking blondes every other weekday. She had even suggested golf once, or tennis, and he had shrugged, “Women are more fun—and hey, it’s sort of like a sport, balls are involved.” 

Gross. Gross. Gross.

Still, she loved her dad a lot. He might be a bit too open at times, but I made her feel like she could be open with him, too. She was never embarrassed or afraid to go to him, and she treasured that fact. 

Most girls didn’t have that. 

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: Some people say your music is an ‘ode to your daddy issues’  do you think that is accurate? 

R: No—not at all, it’s impossible. How can I possibly have daddy issues when I don’t even know who my father is?

I: You do tend to date older men, don’t you?

I do. But I don’t see how that is relevant. A daddy kink and daddy issues aren’t synonymous—though I will neither confirm nor deny having either.

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

Baela had, at a young age, been forced to come to terms with the fact people found her dad attractive. 

The rude awakening had come during her eighth birthday and very first sleepover. The gaggle of girls had giggled their way through dinner, sneaking looks at her dad which turned into proclamations when they returned to the privacy of her bedroom. 

The boldest of the group proudly said she was going to marry him someday—as if he wasn’t already married to her mom, and, you know, almost three decades older than her. 

Obviously, Amabel didn’t marry her father—and she didn’t get an invitation to Baela’s ninth birthday, either. 

But she couldn’t cut off all of her friends for crushing on her father—if she did, she wouldn’t have any left. So instead, she had been forced to hear them swoon over him throughout the entirety of her pre-teen years. 

When her actual teen years came, they got worse, now she not only heard them gush about him, she had to see their sad attempts to catch his eye during pool parties and throughout summer vacation. 

Thankfully her dad wasn’t a creep, he was just a slut, and he was both unfazed and uninterested in their childish attempts to flirt. Never sparing more than a quick smile towards them and taking zero interest in them outside of the fact of the friendship she shared with them.

She never really considered who he might be interested in or if there was any pattern there, she was just grateful for the fact he wasn’t interested in teenagers. 

But apparently, her friends had thought about this, and on one summer day Barba loudly blamed her dad’s disinterest on the fact she wasn’t “his type.” 

Baela assumed by that she meant her age, since “his type” was older than fourteen.

Barba had scoffed, “Well, that can change. But I’ll never have tits like that or hair that light,” she said with a frown, “Haven’t you noticed? He is never photographed with anyone brunette.” 

She hadn’t noticed—she didn’t pay that much attention. But once it was pointed out…well, it became pretty obvious that he had preferences. 

Gross.

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: Your first time taking on a big acting role in almost four years and one that is quite the departure from your previous work—what drew you to ‘Stormland’ ? 

R: Everything. Stormland is the sort of film I never could have done before, and the sort of script I’d never read before. It’s the type of movie that would have been vetoed before I even heard about it. 

It got me excited. It felt fresh given what I've done in the past. And the more of it I read, the more I realized it was fresh for the genre, too, and really good in its own right and not just because it was ‘different.’ I thought I could bring something fitting to the role, and I’m glad they agreed.

I: Were there any parts that made you uncomfortable? It is a very unnerving film at times. Very adult.

R: It does have more mature elements, but I felt very safe and respected on set. And yes, it is ‘very adult’ but I’m very much an adult, so…

 

I: “More mature elements,” is minimizing it a bit, don’t you think? 

R: Ah—okay, maybe it is a bit more than just mature. There are exorcisms and orgasms and a lot of nudity. 

 

I: And you’re at the center of it all—the heroine and the villain. Was it hard to be bad? To shed the ‘good girl’ image when acting?

R: No…it’s easier, much easier. 

That bubblegum pink ‘never been kissed’ vibe is so disingenuous to who I was—and to who I am. It was very shallow, too, because they [Disney Channel ] don’t write complicated or obviously flawed characters—they write these unattainably perfect role models that lack any substance beyond that. 

 I was surprised at how much easier it was to slip into a character with such obvious faults. How much easier it is to portray a layered character like that than the surface-level smiling made to appeal to kids. 

 

I: Do you think this will shock people?

R: Absolutely. My tits are fantastic to the point of being shocking, so—sit down when you watch it. 

 

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

She was in NYC for a film shoot, apparently, and had been spotted at a few nightclubs with friends, freshly twenty-one and having fun showing that fact off in public. But she wasn’t a sloppy drunk or some fuck up, she looked composed—happy—she just also had a drink in her hand.

The headlines were scrambling for something juicy but she gave them nothing, much to the chagrin of columnists and the gossip-hungry girls at her school. 

“You should visit your dad this weekend, maybe you’ll bump into her?” Ysilla suggested—since apparently, she had not quite escaped the conditioning of their youth and still thought it was plausible to be Rhaenyra Arryn’s bestie.

Yeah right.

Even if they did bump into each other, she had literally nothing in common with her. It wasn’t like they were going to see each other in a coffee shop and instantly forge a bond that would change their lives forever. 

That just wasn’t how things worked. 

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: You are single now, aren’t you?

R: I’m no longer with my previous partner, Criston Cole, no. But I’m also not looking.

I: Well, if you were looking, can you describe what you want in a man in three words?

Tall. Handsome. Rich.

I: The first two are pretty self-explanatory, the latter though—that is a surprise! Looking to keep your fortune all to yourself? 

R: No, of course not, it’s not like I don’t have enough to go around. But with past partners, it has gotten to them—made them feel a bit interior, I think, when I left a big tip or get them a present. I don’t keep score or expect them to pay me back, but they feel bad for the fact that if I did, they wouldn’t be able to. 

So then it becomes a point of contention—asking how much things cost, like sheets or shoes or whatever. It makes me feel embarrassed about being generous and buying things for myself—but it is my money, I’ve earned it, so fuck that.

So I say ‘rich’ not because I need a man wealthy enough to spoil me, I don’t need to spend their money. I just don’t want to be judged for spending mine, and I want to be able to spoil them without it turning into a fight.

I: Have you found someone who fits the ‘bill’? There are rumors about love brewing on Broadway.

R: I can’t speak for anyone else in the production, but I’m not involved in anything like that.

I: So you aren’t seeing anyone? 

R: I didn’t say that. But I solemnly swear I’m not dating anyone involved with my current professional projects. 

I: You can’t tease us like that! Tell us more!

R: Nope. I’m not giving you anything. He’s all mine. 

I: Already possessive? Sounds serious.

R: Ah—well, for me it is. But it doesn’t take long to get there…and once I am, I usually don’t want to leave. When I was growing up my time was dictated by contracts—you didn’t give up on things or half-ass them, you had to commit to them for the duration of your legal obligation. 

It has made me a very…intense person and adulthood since I tend to apply those principles to relationships in a way I probably shouldn’t. I can’t do casual. I find someone I’m obsessed with and hope like hell they are obsessed with me, too.

I: And is your mystery man obsessed with you? 

R: Time will tell.

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

Baela rolled her eyes as she scrolled past the article, seriously, who fucking cared who she was dating?

☆

☆

“Holy fuck! How did you get these?” She asked, looking up at her dad in shock and thinly veiled glee, “They must have cost a fortune.” 

He smiled, his lip twitching before he repeated, “Eh, it was a small price to pay for your happiness,” which he had said to her thousands of times over the years—when he bought her a coffee, a candy bar, or a fucking car. 

Still, these were harder to come by than any of those things—the pop princess turning to Broadway was a big deal. Tickets were flying as speculation about whether she would sink or swim swirled. 

“Plus,” he said with a smile, “I know someone close to the production, so don’t give me too much credit.” 

“Well, make sure to thank them for me, this is awesome.” 

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: Broadway, that is new! What prompted this?

R: I really enjoyed my time here when wrapping Stormland , it made me look for other projects close to the city. When I heard about ‘Oh Great!’ it seemed so fun—I was a big fan of Six and Hamilton and I think this is in a similar vein, based on Catherine the Great it is half biography half pop opera. 

I: Did they approach you for the role? It seems like a perfect fit for you.

R: Oh no, god no—I sent in a demo take filmed on my phone, very old-fashioned and without prompting. You hear about influencers and actresses getting chosen for these things based on their names alone and, well, then you hear the final result and it’s sort of insulting to everyone else involved. I didn’t want to be that.

So I applied like everyone else, and I’m shocked they even saw it, really, but they did! Two weeks later I was called in for an in-person audition and here we are, just a week to go until it opens.

I: Are you nervous? 

R: Ridiculously so. If you have a bad day on set, you can reshoot it or cobble it together in editing. It’s expensive, and not ideal, but it’s possible. A live performance on a stage is like a two-hour long take and you have no leeway—it has to be perfect every single time.

I: That is a lot of pressure—how do you manage that sort of anxiety?

R: You really want me to say drugs, don’t you? 

Seriously, though, just spending time with people who remind me how good life is outside of performing. How, even if I totally bomb on stage, I’ll still have them to go home to.

I: That sounds very domestic—any hints for us as to who “them” is? Have you moved “them” in?

R: It is very domestic—and very wonderful. They are wonderful too, and though he hasn’t moved in—well, I suppose home is where he is, or that is how it feels these days. That is terrible and cheesy, I know, but it’s true. 

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

It was her mother who noticed it first—“You seem happy,” she said in the direction of Daemon, who looked up from his phone with a sort of surprise and panic on his face that Baela didn’t recognize.

Like he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

Though now that her mother mentioned it, he had seemed happy recently. He was never unhappy but he had been laughing more and seemed more relaxed over the past few months.  

“I recognize that look,” Laena said, sounding victorious, “You’re smitten.” 

What?

“Who is she? How did you meet? When can we meet her?” Laena asked, eager, while Baela was looking toward her sister and looking for hints of what she might have missed. 

Her dad combed his fingers through his hair—a nervous habit, as the phone fell to his lap, “I am happy. Maybe I’m a little smitten. You wouldn’t know her, she is from a different circle—we met at a coffee shop of all places, and uh— never.” 

Laena pouted, “I’ve been waiting a whole decade for you to get serious about someone and now you’re keeping me from them? I’ll play nice, I promise.” 

He shook his head, “I know, it’s just…I don’t think she is ready for that, yet.”

Laena’s eyes narrowed, “Are you more into her than she is into you? If you are, break up with her, you deserve better. Or let me talk to her, give me an hour alone with her and she’ll declare her love.” 

He laughed, “No—no, she is just…young, young enough that a boyfriend coming with an ex-wife and two children in high school is intimidating.”

“How young?” Baela asked, her mother butting in with a, “She better be legal, Daemon.”

He snorted, “She’s legal—in her twenties.”

Baela’s nose wrinkled, she supposed that wasn’t terrible, she could be a decade older than her which didn’t sound like a lot, but Baela couldn’t imagine where she would be in life when she was twenty-eight or nine. 

It was only a tiny bit weird.

No, fuck that, this was all weird. 

It was hard to imagine him dating when he had never shown any inkling of interest in that in her lifetime. Sure he fucked around, but she had come to expect that—this was different. 

Still, she would give the woman a chance if her dad liked her. She owed her that.

☆

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: Do you have any comments on the leaked images?

R: Yeah, I would like to give my sincerest of fuck yous to this hacker. But the joke is on them, my camera roll is exactly what you see on Instagram just with some blurry nudes in between. Please give me some privacy and watch Stormland (now on prime!) you can see me naked in HD and everything.

 

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

☆

Baela rolled her eyes at the dudes giggling over their phones like they had never seen a naked woman before. Fuck, you could already see that woman naked but apparently it wasn’t as hot when she had consented to them being taken.

This is why guys were the worst.

Well. The girls were pretty bad, too. 

Apparently a handful—or more than a handful if rumors were to be believed—of dick pics were shared from her camera roll and now the internet was going wild trying to figure out who it belonged to. 

She really didn’t get it. She had blocked at least a dozen dudes for sending those to her unsolicited, she wasn’t going to seek one out—not ever.

Still, no one at her school could compare to the sexist shit the media was slewing in her direction. Her comebacks had been pretty inspired, though. Baela might not be an obsessed fan or even follower of the woman, but seeing her response to this had made her consider becoming one for the first time in years.

☆

Rhaenyra Arryn once again proves success is the best revenge in a stunning AND scandalous photoshoot.

Carrying on in typical Rhaenyra Arryn fashion, today the star announced the release of a 2026 calendar featuring twelve recreations of the leaked pictures, photographed by the awkward winning U.W with styling by Elinda Massey. 

Images include the star draped in a sheet, wearing oversized button-ups with nothing beneath them, modeling lingerie, and wearing nothing at all.

‘Nothing at all’ is exactly what she plans to make for this stunt, with all proceeds going towards charities focusing on providing free health services, housing, and representation to victims of sexual assault and revenge porn.

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: People have called you a bad example for girls because of this incident, do you agree with that?

R: No. I do not. You know what sets a bad example for girls? Trying to drag a woman down and calling her a slut and whore because she likes her naked body enough to take pictures of it. I don’t give a fuck about people seeing me nude, I care about the invasion of privacy—but the press ignores the latter and fixates on the former in a way that is far more detrimental to girls and women than any photo I have taken.

I: So you aren’t ashamed of anything that has been posted in this leak?

R: Not at all. And I hate that people think I should. What is shameful about them? It has to be the subject, right? My body. So by telling me to be ashamed of people seeing my body, you’re telling every girl and woman out there to be ashamed of their bodies, too. That’s fucked up. 

But it’s extra fucked up that they do this under the guise of caring about girls having ‘good examples’ when they are the worst example of all. 

I: The explicit photos weren’t all of you, though, would you like to comment on that?

R: I don’t see why I should. The pictures are pretty self-explanatory. My boyfriend has a nice dick. I took pictures of it, just like he took pictures of me—now can we please move on?

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

Baela was all the more excited to see the show after that—originally her interest had been born out of the nostalgia factor and buzz over it all, it was easy to be hyped about it even if she wasn’t interested in the performer or performance at all. 

But now she was. Rhaenyra’s handling of the hack had earned her Baela’s respect, the concept for the musical was neat and her voice was getting rave reviews from pretty much everyone. Even the harshest of critics begrudgingly admitted she had a good stage presence and sense of comedy. Her vocals might not be the best to ever echo through the Lena Horne Theatre, but they were 'definitely adequate.' 

Her dad had snagged her three tickets a couple of months ago, suggesting she take her friends—or her sister and mother—the latter of which she eventually decided on. It would be awkward trying to choose which two friends to take, and seventeen-year-old girls weren’t the most understanding sort. 

So it was a girl’s trip—a family day, seeing the matinee and then grabbing dinner with her dad before returning home. 

☆

It was a good day with good company, great food, and an excellent show.

“It’s hard to imagine she is only twenty-one,” her mother mused.

“She’s almost twenty-two,” her father butted in, earning him a look of surprise from everyone else at the table. 

Laena ignored him, “That isn’t the point—it’s impressive either way, that she is so accomplished already.” 

Daemon sighed, “It is, but—of course she is—she has been working for like fifteen years already. Can you imagine that? Twelve-hour days on set before you’re even a teenager.” 

No, Baela couldn’t imagine—but she couldn’t imagine why her dad knew that, either. 

“When did you become the Rhaenyra Arryn expert?” Rhaena asked, which was good—it meant Baela didn’t have to. 

He shrugged, muttering something about an interview and how, “It’s all on wikipedia,” before swiftly changing the topic to what Rhaena wanted to do for her birthday—it was only a few weeks away, after all. 

☆

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: It has been a big year for you and now you’re one year older!

R: It has been! The biggest and the best I’ve ever had.

I: We know, we’ve all seen the pictures, but I’ll leave it at that—any plans to celebrate?

R: I wouldn’t call it a celebration, more like a worship session each night—oh, you mean for my birthday? Yes—my boyfriend is taking me away when my run of Oh, Great! is done. He’s promised me a week on the beach where no one can bother us.

I: That sounds fun, somewhere exotic I imagine?

R: Maybe. But being with him and relaxing are of more importance than country or level of luxury. 

I: You speak of him fondly, can we have any more hints? The story of how you met?

Nope, no hints—but, if you’d believe it, we met in a coffee shop, and I’m going to leave it at that.

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

☆

It was like ten-thirty on a Sunday morning when she found out—still lazying about in bed when her friends started texting her like crazy.

☆

What the fuck?

She opened the rarely used app only to find her feed full of pictures—no, one very specific picture of Rhaenyra Arryn. The caption of which said, “Pictured on a private beach in the Hamptons, our pop princess fooling around with a mystery man. Could this be the prince she has been gushing about for months?”

Rhaenyra was bikini-clad with a huge grin on her face. There was a man behind her, and his hands were linked around her waist.

She looked happy, and he looked—smitten.

That was what her mom had called that expression when her dad wore it.

And it was, undeniably, her dad in the picture. 

What the actual fuck?

.

☆♡☆

☆☆☆

Chapter Text

☆♡ Daemon ♡☆

Daemon had met celebrities before, ones who were models and nepotism babies wealthy enough to get into charity galas but not famous enough to have better things to do. 

They were there because of their looks or money, and sure, they might have talent and smarts and serve as a fun fuck but—they weren’t Rhaenyra Arryn.

No one even came close. 

☆

As soon as he walked into the shop, his eyes settled on her, and once they had, he found himself unable to look at anything or anyone else. 

She was familiar. She was beautiful. He just wasn’t sure exactly how he knew her.

She was too young for him to have fucked and forgotten, and he wouldn’t forget a girl like that.

He wouldn’t let go of a girl like that, either…

Maybe she was one of Baela’s friends? That was the only thing that made sense. She was too familiar for him to have never met her, and the only explanation for him not pursuing her was categorizing her as one of his daughter’s peers rather than a potential partner. 

But now… fuck, he wasn’t proud of how attracted he was to her and how terribly he hid that fact. 

He had no defense, either, there was just this indescribable almost magnetic energy he felt that made him crave being close to her. It was irresistible. 

She was irresistible. 

He’d been described like that before. 

He was used to being the most charismatic person in the room, which meant he had never actually witnessed the sort of charm people ascribed to him. He had certainly never felt this overwhelmed by the existence of another person, either. 

For fucks sake, they were in a crowded coffee shop and hadn’t even spoken and he could barely stay composed. This was ridiculous. 

What would it be like with her in private? If he was holding her? If he was fucking her?

It would be so much more intense, so much better, he just knew it. 

Fuck, he wanted to experience it so badly. 

He wanted to experience the full force of her. 

It wasn’t love at first sight, not quite—it was more than that, it was an all-consuming need.

☆

When she smiled at him for the first time, that was when the love came.

☆

“I, ah—should tell you that I’m still quite close with my ex-wife.” 

He’d never been nervous to admit that. He was proud of how amicable their split was and how they managed to stay friends in the aftermath. 

They had remained more than just friends, though. They were best friends, parents, and roommates. 

It was unusual, he knew that, and he didn’t blame women for being threatened by Laena—she was smart, gorgeous, and the mother of his children. She was a big part of his life and she was going to stay that way. He didn’t make a habit of proclaiming his love for her during dates with other women, but he didn’t have to, the fondness in his voice when he spoke of her made his feelings clear. 

And in turn, it made the person across from him feel like they would never matter as much to him as Laena did.

And they were probably right. 

It was the reason he stopped dating. 

And the longer he spent not dating the less he wanted to date anyone at all. Even though it probably would be easier now that so much time had passed and the girls were older, he’d realized he didn’t need to date. He didn’t need a girlfriend to live a fulfilling life. He had good friends and an even better family. The only need not met by his current relationships was of the physical sort.

So when he sought women out, it was to fill that void and that void only. He was upfront about this—they knew it was just sex, and it stayed that way. It was easier. 

He didn’t need good conversation, good company, and good sex to all come from the same person to be satisfied. If he found it, fine, but he wouldn’t sacrifice the other relationships in life to get it.

That had been true a decade ago and was still true now.

Fuck, at that moment he resented that fact. 

Because the girl who was across from him now was special. She was vibrant, charming, and fucking gorgeous. 

He liked her a lot. Way more than he should given how much time they had spent together. He wanted to tell her that. 

I feel like you could matter as much to me as she does.

Because as insane as that sounded, it was true.

But he was pretty sure telling her that was an even bigger red flag than the ex-wife thing.

She looked intrigued–curious, not disappointed or angry, not yet, at least.

“Close how?” 

He swallowed, “Close in that we have two kids who we love, and we love each other, too. It’s not romantic or sexual though, not anymore—it hasn’t been for at least ten years. But she is a part of my life.”

She hummed, and he couldn’t quite read her expression, “Why did you get divorced?” 

“You don’t want to guess?”

It was a habitual response to that question–and a bit of a test. People’s assumptions were very telling. Good insight into the sort of man they thought he was, and he liked knowing that, even if he hated their answer. 

He usually hated their answer, because people almost always assumed he had cheated. 

“I think she broke your heart,” Rhaenyra said, sounding confident. 

Well. That was closer to the truth than cheating.

“She ended it,” he admitted, “But I wasn’t devastated—I got to keep her as a friend and co-parent, I’m very content with that. That mattered more to me than being married.” 

She looked thoughtful, so he continued, “I realize that might sound like total bullshit, but it’s true.” 

“No—I believe you. It does sound like bullshit, which is how I know it’s true. You’d never make that up if you were trying to get me into bed. It’s a terrible attempt to flirt. You’d just say she died or something.” 

He laughed, “Death is a more flirtatious subject matter in your eyes?” 

“Mhm,’ grieving widow' sounds way more vulnerable and sexy than ‘divorced man’.” 

Fuck, she really was something else.

“You’re absolutely right, I’d be way more attracted to a grieving widow than a divorced man.” 

She giggled and even that sounded musical, “Of course you would. A classically masculine response. Seeing a crying woman and thinking, ‘my dick would cheer her up’ without even offering her a tissue first.”

He bristled, “In my defense, I’d offer her a tissue after. Little good it would do before.” 

“I bet you would, such a gentleman,” she was shaking her head, but still smiling.

“Mhm, they teach that in finishing school. Of course, if you really want to impress the girl, you give her a monogrammed handkerchief rather than a tissue,” he teased.

“Ah, but then she has your initials—she could track you down,” Rhaenyra mused. 

“Well, if I wish to impress her, perhaps I want her to track me down.” 

“You like being chased?” She asked, leaning in closer, elbows on the table and cleavage on display. 

Fuck. She was a vision.

“Not under normal circumstances, but by you? I can see the appeal.”

“I can’t run in these shoes,” she said, which was probably true. They were tall and spiky—they must have made her feel more powerful, which he supposed was what really mattered, but they did little to make her more intimidating to him. After all, he was still taller than her, even with the boost the five-inch heels gave her.

“You could take them off,” he offered, “I won’t tell on you,” this restaurant was too fancy to even need a no shirt no shoes no service, sign, it was implied. 

“Already trying to get me out of my clothes? We haven’t even had the entree yet,” She admonished—though her smile and actions seemed to support this attempt, the weight of her feet coming to rest in his lap. 

He could take a hint, and he didn’t hesitate to undo the narrow straps buckled around her ankles, tossing the studded monstrosities to the side before returning his attention to her face.

“I’m not trying, I’m succeeding.”

She smiled, “You know—I think I could have caught you even with them on, you’re probably too old to run very fast.” 

He glared, “A rude assumption to make. But even if it was true, stamina matters more than speed, sweetheart.” 

“Maybe, but so does having a partner that can keep up with you—I mean in more than just bed, too.”

He agreed completely. 

Maybe, if he was lucky, she would give him the chance to try.

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: A recurring theme in your work, and in work made to appeal to a younger audience in general, is love at first sight. Do you believe in that now that you’ve finally found love?

R: I’m not sure, maybe it does, but it wasn’t like that…it was different for me. I didn’t know I loved him when I saw him for the first time. 

 

I: Aw? What was the moment you ‘knew’ then? If you don’t mind sharing, of course. 

R: I knew I loved him when I had to look away for the first time and realized I’d do almost anything to see him again. 

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

♡ Laena ♡

It was funny how quickly people’s opinions could change. 

Laena remembered it well, how envious everyone had been when she was dating Daemon—how lucky they told her she was to be with a man like him. 

Because he was the most charming, captivating, charismatic, and handsome person they had ever met. 

He was the most charming, captivating, charismatic, and handsome person Laena had ever met, too, at least at the time.

(Now, she had to give that title to his girlfriend, but at that point, his now-girlfriend hadn’t even been born.)

Laena had felt lucky, but being told she was lucky felt condescending. When her gushing peers spoke of her luck, it seemed to imply she was so undeserving of his interest that there was no other possible explanation for the fact they were together. 

But that wasn’t true. Daemon wasn’t better than her—and she had made that very clear to him, in a way other women hadn’t dared to before. 
 
She was pretty sure he hated her for it at first, but it was why he came to love her, too. 

She wouldn’t put up with his shit, and because of that, he could trust that her love was genuine. 

(After all, she would tell him she hated him just as freely.)

♡

She felt lucky because she had found a man who made her happy. 

Not everyone found that in their lifetime, much less in their early twenties. So in a way, yes, she was lucky to be with Daemon. But not for the reasons people thought—not because of his looks or charm or the size of his cock (which were all, quite frankly, very generous) but because he made her smile in a way no other man had. 

He made her feel like she was the most important woman in the world. 

Because she was the most important woman in the world to him. 

It felt good to be that person for him, and it felt good to be valued so highly by a man in a way she had never felt before—not even from her father who was supposed to love her the most. 

Being loved like that—validated like that—felt all the better in the context of a fucked up world where people were blinded by jealousy and determined to see her as inferior just to make themselves feel better.  

Daemon never made her feel that way. 

And he could have. He was certainly capable of it…and blunt to a point where he probably would have done so by accident if any part of him believed she was anything less than his equal. 

(Because he was many things, including a fucking asshole at times and a fucking dumbass at others.)

She didn’t love him because of that—being seen as an equal was the bare minimum in a relationship as far as she was concerned. But she thought very highly of him, and knowing he felt the same of her… it was one of the reasons she loved being with him. 

Still, they fought. They made up. They weren’t perfect people. They weren’t a perfect couple. 

But when he asked her to marry him, she didn’t hesitate to say yes. 

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: You were spotted in a bridal boutique last week—and you’ve been with your boyfriend [Harwin Strong] for over a year, do I hear wedding bells ringing?

R: I certainly don’t. If you do, you should really get it checked out, it’s probably tinnitus.

I: A year is a long time, though, is marriage in your future?

R: In our future? I’m not sure.  

But in my future? Yeah, I hope so. I want a family and call me old fashioned, but I see a husband as being part of that. 

And a year is a long time in one sense, but very short compared to a lifetime. And when I get married, that is what I want. It’s special to me. A big commitment, not one I take lightly. 

I never knew my father, and I never had an example of a good or bad marriage so maybe my standards are unrealistic, sculpted off of fairy tales and what was on television, but in my eyes…it means a person I can depend on until the day I die, nothing less. 

I know that’s a lot. I’m not in a hurry though. I think the right time and the right person will find me, and when they do I’ll just know. 

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

Suddenly, when they got married, people pitied her. Her luck had obviously run out, because Daemon was the sort of man you dated, the sort of man who broke your heart, the sort of man you remembered fondly but warned your daughters about. 

He wasn’t the type you married. 

She had heard it all—the whispers of how he was probably cheating on her already, how she must have been pregnant for him to ask her, how he was just like her father, how she was ruining her future by chaining herself to such a man. 

She disagreed then, and now, two decades later, she still disagreed. 

Marrying him was one of the best decisions she ever made. 

Loving him was one of the best decisions she ever made. 

Having children with him was one of the best decisions she ever made.

Divorcing him was one of the best decisions she ever made, too.

♡

♡

When they got married, Laena made things very clear.

“This will only work if I can trust you. That is the only reason this has ever worked. You have to tell me, okay? If you fuck someone or murder something, or whatever—I want to know, I can live with knowing, no matter what it is, I can’t live with the lies. Don’t make me live like that. Don’t you dare do what my dad did.” 

“I promise—I swear to you, the thought of my wife comparing me to her father is horrifying enough to keep me in line.” He paused for a second too long, “...and also my love for you, of course.”

(Oh, how things changed.)

Well. Kind of. He had never acted like her dad, and that hadn’t changed. 

But he certainly didn’t seem to mind his new girlfriend calling him Daddy.

♡

Their marriage lasted seven years.

Six of those years were really good. 

And then Rhaena was born.

It wasn’t Rhaena’s fault of course. If her birth hadn’t precipitated it, something else would have. It had been a surprise at the time because they were so happy and so compatible, but looking back, Laena was pretty sure the end of their marriage was inevitable.

After she was born, after three months of recovery, Laena felt well and truly physically capable of sex. 

But she realized she just…didn’t want it. 

She knew there wasn’t anything dirty or wrong about having sex with her husband, but she couldn’t see herself like that—she was too focused on being a mother to act like a woman or wife, and sex…it felt like it went against her current purpose.

Maybe that would change. Maybe it wouldn’t. 

But in the meantime, she gave Daemon a free pass–more for her sake than his, honestly, and it was one he took. Well. She had been convinced he took it. He had gone out a handful of times and come home smelling like perfume and scotch, and she wasn’t jealous—no, she felt so fucking relieved.

He hadn’t pressured her into sex, or demanded the ability to get it elsewhere. He wouldn’t , but that hadn’t stopped her from feeling the pressure of society’s expectations and of the expectations she had set for herself as a partner. If she couldn’t offer her husband that, she still wanted him to have it, and now that he had–the weight was lifted, and she slept better than she had in a long time.

♡

Years later—after the divorce, he admitted he hadn’t gotten more than a lap dance on those outings. He didn’t want to be with another woman until he knew she wasn’t an option anymore. 

(Fuck. She loved him so much.)

He probably didn’t deserve that much credit for keeping it in his pants for ten months, but his libido was a fucking beast she had barely kept up with before they had kids. Not to mention she basically demanded he go out and get laid. 

♡

Eventually, she wanted sex again, and they had it—and she realized the physical aspect of their relationship wasn’t the only one she had been struggling with.

That was when she realized she needed to end it. 

♡

Daemon had always been…a lot. She had liked that about him, fuck, she still liked that about him.  

He invested himself into things and people to a degree few others did and it was why he was successful at pretty much everything he prioritized in his life— business, marriage, fatherhood, etc.

It was hard to keep up with that sort of intensity and devotion. She had managed when she was younger, but she couldn’t anymore. 

She couldn’t be his wife and a mom and a professional and herself. 

He didn’t change, but she did.

And now she felt stifled and overwhelmed. It was just too much. She needed a break from him—she didn’t want him in her bed anymore when he was everywhere else, too.

She just…didn’t want him to leave, either. He was such a good dad, she couldn’t take that from him, and the girls deserved him in his life.

He loved them so much. He loved her too. 

It was just…too much. 

Fuck, when she said they had to be honest with each other, she hadn’t thought she would have to be honest about this. 

She never thought she would feel like this at all.

♡

“It’s weird, you know? She preaches about being this independent #bossbabe but she doesn’t even like taking baths alone. It’s exhausting being with someone that dependent on your company, you know?”

“It’s cute at first, I guess, like ‘oh, she really likes me, she really wants to be with me’ but then you realize ‘oh no, she just doesn’t want to be alone’ and being with someone twenty-four-seven is a lot. It was too much, honestly.” ~Criston Cole

♡

♡

♡

“Do you think you’ll change your mind?” He asked after she finished telling him everything. 

“I don’t know. I can’t predict how I’ll change as a person—god knows I never predicted wanting this, wanting something other than you.” 

It fucking sucked to admit that, but it was true.

He held her when she cried. 

He filed for separation the next day—at least legally, they were only separated by a wall, really, as he turned the second bedroom into his domain. 

♡

“Yeah I’m familiar with those comments—I think it shows how ill-suited they were. It’s pretty clear why she broke up with him...he saw her desire to be with him as a chore rather than an honor, and acted like having a preference for companionship is a personal failing and anti-feminist when it isn’t.” 

“It is a lot. She is a lot. But there is no such thing as too much Rhaenyra Arryn in my life, and I’m grateful for every moment.”

“But one thing he said was true—she is so f****** cute.”  ~Daemon Targaryen

 

♡

Laena never changed her mind. The longer they were apart sexually and romantically, the less she saw him as an option in that regard. He was the father to her children and her closest friend and he was able to be those things because he wasn’t her partner, too. 

If she could only have two out of three, those were the two she wanted, and he had given them to her—he had given her the best fucking family. 

She knew that, and that was what mattered. 

She didn’t care what the press thought. Not that they got a lot, but still, the occasional article popped up about him getting handsy or making out with someone in public—despite still wearing a wedding ring. 

The first time she saw one, she texted him.

♡

He didn’t date, but she did—it wasn’t the easiest thing when he was still such a big part of her life, but she managed, and he was supportive.

Sometimes, he was too supportive.

Yeah. She remembered. 

♡

When Laena realized he was dating someone, she had pointed it out—a spur-of-the-moment response to a smile she hadn’t seen him wear in over a decade. 

He used to look at her like that. 

Instead of feeling jealous, though, she felt…relieved that he might have found someone to love again. God knows he had enough to give. 

When he refused to give a name, she thought it was odd but let it be—at least at the time. 

♡

The following weekend, when the girls were in bed, she set down the bottle of wine and demanded the details. 

He sighed, “It’s still new.” 

“How new?” 

“…less than a year?” He offered. 

She wasn’t sure if she was mad that she hadn’t noticed earlier or mad that he didn’t tell her sooner, maybe both, but her glare must have implied anger, because Daemon sounded apologetic when he spoke.

“I—I came to care for her quite quickly. She matters to me, but so do you, and the more she mattered the more afraid I was of your disapproval.” 

She frowned, “Why did you think I would disapprove?”

He swallowed, a subtle show of nerves—fuck, this really was serious, he was never nervous.

“She’s younger.”

He had said twenties, but now she wondered how long the girl had been in her twenties. 

“How old is she, Daemon?” 

He winced, “Twenty-one.” 

“Fucking hell,” she hadn’t expected that. 

Daemon had always preferred younger women, not that she had met any of them. It was annoyingly normal for men to be attracted to younger women, so she couldn’t really blame him for that—not when they were attracted to him, too.

(And she definitely couldn’t blame them for that.)

They were hot, he was hot, and the age difference didn’t matter when they were both legal and only after a quick fuck. 

But by younger she meant younger than him, not barely legal, and not half his age— until now, it seemed. 

The Daemon she knew—and she knew him pretty fucking well—had never been skeevy. Just slutty. He never lusted over underage girls, employees, or women who weren’t interested. She had never, not once, seen him take advantage of someone or pressure them into anything. 

This was, unfortunately, quite rare in their class. Men in power, men with money were typically entitled as fuck and it showed in how they treated the people around them. They liked the fact people didn’t say no to them. The fact that women couldn’t say no. They got off on it, on proving once again that they could have anything they wanted, even someone who didn’t want them back.

Daemon wasn’t like. He was better than that. 

(And also, women threw themselves at him all the time, he had no need to take advantage or seek out those who were too young to know better.)   

She trusted him, and she genuinely trusted his judgment. 

But… twenty-one. 

That was so young.

That was how old they were when they met. And that was twenty-four years ago. 

What could he possibly have in common with someone that age? She couldn’t even imagine. But—he had never been attached to anyone , at least as far as she knew, after their marriage ended. The fact he had been with this girl for the better part of a year and was still smitten with her meant there must be something there beyond physical attraction. 

So she tried to muster a smile and asked him to, “Tell me about her.” 

And he did.

And god it was so obvious he loved her. 

What if he loved her too much, though? 

She knew it was a heady thing being loved by him—they had grown up together in their early twenties and he had always encouraged her aspirations. But if he had been older, if they hadn’t been equals in age on top of intellect and finances, maybe she would have gotten lost in that love. 

But how did she say that without making him feel guilty for his feelings for the girl? Because there was nothing wrong with loving that hard, it was just—it had been the reason for their downfall, and though she didn’t regret their relationship at all, she didn’t want him to go through that again. 

“Does she know how you feel?” She asked when his gushing over her momentarily paused. 

“Yes, she does,” he said, “I’m bad at hiding it—but I didn’t want to pressure her, she said it first, if that is any comfort.” 

Hm.

“She said it after less than a month,” he admitted, “She is…impulsive, but loyal, and so passionate. She is attentive but craves attention, too, and fuck I love it. Just being with her and being there for her and being loved by her.” 

She sounded like Daemon. Maybe he had truly met his match, but also, she was twenty-one. 

He had spoken about her ambition, so clearly she wasn’t lost in their love to a point where she didn’t want a life outside of him— yet . But that didn’t stop Laena from worrying.

“I know it sounds bad. And saying ‘she is mature for her age’ makes it sound worse, but you’d understand if you met her, I think. She knows how to put herself first. She knows what she needs. She has found it in me—and made me need her in the process, too. I didn’t seek her out for her age, I met her and liked her despite it.” 

She sighed, “I believe you,” and she did, it was just…not ideal. But life rarely was.

“I’d like to meet her,” she said, “I’d like to be happy for you, but I’m not sure I can be until I’ve seen you together.” 

Daemon relaxed a little at that, clearly confident if she gave them a chance, she would understand. That made her relax, too. 

“I’d like that too. Depending on what you mean by ‘seeing us together’, I have videos of us—“ 

“Nope!” She stood, “I’ll hear about your sex life but I don’t need to see it, thanks.” 

“Oh, you want to hear it? I can send you the audio file?” 

“Fucking hell Daemon. No.” 

“It’s hard being reminded of what you’re missing, hm?” He teased. 

“I’m surprised it’s hard at all anymore given your age and history!” 

He gaped at her, “I’m not old. And that was one time! It was a reaction to meclizine! You know that.”

She shrugged, “So you claimed.” 

“My dick is very hard. Not right now—it’s very capable of getting hard!” He said defensively. 

“That is absolutely something someone with a perfectly functioning dick would say,” she yelled over her shoulder as she scurried up the stairs. 

♡

She had been a bit surprised at Daemon’s insistence that they eat at the apartment—she thought neutral territory would be better, and it wasn’t like she would make a scene.

That made her feel a bit bad. She knew it couldn’t be easy from the girl’s perspective—Laena was intimidating even without her history with Daemon, and it had made dating hard for Daemon in the past, even if he hadn’t said it.

Though knowing about her might not bother the girl—which Daemon claimed it didn’t—meeting her was different. 

Daemon was probably nervous, too. 

Fuck. What a mess. She hoped tonight went well for all of their sakes.

♡

It felt weird knocking on the door of her once/still kind-of-part-time home, but it seemed respectful given everything. She was glad she did, too, when she realized she somehow had the wrong apartment.

There was no other explanation for the fact Rhaenyra Arryn opened the door. 

Right? 

Right?

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: Rhaenyra Arryn has spoken about difficulties with dating in the past, both because of her fame and wealth—do you have any insight on why that is? 

D: have no more insight on the matter than she does, the person who has been impacted by it directly. And I believe she has spoken about it before—to your publication, even. 

However, the responses I have seen…think people are eager to misunderstand her words and to put the blame on her for the struggles she has had. I’ve seen the words “picky” “difficult” “entitled” and “spoiled” thrown around a lot regarding her history, which isn’t fair. 

So to be clear, even though my word shouldn’t mean anything more than hers, she isn’t a difficult person. She isn’t a difficult person to date or to be with.

Don’t get me wrong, she is picky—she is confident and clever, too. She knows her worth, and she won’t settle.

She is entitled, in that she knows what treatment she is entitled to in a relationship. And yeah, she likes being spoiled by the person she is with—thank fuck for that, because I love indulging her.

She is so secure in who she is and who she wants to be and what she wants in a partner. I think that is very rare to see in a woman, especially one so young, and I love that about her. 

I think people mistake anything uncommon as being bad, but it’s good to value yourself and want a partner who values you, too. No one should disparage women for that. It is up to an individual to set their standards, and just because you can’t meet them doesn’t mean they are “too high” — they are just too high for you. I’d tell those people to get over it, but they can’t even reach, much less climb them.

I: Still, you make her sound very intimidating. Were you intimidated by her?

D: No. That would imply I felt threatened, and I wasn’t—I was…overwhelmed by her. Enchanted. I’m not afraid of strong women, of beautiful women, I’m impressed by them. I’m drawn to them. It’s little wonder that I fell in love with her when she has both beauty and strength in spades.

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

“Oh thank fuck, I was half convinced you’d bring the bolt cutters and an axe. I know you didn’t mention an axe. But breaking a door down is just so much more dramatic than cutting a chain, don’t you think? There isn’t much bigger of a power move you can make than that, and you seem like a powerful woman—well, from what Daemon has said…”

Laena blinked at the younger woman.

“Oh shit—fuck—I’m sorry, I’m Rhaenyra, it’s lovely to meet you, I’m not terrified at all,” she said as she extended her hand in front of her.

Laena just looked at it. 

Slender fingers tipped with perfectly manicured nails, the sort too long to be natural but so well done it seemed impossible they were artificial. Her hands were bare of anything but the neutral polish and a ring on her pinky—a highly polished white gold set with diamonds. 

Daemon wore a ring on his pinky, too—an infinity ring, he had done so forever. 

It would be a good gift for the girl, unmistakably not an engagement ring but still a visible reminder of affection for all to see. 

She knew the girl hadn’t bought it herself, no one bought anything from the love collection for themselves. 

Laena had never liked rings, even when she was married she rarely wore her wedding band, it always got in the way at work. 

Laena swallowed, her eyes flicking back up to meet the girl’s nervous expression. 

She looked lovely, if afraid, even prettier up close than she had been on stage—fuck, it wasn’t even two weeks ago that she saw the girl perform. She had complimented her accomplishments and Daemon had—

Daemon had been surprisingly defensive and knowledgeable about the girl who was twenty-one at the time.

Dear god, how on earth had he landed her?

Fuck.

She had said that out loud. 

Rhaenyra’s worried expression broke into one of amusement, “And here I thought you’d think he was too good for me. I should have known you were a woman with exceptionally good taste.” 

She opened the door wider, and Laena crossed the threshold, still a bit stunned by the revelation that this girl was the girlfriend Daemon had been talking about. 

No wonder he was in love. 

No wonder he was confident his career wouldn’t overshadow her.

No wonder he was certain his fortune would be incapable of pressuring her. 

She might have been half his age but in terms of wealth and notoriety, there was no contest. If anything, Daemon would be in her shadow. Fuck, Laena hadn’t even considered she would have to worry about that. 

Rhaenyra shut the door, her fingers nervously playing with the ring on her pinky. Laena, however, was focused on the room’s other occupant. 

“You could have fucking warned me,” she said, glaring at Daemon, “You didn’t think to fucking mention you are dating Rhaenyra Arryn?” 

“I didn’t think I had to,” he argued, “As you can see, it’s pretty obvious.” 

God. She should have known—obviously the girl was in the city, be it temporary or not, and Daemon made it his mission to fuck any pretty blonde that looked his way. 

He’d just never made it his mission to keep one…

Fuck.

She could handle this. 

She could. She would.

She just...needed a drink. 

♡

Rhaenyra Arryn insists “It’s the thought that counts” while debuting extravagant birthday gift!

“It’s beautiful. I love it. But I love it when he gets me coffee or my favorite candy bar, too. I love that he adds tampons to his Instacart order because he knows I’ll forget to buy them myself. I love that he has my favorite shampoo on autoship.

I’ve never had a man do any of those things for me outside of special occasions. There is this thought that, ‘Well, you have money, you can buy anything you want, why would I have to buy it for you?’ And it’s true. I could buy all of those things myself, and sometimes I do, but it’s the thought that counts, you know?

Like he dips into a Lush or my favorite Patisserie on his way home from work to get me a treat, or ‘just because’ and that is a $6 expense, not 6k. He thinks about me when he is getting groceries or toiletries, he just…thinks about me, a lot. That is what I love the most. Not the things or the expenditure but the proof of how much he cares.” 

 

♡

She stomped into the kitchen, ignoring the nicely made table and going straight for the wine cooler. She grabbed the first bottle with a Mondavi label she saw— cabernet sauvignon, perfect, took a glass from the cupboard above, and the corkscrew from the drawer below.

At least that was predictable. 

The taste of the wine was, too.

It was refreshing, knowing that not everything had changed. 

She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and looked at the pair who had followed her into the kitchen. 

“I’m sorry—that was rude of me, do you want some?” She asked, offering them the bottle.

Daemon looked a bit concerned, and he shook his head, “No—you know I prefer white.”

Rhaenyra snorted, her hands flying to her face as she tried and failed to hide her laughter.

What?

“There just—there has to be a better way to say that,” she said, ducking her head against Daemon’s shoulder. 

“We can’t all be fucking poets,” he grumbled, “You know what I meant.” 

“It’s very clear.” Laena said, trying not to laugh, “I can see exactly what you meant,” she teased, earning herself one of Daemon’s glares, “Rhaenyra?” She asked, offering it to her. The younger woman shook her head, “No thank you—I’m not allowed to drink.”

What an odd way to phrase her regusal...

The only thing that had ever made her  “not allowed” to have a glass of wine with dinner in her twenties was when she was— oh no.

“She’s old enough to drink,” Daemon said defensively, which was…not what Laena had been worried about.

“Oh,” Rhaenyra laughed because apparently, she understood Laena’s expression better than the man who had known for half her life, “That isn’t what she is worried about, she thinks I’m pregnant.” 

At least she was perceptive.

Daemon looked a bit stunned, “What?”

“I’m not,” Rhaenyra clarified in Laena’s direction.

That was a relief.

“You’re not,” Daemon echoed, sounding almost sad.

That was a…concern. 

She knew Daemon had, at one point at least, wanted more kids. 

By the time Rhaena was old enough for Laena to seriously consider it they had already legally separated. Still, they were living together full-time and co-parenting so well and she loved the girls so much. 

Seeing Daemon with them was, depending on the time of the month, a sort of G-rated pornography with how intensely the sight fed her oxytocin.

They could have done it. But it seemed…messy, and she never so much as mentioned her musings to Daemon. 

“My singing coach heavily discourages drinking during productions, and she scares me,” Rhaenyra offered as an explanation, “But I have pomegranate juice I can put in a wine glass if it makes you feel better.”

Juice. She had juice.

Laena couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity. 

“ Or,” Rhaenyra offered, “I could put the wine into a sippy cup.” 

God, of course, she had to be fucking funny, too. And talented. And young. And gorgeous.

“Or,” Daemon suggested, “We could eat something.” 

He had the occasional good idea, even Laena could admit that.

And, annoyingly good taste in women. 

♡

Rhaenyra Arryn: drinking, drug use, and disney channel…

“Look, I just think if we showed the awkward reality of being sixteen and waiting for an employee to unlock the condom case for you at CVS, I feel like people would be a lot less interested in sex.” 

My [old] manager had a clause in our contract that I couldn’t drink or smoke. It’s never—not ever— mentioned in kids’ programming, it’s like it doesn’t exist. I get it, we shouldn’t glorify that, especially when the audience is children. 

The problem is, when you remove it completely, it becomes more exciting. It feels forbidden. And something so taboo they don’t even show it on television is exciting. And then, when they do discover it in their life because they will, they don’t have age-appropriate examples of people experiencing it so they see no reason not to try it themselves. 

We know this from abstinence-only education, right? It doesn’t work. So why are we taking that approach in media? Why are we so afraid of evening mentioning things to 12-14-year-olds that will be a reality for almost every person by the time they reach high school? 

There is a middle-ground between advertising or glorifying and ignoring. I wish that was acknowledged more.

 

♡

The food was delicious—it always was, ordered from the type of restaurant that didn’t offer public reservations, much less take out, but money talked and Daemon had friends in seemingly every industry. 

Not that it mattered, really, but she was pleased to see Rhaenyra eating a normal amount, her plate full of branzino and goi along with the vegetable curry. 

Laena knew that all the stereotypes weren’t true, and even if they were, they were probably built off of insecurity and abuse rather than merely being pretentious, but it was nice that she didn’t seem to abide by the sort of ‘greens and four walnuts a day’ sort of diets that seem plastered on every magazine cover. 

She didn’t say that but her staring must have made her thoughts very obvious. 

“Do I need to take more to convince you I don’t have an eating disorder?” Rhaenyra asked.

Fuck. That was embarrassing. 

“I have my issues–mostly of the daddy variety–but that isn’t one, if it’s any comfort. Fuck—I think I eat more than Daemon these days, the past few months have been exhausting, I didn’t know what I was getting into when I agreed to this.” 

That was…too much information.

“Jesus Daemon, you should be better at controlling your libido by now. Give her a fucking break.” Dor fucks sake, he was forty-three years old!

He looked offended but Rhaenyra was laughing, “No—no, I meant the show, I never toured or anything, so I’m not used to singing and dancing, much less so frequently for so long. It’s been an adjustment.”


That was also embarrassing. 

She changed the topic quickly, “So, how did you two meet?” 

Rhaenyra beamed at Daemon when she spoke— fucking hell, she really was in love with him too. It was so obvious. 

“He humiliated himself in front of me but he was handsome enough I agreed to go out anyway.” 

Yeah, that sounded about right, though Daemon had told her a slightly different story, though—leaving it at ‘we were both waiting for coffee at the same time and started talking.’

Daemon sighed, “I thought she was one of Baela’s friends—she looked so familiar, but I couldn’t quite remember her name.”

Oh god, that was humiliating. 

“When I told him who I was, he realized he knew me from Baela’s backpack, not her circle of friends.”

And he doubled down on it too. How the fucker still landed her was a testament to his pretty face, truly. 

“And then he tried to make up for it by paying me off like a four-dollar croissant would erase his sins. I told him that he had to try harder than that if he wanted my forgiveness.” 

He must have fucking loved that. Daemon was not lacking self-esteem but he thrived off of impressing people—and when he tried to do so, he always seemed to succeed. It was one of his many talents, though he had always used the tactic for business more than pleasure.


Until now, it seemed...


“He bought out Coteon with twenty-four hours’ notice,” Rhaenyra said—which was, Laena had to admit, impressive, even for him.

“I called in a favor—an expensive favor—but you were worth it,” Daemon said, and wasn’t that just sweet enough to make your teeth hurt.

“How did you get you to go on a second date is the real question,” Laena mused, since she didn’t think displays of wealth alone would win over the girl. 

“What, my charming company isn’t enough?” He asked defensively. 

Laena gave him an unimpressed look. He was charming. Very charming. But it took more than that to win the heart of a girl half his age who could have literally any man she wanted.

“It was enough, for the record,” Rhaenyra said, “I had decided we’d see each other again before we even finished the entree. But dessert really cinched the deal.” 

Laena snorted, “Let me guess, something with a side of cunnilings?” 

Rhaenyra’s flush was enough to answer that question. Daemon simply looked smug.

“Anyway! Enough about us, I want to know how you too met—you must have stories,” Rhaenyra said, leaning in and looking genuinely interested.

Daemon winced.

Oh, Laena hadn’t even considered how fun this aspect could be...

♡

By the end of the night, Laena had to admit Daemon was right. 

Rhaenyra was mature for her age.

She had been working for her entire childhood—forced to deal with people and pressure in an unforgiving industry without the support of parents there to protect her. She hadn’t just grown up quickly, she had never known anything else. 

That excuse wouldn’t hold up if she was, say, still fourteen, but she wasn’t. She was twenty-two years old and came off as both remarkably competent and clever in the short time Laena spent with her. 

She was charming, too—all the more so as the nerves wore off. She held her own against Daemon—unafraid to tease and taunt him. 

She wasn’t afraid to touch him, either. 

The girl was an actress, so perhaps she was amping up the physical affection in an attempt to claim ownership over him, but Laena didn’t think so. She was quite sure this was normal for them.

Because Daemon had always been tactile, with both her and the girls—in an appropriate way, of course, but Laena now realized she had never seen him with someone who sought out touch the way he did, rather than merely indulging his preference.

The end result was…kind of beautiful. Daemon didn’t just relax when Rhaenyra squeezed his shoulders or nuzzled against his arm, he leaned into her. 

After, when they were in the living room, Rhaenyra sat so close to him that she was practically in his lap, while Daemon’s fingers lazily stroked her shoulder, the tips teasing beneath the strap of her blouse. He didn’t even seem aware of it, and Rhaenyra was fully unfazed. 

They fit together, she realized. Quite literally a tighter fit than she’d ever had with Daemon, with how close they seemed to be. 

And Daemon…he deserved that. 

He could have that without losing her or the kids because a puzzle required more than just one piece to make a picture. 

But Rhaenyra was an important part of that now. She was important to him. That much was obvious. 

♡

♡

Eventually, it was late, and she had drained her fourth glass of wine. She could call a car, but if this was any other occasion then she would just sleep over. Baela was old enough–and responsible enough–to survive the night, and Rhaena was at a friend's house.

When she yawned, Rhaenyra straightened, “I’m so sorry—you must be exhausted…I can go,” she said as she untangled herself from Daemon and stood. 

Ah shit, she didn’t want to kick the girl out. 

“That’s ridiculous, it isn’t like there is only one room.” 

Still, she could admit it felt a bit strange. But Daemon had managed this on and off for years with her partners, she would get used to it.

She had a hunch they were used to being a bit louder than she was, though, and with how Daemon was looking at the poor girl she had no doubt what they would be up to when they had a bit of privacy. 

“It’s fine,” Rhaenyra said, “I like my room better than his, anyway.” 

“You like your room better when I’m in it, though,” Daemon said with a pout. 

Laena rolled her eyes at the theatrics, but Rhaenyra clearly adored it, kissing him before taking her leave. 

“You can come up and visit after you’re finished talking about me.” She offered.

Wait– “Come up?” Laena asked, confused, it didn’t get much further uptown than where they were. 

Rhaenyra froze, looking a bit embarrassed as she said, “I, uh—live upstairs.”

“This building isn’t zoned for rentals,” Laena said, unless she had missed something.

“I bought the place upstairs,” Rhaenyra clarified, which only created more questions. 

“You bought the penthouse ?” Surely that wasn’t what she meant.

Rhaenyra nodded. 

“When the fuck did that happen?” 

It wasn’t moving in together, but it was close—and a huge financial commitment beyond the personal one. 

Well, maybe not huge for her, Laena didn’t know her net worth. 

Daemon laughed, “Yeah, Rhaenyra, when did that happen?” 

She huffed, then literally stomped her foot before admitting, “Four days after we met. But in my defense, I needed a place to stay!” 

“I didn’t even know it was for sale,” Laena admitted—what a weird coincidence. 

“It wasn’t,” Daemon said, while looking at Rhaenyra with so much fondness it should be illegal. 

But even if it was, apparently they were above the law. 

“Anything is for sale if you ask nicely and have enough money,” Rhaenyra argued. 

“That is fucking insane.”

Like—fuck, how many of millions did she drop just days after meeting a guy? After meeting Daemon? She may have needed a place to stay, but that could not have been the cheapest, easiest, or nicest option available to her. 

But Daemon was beaming—of course he was. He appreciated grand gestures and impulsivity, “It is,” Daemon agreed, “And it’s the most romantic thing a woman has ever done for me.” 

“It’s practically stalking,” Laena said. 

“He told me to chase him!” Rhaenyra argued, like the defense of ‘he was asking for it’ would work here. And, well, it kind of did. 

“You’re both insane,” she muttered.

“Insanely perfect for each other,” they both said at once—proving their point, and hers. 

♡

The actress turned songstress gave us a look at her new home–the top floor of a three story historic building in Upper Manhattan. Though spacious, the old fashioned space isn’t what many would expect from a young ‘it-girl’ but Arryn insists she plans to keep it just as it is. 

“I don’t mind things that look old–they made some things better back then, you know? It’s old enough to be historic rather than dated, and I like that. Marble and matte fixtures won’t be stylish forever, but this will be. Something doesn’t have to be trendy to be beautiful, I think in this day and age people tend to forget that.”  

When asked what drew her to this place in particular, she simply shrugged, “I instantly felt comfortable here. It felt right. It’s convenient too, very close to a lot of things in the city that I love.” 

♡

When the girl was gone, all Laena could really say was, “Quite frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t  married her yet.” 

He laughed, “Yeah, me too.” 

“You’d be an idiot to let her get away.” 

He was smiling, “I know, but—I don’t think I could get her to leave even if I tried.”

That was…not overly healthy, but, “You love it, don’t you?” 

He nodded. 

She sighed, “Can I be your best man at the wedding?” 

The grin he gave her was a familiar one, “I was thinking best woman unless this is you announcing something.” 

“For fucks sake…” 

“Look I wouldn’t judge your reasons. Sexual. Social. It’s up to you. You look great in a suit,” he teased.

“You’re such an asshole,” she grumbled, getting up from the couch. 

“It’s a compliment! I’m being supportive!” 

She rolled her eyes, but speaking of support...

“You’ll have to tell the girls. Soon.”

His face fell, “I know. I promised her a week in the Hamptons after her run is over, and then there is Rhaena’s birthday that weekend. I was thinking after that—less than a month.” 

She nodded, she could give him that, but she had no fucking idea how they would react. They knew he was dating someone, but not how serious it was—that would be a surprise enough, her age would be a shock, too— fuck, she was only four years older than Baela. 

And then on top of all of that, she was Rhaenyra Arryn. 

♡

♡

Chapter Text

☆♡ Rhaenyra ♡☆

He wasn’t an imposing man, not really, not to her at least. 

He was taller than her of course (she wouldn't have agreed to go out with him if he wasn't) and his shoulders were wider. But he was not some hulking creature who loomed over her, he was just a man.

...a man with a broad enough build that proved he was capable of both protecting her and holding her down during a rough fuck. 

Both were rather important to her. 

But he was bigger than his physical frame. His personality spilled out and filled the space between them, and it was strong enough that it seemed to carry an energy of sorts. One that was powerful enough to make her skin buzz in anticipation from simply being seated across from him. 

His eyes were full of mirth like she amused him, and his smirk hinted at a sort of confidence few men managed when they were with her. 

He was cocky. 

But he had earned the right to be because he was so fucking handsome. 

He wasn't just handsome, though.

He was quick-witted in a way that made it clear he was as clever as he was charming, and he was sweet, too, though he tried to hide that.

Luckily for her, he was a poor actor—he radiated love at the mention of his children, his smile softening into something that spoke to the joy they brought him and the obvious affection he had for them.


It made her feel...something. Jealously, maybe? No...

If she met him a few years ago, maybe she would be, but now…

Now she realized a man who loved the people in his life that much was capable of loving her that much, too, and fuck she liked the thought of that way more than she should given that they had just met.

But she couldn't help it.

♡

It was that sort of thinking that first drew her to Harwin—the way he spoke of his sisters was so full of adoration it made her a bit sick, because she wanted that. She wanted to be adored by him. 

And she was. For a time. 

It hadn’t been the right fit for either of them, that much was obvious by the end. And Criston…he hadn’t been a good fit from the beginning, she didn’t know what she had been thinking. 

Those were her only two real relationships, as in ones she chose for herself that existed beyond a hotel room, and without the involvement of her management or guardian making decisions for her.

Maybe it was time for a third. 

It was a bad idea, she knew that. 

Optics-wise, dating a man twice her age with two teenage children looked pretty terrible. Whether it worked out or went terribly, if the press heard about it, the articles would not be written positively, because on paper even the most unbiased report would look bad.

But she liked him a lot, and as the meal carried on, she realized it would be so easy to love him.

She wasn’t sure she had ever felt that way about a man before. Certainly not on a first date. 

(But then, none of the other men she had been on first dates with were that good with their tongues…)

♡

He asked her to join him for a drink at his place. 

That was a bad idea, too. 

She said yes.

♡

His apartment was nice, consisting of the entire second floor of an old brownstone. It wasn’t overly spacious by suburban standards, but in the city, it was practically a mansion. 

She liked it quite a lot. More than she probably should, but that seemed to be an ongoing theme for the evening.

She had expected given his divorced/bachelor status and career on Wall Street that his home would be modern, minimalistic, and sleek, but it wasn’t. It was well maintained but not to an obsessive degree. The couches were plush comfortable-looking monstrosities, with plenty of blankets and throw pillows on them. 

There was a dish of change on the console table. A few scarves and colorful umbrellas hung from hooks by the door. There were dishes drying on the rack next to the sink. It was very lived-in and comfortable—it felt like a family lived here, and even if she wasn’t part of that family—well, it was still comforting. 

She swallowed when she saw the pictures—she had escaped to the bathroom a moment earlier, but instead of returning to the kitchen after, she managed a whole minute of snooping in the living room before Daemon came looking for her, with wine glasses in hand. 

 He didn’t seem bothered by the invasion of privacy, though, not if the way he had begun kissing her neck was any indication. 

“You have a beautiful family,” she said softly, her eyes still fixed on the photos decorating the mantle. There were a dozen of them, maybe, most of which featured Daemon and who she could only presume to be his then-wife and his two children. 

“Thank you,” he muttered against her skin, while his arms wrapped around her—the wine had been abandoned at some point in favor of holding her instead.

“I never had much of one, you know—a family,” she said, wincing after the words came out. That was sure to ruin the mood

Daemon hummed, “But you always wanted one.” It wasn’t a question.

She turned in the embrace, leaving her tucked up against his chest while her head was tilted back. 

“Yes. I wanted one so badly,” she wet her lips, her tonight light—teasing—when she said, “If only you could adopt me.” 

He looked amused, his hands roaming to her hips and pulling them closer, allowing her to feel the evidence of his arousal against her stomach. 

Fuck. 

“That might make this a bit awkward,” he mused. 

She laughed, recognizing the attempt to change the subject but unable to let it go just yet, “You must have been young, huh? When you became a father,” she clarified, her fingers stroking his cheek—marred with the sort of lines that made it obvious he was older than her, but not how much older than her.

He huffed but sounded amused, “Excuse me, I’m still young.”

Her lip twitched, “How young?” 

He paused. Mumbling something unintelligible beneath his breath though it definitely started with a forty.

He changed the topic,  “How old are you?” 

“You’re supposed to ask that before you take girls home, I think,” she offered, unable to hide her smile.

He still looked amused, “I trust you’re legal in that regard. The wine, however…” 

She laughed, it was a valid concern—less than a year ago that wouldn’t have been legal, but now…

“I’m twenty-one—and I’m not just saying that! I can show you my ID,” she offered. 

He shook his head, “No, I don’t need to see that—good girls like you don’t lie, do you?” 

Oh.

One of his palms rose to cup her cheek, “I want to see all of something else, I want to see all of you sweetheart.” 

Jesus Christ, she was going to melt into a puddle. 

“Do I seem like the type to put out on the first date?” She asked, sounding a bit breathless already. 

“Mhmm, I already told you, you seem like a good girl, now let me be good to you, hm?” His words were pleading but his voice was warm and seductive rather than desperate. 

Fuck.

Was she really that easy to read? 

“Let me take care of you, sweetheart, that’s what daddies do.” 

Yes, apparently she was that easy to read.

♡

It was good. So good. 

He had a thick cock, a filthy mouth, strong hands, and he knew how to use them. She would have the bruises to show for it, tomorrow but she wasn’t complaining. No. It was the sort of sex that left her sore and satisfied and completely willing to overlook how bad this idea was. 

It was simply that good. 

Fingers stroked her belly, and his cock was still inside of her when he urged her to go to sleep, “Tired you out, huh sweetheart? That’s okay. You can rest, just like this, go to sleep, sweet girl.” 

She did.

♡

She awoke to a chiming sound, her eyes blinking opening to see Daemon sitting up, phone in hand. 

She should have been anxious about its presence because a phone was also a camera and he could have easily gotten pictures of her nude while she slept. 

But she didn’t think he was like that. And if he was, so what? People knew what she looked like. She didn’t have anything to be ashamed of in that regard. She didn't want to worry about that sort of thing right now, she didn't want to worry about anything with him.

Her hand stroked his bare chest, eyes fixated on his expression—he looked happy, his mouth curled into a smile.

She swallowed, “Look at that grin, some other girl I need to worry about?” 

She was kidding.

Mostly. 

But she was still relieved when he shook his head, “Not one I want in my bed,” he told her, setting the phone aside.

Good.

“Your daughter?” She guessed. 

He hummed in confirmation, his hands moving to stroke her back and shoulders now that he was no longer distracted by the device. 

She wasn’t sure why this was such a sticking point for her. A point of fascination. Maybe it was because she had never really interacted with people who had kids before? Her aunts hadn’t, her manager hadn’t, her previous partners hadn’t, and none of her friends did—too concerned with the impact they might have on their career and figure.  

After all, for actresses, those were one and the same. 

She hadn’t ever been this close to someone who prided themselves on being a parent, but he did, and it made her feel things. 

It made her want things. 

Things she wasn’t allowed to want yet, but things she could ask about. 

“Did you always want kids?” She asked. His hands stilled for a moment before carrying on, clearly surprised but not opposed to this line of questioning. 

“I didn’t not want them. But if Laena didn’t want them, I don't think it would have become a point of contention. I didn’t have the best relationship with my father—I’m competitive to the point where proving myself better than him held some appeal, but I didn’t think much of it outside of that.” 

She bit back a laugh, that was the worst reason to have kids she had ever heard, but it had worked out for him.

“You really were quite young, weren't you?” She mused. He would have been mid-twenties, she thought, which was unusual. In her experience, wealthier men liked to wait to settle down—get a decade of fucking around in before they got married and had to live with the inconvenience of hiding the fact they were still fucking around. 

He nodded, fingers playing with the ends of her hair while he spoke, “I suppose. Laena didn’t want to wait until she was more established in her career, as bad as it sounds, she wanted to get it over with. Because she wanted kids, but she wanted to be in her prime they were eighteen years old, not just eighteen months old. She wanted to see them live their lives, and have one of her own after they moved out.” 

Rhaenyra could understand that. 

“How about you?” She asked, only for him to look confused. She clarified, “Have you ‘gotten it over with’ ? Are you almost ready for your own life?” 

He seemed to consider this, looking at her expression as if trying to figure out what answer she wanted. 

Good luck with that. She was a good actress and knew how to give a blank expression.

“Are you asking me if I want more kids?” He finally asked. 

She nodded.

His lip twitched, “Yes. It isn’t a dealbreaker, but I miss having kids more than I miss having a life.”

Oh.

“Do you?” He asked, and she nodded again.

“Mhm, I want a family.” 

He grinned, squeezing her waist as he said, “Just say the word. My resume is good in that regard” 

Fuck, her breath hitched, even though it was insane to be turned on by that statement. 

“It’s mean to tease me like that.” She warned, because truly—it would be so easy to want that.


To want that with him.


Fuck, part of her already did. 

“I’m not teasing.” He said, and his expression—he looked like he meant that, and she didn’t think he was a good enough actor to fake it.

“We just met,” she said, though it almost sounded mournful. 

He nodded, “You’re right. We should wait a few months for that, at least.”

God. 

She swallowed, “I will wait for a few rings first, too.” 

He lifted his hands from her—an action she wanted to protest, at least until she realized the reason for it. She watched him pull a ring off his pinky,  and found herself laughing, “Not that type.”

He was undeterred, lifting her hand from his chest and slipping it on her fourth finger.

The ring finger. 

“It suits you,” he complimented with a smile. 

Yeah. It kind of did. 

“If only there was a way to have one there permanently,” she mused, holding her hand up to the light to admire the heavy ring. It was somehow more proportional on his smallest finger than it was on any of hers, but she liked the weight of it.

The face of it was an infinity symbol, she realized. A mark of forever.

“Maybe in a few months if you're good,” Daemon said, as he moved over her—caging her against the bed.

“This is insane to discuss, you know?” She said, feeling like she had to acknowledge that. 

“Mm, well, the sex was pretty insanely good, you know,” he said, nipping at her neck. 

Her breath hitched, fingers tangling in his hair, “I know. I was there.” 

He laughed, breath hot against her skin, “You were. That was at least half the reason why it was so good. Do you want to do it again?” 

Yeah. She did.

♡

She bought the apartment above him that week. 

And less than a month later, he bought a wedding ring. 

He did nothing to hide the fact, the velvet box was left on the counter where she could see it. When she asked about it, stomping into the living room demanding an explanation, he simply smiled. “I’ll give it to you this year, so long as you’re good. 

“I’m always good for you, aren’t I?” She claimed with a pout, fingers trailing down the front of his chest as she came to kneel between his spread thighs. 

“Mhm, you are” he agreed, and when she took his cock into her mouth, he cursed, “Such a good girl for me…the best girl for me.” 

She really was, and she was so glad he realized it. 

And, she wasn't going to let anything change that.

..

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

In many ways, Rhaenyra Arryn is both striking and unassuming. An otherworldly sort of pretty but in a petite package that looks so at ease in her NYC apartment that it’s hard to imagine she is the caliber of celebrity that gets millions of likes on any and all of her Instagram uploads. 

It makes sense, of course, given that her relatability has been rather integral to her success. 

Of course, her partnership with the Disney Channel is what initially skyrocketed her career into a different stratosphere—offering her a sort of fame and fortune few will ever be able to claim, much less at the age of twelve. 

Rhaenyra Arryn, however, earned that sort of stardom and then some, cementing herself as a household name before even entering her teen years. 

An impressive feat, to be sure, but the fact she has remained a household name in the near decade since what many assumed would be her ‘height’ of fame is all the more impressive, especially given her time away from the spotlight. Her projects over the past four years have been few and far between, though all have greatly exceeded the expectations the general public has for former child stars. 

They have exceeded those expectations because of her. Because Rhaenyra Arryn is special. 

She brings her charisma and a unique stage presence to every performance that endears the audience to her. Her approach brings something very inviting to the characterization of each role she takes on, and she has the unique ability to make even the silliest scripts feel authentic and relatable. 

That is a talent much rarer than merely a good voice or a pretty face, and the Disney executives weren’t the only ones to recognize it. Millions of children did, too, flocking to televisions every Friday on 8/7c and watching, riveted and giggling, as she acted her way through ridiculous scenarios, school, and family hijinks.  

It was all fake—a script, in which Arryn played characters, not herself. But she did so with a sort of charm that went beyond what was written for her, and that was obvious even to children. You could imagine meeting her, going to school with her, or dating her—she felt like someone you knew rather than a mere character, and her fans grew to care for her outside of her television appearances and the ditzy typecasting she fell victim to. 

Her contract ended in 2020, the last of her projects airing in the early months of 2021 while fans mourned the loss. Though she had left the channel, they were left wanting more.  

She gave that to them in an unusual way.

Her Instagram profile is full of photos that feel more like windows into her private life and home than still images. They painted a mundane picture of normalcy that stands apart from the glitzy and glamorous way most celebrities of her caliber present themselves on social media. 

Once again, she, quite literally, portrayed an image that you could imagine yourself being part of. It was easy to feel like you were, if not her friend, someone who could become her friend, if only you bumped into each other in person.

I was almost afraid to put this to the test, to meet her, because people say, ‘Never meet your heroes,’ and I was fully prepared for all my fond childish memories to be turned to dust and disappointment.

Because, for as relatable as Rhaenyra Arryn seems on Instagram and in G-rated dramas, she has tens of millions of followers and a net worth rumored to be in the hundreds of millions. You could hardly blame her for being stuck up or spoiled, she lives in a different world than most of us, and she has for most of her life. 

But when she opened the door to her New York City residence, it didn’t feel like an alien encounter or a typical celebrity one, either. The actress-turned-singer-turned-model-turned-broadway-star greeted me in the way you would expect an old friend to—with a bright smile and cheerful, “Hello—it is so nice to have you here!” 

—

Her hair is pulled up in a high ponytail—but her locks are long enough that the ends still dust her waist. Her fair skin is unblemished, her eyebrows are perfectly shaped, and her lips have a touch of shine to them. 

She looks remarkably fresh-faced, and I find myself wondering if she is simply that pretty or that carefully made up.

Surely it isn't possible for someone to just look like that?

She reminds me of a twenty-something playing a teen on a CW drama. If this were a scene, she would have just woken up, her unrealistically perfect appearance softened into something ever so slightly disheveled in a poor attempt by the production to convince you that is what women look like in those circumstances. 

But there is no production here, just a twenty-two-year-old woman. There are no screens between us, no careful lighting to disguise makeup, and it is obvious that yes—she does look like that, no matter how unfair or impossible it seems. 

Later, when I felt confident she wouldn’t be offended, I asked her about the routine and rigor she put into her appearance and the pressure it might put on her fans who wanted to emulate her. 

“I’m vain,” Arryn admits, “I’ve always liked how I look, and I like investing in that. So I do, and I suppose I’m too selfish to stop. But it’s unfortunate, that it creates unrealistic expectations for other women because that isn’t fair. Looks are part of this profession, a big part of it, and the amount of time and money invested in maintaining them is unrealistic for 99.9% of the population.” 

She goes on to say, “You wouldn’t compare a career Olympian’s best times to a high schooler’s performance in track practice. The amount of training, commitment, money, and experience that has gone into an Olympian’s career can’t be compared to a sixteen-year-old in rural Ohio or whatever. Olympians are the anomaly, not the standard we use to measure our personal success. So why on earth are we using actors and models as a standard for physical appearances?"  

Arryn went on to clarify, “I haven’t had fillers or surgery or anything—but I’ve had a dermatologist since I was eleven. I’ve had a personalized routine, and taken advantage of every preventative measure possible, and I have done so since I was a child. I had assistants who shoved moisturizer, sunscreen, and lip balm at me to help maintain a ‘youthful appearance’ I had a stylist and social media manager ensuring I looked right in every public appearance, picture, and post. None of that is special for someone in the spotlight. But it is completely unattainable for your average person, so yeah, the results are probably unattainable, too.” 

—

Arryn is clad in mismatched socks and a simple sweater-knit romper.

Later, when asked, she told me her outfit was from ‘Petal and Pup,’ one of Target’s fashion lines with a retail price of $70. The ring on her hand is rumored to be worth five hundred times that amount,  but at a glance, you wouldn’t know it. 

It speaks to the duality she is capable of, that she wears something a woman would pick up as an impulse buy while running through their weekly food shopping list with the same amount of ease she wears $35k of diamonds. 

It’s as easy to picture her walking the aisles of a Whole Foods as it is to imagine her on a movie set, and as she bustles around her kitchen making us tea, I feel confident that she would likely be just as comfortable getting groceries as she would going down a red carpet—though bizarrely, opportunities for the latter are easier to come by for someone in her position. 

“I learned how to cook and all that when I was living upstate,” she says, speaking about her ‘year off’ that was spent making improvements to the grounds of her 5500 square foot “eccentric victorian” home in Cortland, an eighteenth birthday present the star bought for herself. 

“It was my little escape from the world, and I realized quite quickly that it felt like less of an escape when plugging my address into delivery apps and making daily trips to Starbucks.” 

—

“I have a maid. I had a personal chef who would meal prep for me when I was spending seven nights a week on ‘Oh, Great.’ But I like being able to do things for myself, too. That sounds so condescending, doesn’t it? Like I want a gold star for being able to make tea!” She laughs, and I can’t help but laugh, too. Because it’s true—it would be an absurd statement to come out of the lips of most people, but from a celebrity of her caliber, even that sort of independence is a rare choice. 

However, it is the self-awareness that strikes me. She knows how privileged her life is and hardly expects praise for going above and beyond what is strictly necessary for someone with her sort of wealth, “My life isn’t normal, so yeah, sometimes doing ‘normal things’ is novel, because they weren’t part of the ‘normal’ I grew up with. I understand how that seems out of touch with reality—and I guess it is, because my reality was fucking weird.

“Wearing a wrist brace because I had thousands of posters to sign in a single afternoon? Normal for me. Spending six hours in hair and makeup five times a week when filming a Halloween episode? Also normal. But making a cake from scratch? Or even from a box mix? I didn’t do that until I was seventeen. I didn’t make an Amazon order until I was eighteen and living alone!

“It’s so silly being excited and amused by those things, but I was, and I am. I feel a bit like the tourists in Times Square who are completely in awe of their surroundings. Surroundings locals think of as loud and dirty rather than impressive and inspiring. That’s how I feel about mundane tasks sometimes.” 

It’s strange, how her candid discussion of how her life has drastically differed from the ‘norm’ makes me feel so much more at ease with her. She doesn’t glorify routine tasks, she just emphasizes why they mean more to her.

—

—

—

She is charming in her enthusiasm for what she likes, and relatable in what she passionately dislikes. It’s a range of emotions rarely seen off-screen from starlets, and a refreshing one at that. 

A cat jumps up onto the counter and she shoos it away, “It’s only been two weeks,” she says, referring to how long she has had the creature, “I’ll probably give up soon but for now I’m still trying to enforce the rules,” she says with a laugh, “There are two others around here somewhere…” 

Many of us are aware of the chaotic trio who have offered near-daily fodder for her Instagram stories. The trio came from a local rescue organization. The feel-good story was everywhere over the last few weeks, along with photos showing a smiling Arryn surrounded by a dozen kittens. 

Ultimately, she brought home a trio whose owner had passed away a few weeks earlier. Though some people criticized getting three cats at once as irresponsible, neither the rescue nor Arryn saw it that way. She told Vanity Fair last week that, “They lost their home and their protector, all they have left is each other, how on earth is it irresponsible to let them keep that?” 

As a first-time pet owner, Arryn was eager to discuss the species with me, a “professional” — her words not mine, since I admitted to both growing up with cats and owning one. 

She demanded to see photos.

Apparently, a massive following and an even bigger net worth does not make someone immune to the innate human need to look at  pictures of cats. Stars—they really are just like us—at least when it comes to that!

—

Soon we were both hunched over my phone and scrolling through my camera roll, as she asked me questions and requested recommendations. 

“I’ve gotten tens of thousands online, which is great, but overwhelming,” she admitted as she added the name of the scratching post and brush I recommended to her notes app, “I’m an old soul,” she teased, “I like getting recommendations in person rather than from strangers online.” 

We both laugh, and not even ten minutes in, it was easy for me to feel like her friend.

But fate offered the opportunity to be much more than that to ‘Daemon Targaryen’ who is the primary topic I came to discuss. 

—

Daemon Targaryen is Rhaenyra Arryn’s not-so-mystery man who has been the topic of nearly every TMZ headline over the past three weeks.

— 

“We met at a coffee shop,” Rhaenyra says with a grin, her eyes looking down to her hand where the engagement ring sits, along with several others—which she also described as gifts from her fiancé . 

“I told him I would need a few rings before I agreed to marry him,” she admitted, “I told him that…god, not even forty-eight hours after we met, I don’t think.” 

It seems eight months later, he has delivered, and she has said yes. 

“I probably would have said yes after eight days,” she admits with a laugh, “I was gone on him from the start. But he wouldn’t let me forget the emphasis I put on a few rings.” 

She explained that he bought her a keyring first, “It’s stupid,” she says, though she os still smiling as she hands the set of keys to me. The pink leather strap has silver letters spelling out PRADA on it, with a silver and enamel robot charm dangling from it. The sort of design that would cost a cool $800 assuming you could even find it in stores.

What Arryn focused on, though, was the pair of plastic-encased photos of her hanging from split rings. They depict a teenage Rhaenyra, complete with gaudy bubble lettering that speaks to the early 2000s branding of teen stars. 

“He bought those on eBay,” she says fondly, “I think they were exclusive to Walmart or something, like, a decade ago.” 

“It’s kind of my favorite of all of them,” she says with a laugh, though she was happy to tell me about the others when I asked.

—

He got her earrings next, then the heavily reported on LOVE ring, and the engagement ring, all of which she has all been seen wearing. But there were others—more luxurious than the keychain, but equally unknown to us. 

“He bought the wedding band first, you know? He told me, ‘I’ll need it when I marry you, but I don’t know you well enough to pick an engagement ring yet,’ which is just so contradictory and ridiculous; I love him.” 

The engagement ring in question is a European cut diamond in an Edwardian style setting, described as “about three carats,” with bow details that would sound childish in description but are visually breathtaking. It manages to come off as youthful instead of gaudy, and the sheer size of it is both excessive yet perfectly suited to the star’s dainty fingers. 

It’s a good fit for her, in more ways than the band size. But on the topic of bands…

She confirmed that as various publications expected, it would be a LOVE ring to match the one adorning her pinky. She happily stated that she bought one for Daemon, too, so they would match. 

 “There is one more,” she said, untucking a chain from her blouse and playing with the ring serving as a pendant, “It’s a signet ring.” 

“For Arryn?” I foolishly assume.

“No—for Targaryen, because he is going to make me one. It came before the other pieces of jewelry, like a promise ring of sorts months before he proposed.” 

She was quick to explain, “I’m not going to wear it properly until it's official. It feels like bad luck. But I will—soon, and I can’t wait.” 

—

The Arryn & Targaryen romance has been both well documented and shrouded in mystery, as the name of her partner was not revealed until just a few weeks ago. Even without him present during this half of our interview, his presence was felt—her apartment full of casual reminders that she lived with a man, something she had yet to confirm until we spoke. 

“Yes, he lives here. I’m not sure if that’s official yet—he might be in denial a bit. But he spends more nights here than anywhere else and his suits fill half my closet," She says with a laugh.

"It happened really naturally,” she explained, “At the time we met he lived downstairs in a separate unit so things slowly migrated over.” 

“How convenient,” I offer, only for her to shake her head in response.

“No—well, yes! But it was a calculated convenience, I bought this place after we met because I wanted to be close to him. It’s part of how we kept this a secret for so long.”

She shared her newest property plans, too, an agreement to buy out the bottom unit, in a year when the present owners retire, “His [Targaryens] eldest daughter is going to move to the city for college this fall. The plan was for her to live with Daemon, but since he is living with me…well, I’d like his youngest to have the same opportunity of having her own space. Or they can share and Laena can use the unit when visiting. For the sake of privacy, having the building be family-owned  is really appealing to me.”

She says ‘family-owned’ casually, prompting me to ask if she considers her partner's children and ex to be “family.”

The question didn’t stump her, but the thought she put into answering is worth noting, and each word was carefully chosen. 

“As someone who didn’t have much of a biological family growing up, I like the concept of a chosen family. I’ve chosen them, but I can’t speak to their feelings toward me. Maybe they do like me. Maybe they don’t. Maybe someday they will view me like that. Maybe they won’t. That’s OK. But no matter what, they are Daemon’s family, so I’m going to give them the respect and importance that I would if they were my family, too.” 

She sighed, “I’m a big believer in treating people how you want to be treated. So, I hope that in return—if nothing else—they will give my eventual children with him that sort of respect and importance, too.” 

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

☆ Baela ☆

Baela was grateful for the privacy her room offered that morning as she crashed through all five stages of grief in a period of about ten minutes. 

1. Denial: 

At first, she was certain her friends were kidding or misunderstanding this somehow. She went over to Twitter prepared to shut down their obviously incorrect interpretation of whatever happened because this just wasn’t possible. 

Then she started scrolling—and yeah, right away she could admit the dude with Rhaenyra Arryn did look a bit like her dad.

She scrolled some more—and yeah, that did look like the beach her family always visited a dozen times every summer. 

She kept scrolling, waiting to see the undeniable proof that this was all a coincidence. 

She definitely saw proof of something, just not the sort she had been searching for. 

Because unless this was some really fucking weird hyper-specific prank, an AI creation that had fooled every major entertainment outlet, or a combination of the two, then that was undeniably her father kissing Rhaenyra Arryn.

Thoughts like, “Maybe it is for a TV show,” filled her head.


Never mind the fact her dad had never acted a day in his life.


“Maybe Rhaenyra was drowning and he was resuscitating her and then carrying her to shore on his shoulders because she was gravely injured,” also occurred to her.

…but she was pretty sure mouth-to-mouth wasn’t effective when upright. And if Rhaenyra was injured, she was smiling through the pain to a degree Baela found impossible to rationalize.

But that had to be more rational than what this implied, right? Because in what fucking world was the truth, “Yeah. My dad is dating Rhaenyra Arryn” ? 

But it was. It was true. 

2. Anger: 

How could he do this to her? To them? And why the fuck didn’t he tell her?

This was a big fucking deal and he was her dad. He should have told her—he should have prepared them! They deserved to know that he was fucking around with a star and that they would all be thrust into the spotlight because of it.

Why didn’t he trust them enough to tell them? And what had he told Rhaenyra? Did she even know about his kids—about his family?

3. Bargaining:

Okay. Maybe it was just a fling. Never mind that whole “smitten” thing her mom spoke of, or the fact that the same expression was on his face in these pictures. Anyone would look smitten if they had their hands on someone who looked like that in a bikini. It didn’t mean anything.

Maybe he had broken up with the 28-year-old mystery girl Baela had assumed he was with and this was a rebound he met by chance. 

Yeah. It was just a sex thing. Obviously.

Why he was having that sex in their vacation house was…less obvious.

Maybe the apartment flooded? 

No, it was on the second floor. 

Okay, maybe there was a fire or something and he lost his wallet in the flames so a hotel wasn’t an option. That made sense. 

Did it, though?

There were so many ways to explain this. Her dad kissed a lot of people. Just because he was kissing her that didn’t mean they were like, together. 

Right? 

Right? 

Okay.

If they were, by some weird chance, actually dating, then it wouldn’t be so terrible. Her dad would probably feel really guilty about not telling her and agree to buy her anything she wanted to make up for it. 

And! She was going to university next year! She could just avoid them until this fizzled out, because it had to fizzle out.

Right? 

Right?

And when that happened, it would be a funny story to tell people. “Yeah for a few weeks, my dad fooled around with Rhaenyra Arryn. Yup, that Rhaenyra Arryn.” 

4. Depression:

There was no escaping this, not even if the relationship was temporary. She had seen the headlines, people obsessed over the guys Rhaenyra broke up with years ago and what their penises looked like. 

Oh no.

No. No. No…

It couldn’t be.


Her friends couldn’t have been enraptured by pictures of her father’s penis, could they?


Her father wouldn’t be so stupid, surely? 

But then…what was that quote? 

God gave men a brain and a penis, and only enough blood to run one at a time.

Fuck.  

She felt like she did after she watched Boogieman for the first time, worrying about what might be lurking in the walls or floorboards and when it might appear. That was going to be her every time she opened Twitter. Or Reddit. Or Tumblr, but the monster was her dad’s dick.

She knew that was out there. Lurking. Looming. She would have to live with that forever. 

This was so fucked up. 

This fucked up everything.

This fucked up her life. 

Fuck.

5. Acceptance

Okay.

This would be okay.

This had to be okay.

If she took a step back and organized this information, this mad some amount of sense given what she knew about her father and his preferences (ugh).

1. Her dad had been photographed with women before. A lot of women. Women he was presumably having sex with. Baela had come to terms with that years ago. 

(Sure, those hadn’t been at their house, at least not that she had seen, and both parties had been more or less fully clothed, so this was a little different. But not that different.)

2. Her dad had an obvious preference for pretty blonde girls in the NYC area, and this was a profile Rhaenyra Arryn fit. 

(And, it was gross, obviously—but could she really blame her dad or literally anyone for shooting their shot with Rhaenyra Arryn if they had the chance? She was hot enough that Baela had acknowledged that even before her bisexual awakening. Everyone with functioning eyes could acknowledge that, for fucks sake, it was a fact not a matter of taste.) 

3. Her dad was dating someone. Her mother had pointed that out a few weeks ago, and though it had caught Baela off guard initially, she had come around. Her dad deserved to be happy, she was mature enough to admit that. 

And his current partner had made him so unusually happy that her mom had noticed. That was a big deal. He’d had years to date or get serious with someone, and he clearly (ew) had plenty of women interested in being with him, and yet he hadn't committed enough to even classify anything as a relationship until now.

☆

Baela had friends whose parents had gotten divorced, only for their parents to immediately start parading a plethora of younger partners through their lives. Men seemed especially prone to this—one of her friend’s dads had even brought one girl to her birthday pool party, and a different girl to her celebratory dinner…six hours later.

Her dad might like women, but he wasn’t like that. 

It was why it took her a while to get used to the idea of him dating someone—because it meant something different to him than it did to other dads.

Before she had seen these photos, she had been cautiously optimistic about his mystery partner. Her dad was great. Surely the woman he had liked enough to be with for an extended period was pretty great too, right? 

If she thought about it, Rhaenyra Arryn did seem pretty great in interviews and stuff.

So yeah, it was still fucking weird but when she laid it out like that, it wasn’t a huge shock. 

The thought of paparazzi following her dad around (and maybe her and her mom, too) to the degree they followed Rhaenyra was terrifying. But celebrities had partners who weren’t in the entertainment industry—it was rare, but it happened. 

Yet…Baela couldn’t name a single one of those partners. Much less who they were married to before, or if they even had kids.

This might shine the spotlight on them temporarily, but they were boring—people would get bored. 

As for Tumblr, twitter, reddit…she had a lot of tags to block. And she was setting it to auto-blur images on every single platform. 

This would be okay.

It had to be okay. 

☆

☆

☆

Baela turned off her phone and went downstairs. 

Oh fuck, how was her mother going to respond to this? She hadn’t even thought about that. Her mom was happy for Daemon—or she had been when she thought he was with some twenty-something-presumably-normal—nameless-women.

A twenty-two-year-old child star turned singer turned sex symbol was kind of a different story. It wasn’t like he had left her mother to chase a girl half her age. But still…

Her mother was in the kitchen, looking exhausted and done with this day even though it wasn't even lunch time yet/ 

Yeah, Baela could relate.

“Rough morning, huh?” She offered as she took a seat on the barstool facing her mother. 

Laena laughed, but it was a sound of exasperation more than humor. She rolled her neck before looking towards Baela and nodding. 

“Something like that. Uh—your father wants to talk with you.” She said, and now Baela was the one laughing. 

“Does he happen to have some news to share?” She asked sarcastically. 

Her mother smiled, “Something like that.” 

“You’re coping well.” Baela offered, because really—she hardly seemed surprised at all—“Did you know?” 

That hadn’t occurred to her either. 

Her mom nodded, “He told me a week or two ago. We had dinner together. He wanted to wait until after Rhaena’s birthday to tell you guys.” 

Baela wanted to feel betrayed, but that was kind of fair—it was nice that her dad had warned her mom at least, though Baela could have used some warning, too. 

“You’re…okay with it?” She asked. She had so many questions but wasn’t quite sure where to start or how to ask them. 

Laena nodded, “Very much so—don’t get me wrong, this is a clusterfuck. I’m not excited about this aspect and I’m sorry you and Rhaena will have to experience it. You shouldn’t have found out this way, so feel free to lay the guilt on thick when you talk to him.” 

Oh, Baela absolutely would. He was not going to get off easy. 

“I was…concerned when he told me how old she was. He didn’t give me her name, I found that out when we met in person. I was very surprised then, I can assure you of that, but—“ 

“But?” Baela encouraged when her mom trailed off. 

“I’m not concerned anymore, not after meeting her and seeing her with your father. I’ve never seen him like that before…they are very well-suited and in love, and I’m very happy for them.” 

It sounded like she meant that, too. 

Baela frowned, “Seen him like what?” She couldn’t imagine any part of her father being unfamiliar to her mother, they had been married for years and were still good friends. 

Her mother huffed, as if it were frustrating to even try to describe, “Just so…himself. So completely relaxed and unrestrained. Not trying to hold back or trying be anything to anyone.” 

Baela swallowed—whatever explanation she expected, it wasn’t that.

“What is she like?” 

Laena considered the question before she spoke, “She’s…a lot. Not weird or awkward or rude or anything, no—she’s nice, funny, but something else, too. Like every part of her is dialed up beyond what is normal.”

Huh.

“She sounds intense.” 

And kind of obnoxious, she thought, though she kept that part to herself.

Her mother nodded, “Yes. It’s subtle and hard to explain, but it is obvious why she is famous—there is just something about her. It’s easy to forget, but every once and a while you see glimpses of it. You’ll understand when you meet her.”

When you meet her.

Like it was a foregone conclusion. 

Maybe it was.

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I meet Daemon Targaryen two hours later, and though Rhaenyra makes no move to stand, the jingle of a cat collar can be heard as the bravest of the bunch runs to greet the man. Arryn sighs, a defeated sound, before admitting the cat favors him, though Arryn claims, “He didn’t even want a cat.” 

You wouldn’t know it, since he entered the living room with the cat in his arms, the front of his burgundy Isaia blazer already decorated in tufts of white fluff. Still, the man only has eyes for his fiancée—ignoring me, though not unkindly, as he greets Arryn with a kiss. 

It is Arryn who deepens it, hands curling in his lapels as they carry on for an uncomfortable length of time. When he pulls back, Arryn holds the end of his tie hostage, pouting, and only letting him turn away when he gives her the cat in exchange. 

It’s cute.

A sort of affection so natural I can say with complete confidence that it wasn’t a show, since in those moments they seem completely unaware they have an audience, too caught up in each other to keep things appropriate for a reporter's eyes. 

I’m not forgotten for long, though, and Daemon Targaryen soon introduces himself with a smile and firm handshake. He has an easy confidence that you can feel in his grip—you can see it, too, in his gait and posture. This isn’t a man who is stiff and concerned about how he is perceived. This is a man who knows he is good-looking and feels good about himself, which is attractive in a way beyond his simple appearance. 

It’s easy to see why one would be drawn to him—perhaps even why Rhaenyra Arryn would be drawn to him. 

He is unapologetic for his interruption and greeting given to Arryn—though left unsaid, it’s clear to me that this is his turf, this is his fiancée, and that he does not perceive his actions as wrong or inappropriate even if they are outside the normal social standards of propriety. 

He does, however, apologize before taking his leave to change, proof that he had some manners instilled in him during his luxurious upbringing in the Targaryen residence, which just so happens to be one of the grandest castles still standing in the United States. 

 “I seem to have gotten something on my blazer,” he says, tossing a good-natured glare in Arryn’s direction, or perhaps at the cat still seated on her lap, as they were the true culprit and reason for the man’s need to change—or at least to seek out a good lint roller, “They shed more than she does,” he said while addressing me and referring to the cats, “Which is, quite frankly, quite impressive.” 

Arryn simply shrugs, “And yet, he still blames me for the quantity in the shower drain. Which is, quite frankly, unfair,” she says, mocking his word choice and deeper tone. 

Targaryen laughs, “Well, when I walk in on one of them combing their hair in the shower, I’ll re-evaluate things.” 

Arryn’s eyes follow him as he walks towards the hall, only looking back at me when he has disappeared from sight, as if she can’t comprehend looking elsewhere when he is an option. 

“Do you think I could train a cat to do that?” She asks, “You’re the expert after all.” 

I’m dubious. Instead of answering I choose to suggest that she, “Work on keeping them off the counter, first,” to which she laughs good-naturedly. 

—

Though hardly tense before his arrival, Arryn seems all the more relaxed with her partner in her space, as if he is a piece missing to the puzzle that is her life.

Many worried the older man might be taking advantage of the starlet, that he would be controlling in a way her previous management was, but extending into her private life rather than simply her public image. 

—

I had similar fears before I arrived—I was pleasantly surprised that he was still at work, clearly not so controlling as to monitor everything Arryn said about him. It seemed like a good sign, and it is the first of many in the hours I spent with the pair. 

When he returns, he is dressed down, in a cable knit sweater now and—funnily enough—the same mismatched socks as his fiancée. One red. One black. It’s a quirk I can’t miss, given how his feet are resting on the coffee table between us.

He explains it without me having to ask, “She steals them,” he says.

Arryn laughs, “People think I’m the high-maintenance one, but he introduced me to the luxury sock life. I can’t go back now.”

“She can’t seem to keep track of hers, either,” Targaryen mused.

Arryn pouts, “You like it when I wear your clothing,” many men do, it’s hardly a new phenomenon, but I can’t help but think most men do not include socks in that preference.

“I like matching socks, too,” he teases. Arryn straightens her legs out, from where they were tucked under her—extending them out until her feet rest on the table too, nudging his red-clad foot with her own and proudly saying, “I know, and look, our socks match!”

Her enthusiasm is met with adoration from the older man, who gives her a fond smile that manages to convey an amount of love that one can only witness, for words can’t quite capture or explain it.

(The sock-talk, comes to an end, though a quick Google search when I got home revealed the price of the 100% cashmere style and brand the couple seems to favor sell for more than a $100 a pair. Luxurious indeed!)

—

Despite their biggest arguments seeming to involve their shared sock drawer and shower drain, both see themselves as poor—or perhaps irresponsible—examples of an ideal relationship.

“I probably shouldn’t give dating advice,” she joked, and Targaryen nodded in agreement, “It really was a surreal sort of ‘you just know’ sort of moment. I was single one day and the next I was like— ‘Oh, this is someone I want to spend the rest of my life with. I just met you and this is crazy but do you want to ride off into the sunset together, maybe?’ It was some Disney Princess meets pop song shit, truly,” she says with a laugh.

One might say such a life is fitting given her history with both the pop industry and playing the part of a Disney Princess on screen.

“I have way better hair than most Disney Princes,” Targaryen argued.

Arryn was quick to agree, “It’s true. You have better hair than most of the princesses, too.”

—

 

The silver-haired duo certainly resemble an animation come to life, complete with a fairy tale romance to match.

They both seem to agree that their engagement felt, “inevitable” from day one.

Rhaenyra Arryn had had several long-term relationships while Daemon Targaryen was married for over a decade, but from the start, they knew this was something different.

“I never really pictured marriage with my other partners. With them, marriage wasn’t a fantasy,” Arryn admits, “I enjoyed our time together in the present but a future didn’t seem viable. But with Daemon…I enjoyed our time together so much that I wanted it to last forever. I’ve never wanted a forever with someone before. It’s a wonderful feeling.”

“I loved my first wife—I still do, though not in a romantic sense,” Targaryen said, quick to clarify, “It wasn’t instantaneous though. It was a case of, ‘oh, this woman is amazing we should probably get married’ — a realization I came to over a period of months not hours. With Rhaenyra we just fit together so well, things clicked into place right away.”

“He means that in more than just a sex way, to be clear,” Arryn says, earning a laugh from Targaryen, “It’s true, but to be clear, I definitely mean it in a sex way, too.”

 

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

☆

Baela looked out the window, frowning at the car parked there. It was just…so out of place on their street and so intentional in its position. 

Her mother explained it as security Rhaenyra sent.

Rhaenyra. 

Her mother was first-name basis with the women.

Madness.

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

Surprising maturity from spoiled star!

I: You’ve often talked about wanting someone “obsessed” with you and yet you’re engaged to

someone who has a lot of commitments outside of you.

It seems like an odd choice given what you’ve said in the past. What caused such a change in heart?

R: I don’t think anything has changed, exactly—
.

.

I’m conceited enough to love the idea of my partner thinking of me and nothing but me from dawn until dusk,

and guys like that do exist, you know? I have many unanswered DMs that prove that.

But I’ve come to realize how unhappy a man like that would make me.

Because what is there to talk about if they don’t have passions outside of me? Hobbies? Interests? Opinions?

I do want a partner that is obsessed with me. But for me to be obsessed with them, they have to exist beyond that. 

Most of them—since, as some of you may know, I prefer older men—have existed before me, too, sometimes for decades.

So, their love has existed before and beyond me, too, and that’s a good thing because the way I want to be loved…it doesn’t exist in a bubble.

I have high standards—and someone who can meet them, someone good enough for me, they will have been

loved by people other than me because presumably, if I’m interested, they are rather irresistible.

And now…well, I hope they have loved other people, too, because hoping for anything else is cruel. 

The type of partner I want is the type of person who has people in their life who matter a lot to them.

I want to be one of those people. Maybe above the others. But not the only person. 

Because if im the only person they’ve ever cared about in a lifetime spanning decades,

it doesn’t matter how much they care, they are probably a psychopath. 

I: A good realization to come to, I think—but I think we’re all wondering, is it hard having those people around?

Being accepting of a past and being surrounded by it are two different things.

R: I mean, they are his past but “those people” aren’t only his past, they are his present, too, because they are an active part of his life.

That he didn’t abandon his ex when she wanted a divorce.

It makes me feel like if something did happen, if something did go wrong romantically, he would still be there for me and our kids. 

.

I: Still, being friends with your fiance’s ex-wife is a bit odd, don’t you think? 

 

R: I don’t think it is odd at all. Unusual, maybe, but in a good way.

I think it’s good. Healthy. I’ve never liked how women hate their partner’s previous partners for that reason alone. 

 

Sometimes they have reasons, and of course, sometimes good people end up with bad people.

But if I’m dating someone it’s because I like them, and if they like me…well, I like to think they have pretty great taste.

The person he loved before me was probably pretty great, too. 

 

And Laena is so great. She is funny, clever, and exactly the person I would want to be friends with.

Daemon wasn’t the right man for her—and I’m so grateful for that, for her awareness of that,

and because of that, I get to have him as my husband and her as my friend. 

 

I: You don’t feel jealous? 

 

R: No—

Don’t take that out of context, please! I mean, of course, jealousy exists. It exists to a

degree where you can usually define the source that it stems from and get the root of the cause. 

 

So I kind of roll my eyes when that word comes up or when people say it was why they broke up, because I don’t believe that.

You didn’t break up because you were jealous.

You broke up because you were insecure or afraid and it manifested into jealousy.

Maybe it was born out of anxiety or maybe there was a valid reason for those concerns, but jealousy wasn’t the problem, not really.

 

It’s very immature, I think, to let that take over and I’m not going to waste my time on it. I

’m not going to let it poison my relationships with friends and partners, because those are precious.

 

And, in this circumstance, at the risk of sounding conceited, I’m Rhaenyra Arryn.

You can’t do any better than me, and I only date men who are smart enough to know that.  

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

Her dad came over that afternoon. 

He welcomed questions, but what was there to ask, really? It wasn’t like they were unaware of who he was dating, not anymore. Baela could find out everything from her wikipedia and socials, and anything more personal than that…she wasn’t ready to hear it, or to ask it, not yet.

His phone wasn't off but it was a lot quieter than all of theirs. He shrugged and said he only had priority notifications on because, “No one else is worth speaking with right now.” 

☆

He stayed until after dinner before he said goodbye—that was pretty standard for him these days, staying overnight having become progressively less common over the past few years outside of weekends and Wednesdays. 

He was still very present as she got older but his presence in the house was…not less important to her, it was just her life had a lot more in it now, at seventeen, than it did when she was seven. He wasn’t her whole world. She didn’t wait for him to come home from work or spend the hours after school excited to show him whatever she had drawn between classes. 

She was excited to go to parties or on dates. She was in her room working on homework or with friends. She had extracurriculars—time spent at the stables or at track practice. And her dad was there when she needed him. Always. He was good at answering her texts. He taught her to drive. He took her to R-rated movies they didn’t tell mom about. He waited in stupidly long lines for concerts he had no interest in but tolerated for her sake. He’d never missed a single birthday and spent at least three dinners with them every week. 

She had never really felt his absence—he wasn’t gone long enough for her to miss him. And maybe this made her a dick, but she never thought much about what he did now that he no longer had her waiting for him on the porch steps or begging him to take her places. 

Until now, at least.

When he got up to leave she realized—he was going to see her. 

There wasn’t anything wrong with that. But it was…weird to consider, for whatever reason, that he had a big part of his life that was separate from her. 

“You’re going to spend the night with her, aren’t you?” She asked, though it wasn’t really a question. 

He paused for a moment, clearly caught off guard, “I was going to. I can stay over if you’d like but I thought the time to decompress might be appreciated.” 

Baela nodded, “No, it’s fine, it’s just—every time you’ve left, over the last months, that is what you did—what you do, right?” 

He cleared his throat, “Yes.” 

What she felt…it wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t hurt. It was just…something. She should be happy for him, knowing that when he was in the city he wasn’t lonely. But the idea of him laughing, eating, and sleeping with someone he loved that Baela didn’t even know about…that was a big deal. 

He spent more time with Rhaenyra than her, didn’t he? 

I mean, she spent more time with her friends than him, too, that was how it was supposed to work. That was growing up. She had just never thought much about it before. 

“You should bring her. Next time,” Baela offered. 

He smiled, “I’d like that.” 

☆

“Was that weird?” She asked her mother, later. Laena snorted, “No, inviting my ex-husband's girlfriend who is half his age to spend the night here? Not weird at all.” 

Baela rolled her eyes, “Well, when you put it like that…” 

“It’s fine, it will be fine.” Her mom said, and she sounded like she meant it.

Baela hoped she was right.

☆

☆

☆

☆

☆

Baela's patience lasted until the following morning when she logged into Facebook and discovered several hundred friend requests, a shit ton of messages from people—some of whom she hadn’t interacted with since preschool, and dozens upon dozens of things she had been tagged in.

Her personal email was clogged with interview requests, though she wasn’t even sure how they found it. 

She had turned off SMS for now and blocked all messages from people outside of her contacts list on WhatsApp. She had debriefed her closest friends on the situation but wasn’t really sure where to go from here. 

She was kind of pissed that her socials had all been taken over by her dad's dating choice. Like, that kind of really fucking sucked. 

☆

☆

Have you met her yet?

No.

How long have they been dating?

Idk about ‘dating’ but they met in November and knowing my dad they probably fucked +/- 24 hours after that.

Was that really his penis?

Idk?? I have not seen the pictures, I don’t want to (don’t any of you dare fucking dick roll me) and if I did I still wouldn’t know because who tf knows what their dad’s dick looks like? 

Is she his ‘type’ like was his last gf the same barely legal blonde sort of thing??

His last girlfriend was my mother and that was like twenty years ago. So maybe? But they were both almost the same age so I think that makes it okay. 

Also yeah it’s sort of gross but I don’t think 22 is “barely legal” when it comes to sex in this or in any country.

Is it true they are engaged?

Like in marriage? No they aren’t. 

We all saw them engaging in something on that beach, unfortunately.

Is that really your family home in the Hamptons? Is it your mom's house?

Yes and yes but its also my dad’s house because that is how co-ownership works. Sort of like how I’m both my mom and dad’s daughter. 

Is it true you introduced them? 

No, I still haven’t even met her. 

When are you going to meet her??

This week, will report back.

☆

The Twitter thing wasn’t her best move, probably, but after a day she was fed up. People were being intrusive dicks, she might as well profit off of this ordeal. It wasn’t like she was saying anything super personal or anything—she honestly didn’t even know that much. Yet people still asked. So she answered. And she was making way too much money to stop.

She felt a bit smug when she got called out. This whole thing had made her life harder, so if she made Rhaenyra Arryn’s a bit more difficult, it was very fair in her opinion. 

☆

☆

☆

Baela wasn’t expecting the woman to encourage her. 

It was annoying, how much that made Baela like her. 

(She upped her prices. )

☆

☆

She couldn’t help but laugh when she opened the box, revealing at least a dozen pairs of sunglasses, all emblazed with the distinctive logo. The note was unsigned, but simply said, “I wasn’t sure which pair you wanted, hope one of these will do!” 

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

☆

☆

☆ ☆ ☆

Chapter Text

☆♡ Daemon ♡☆

It wasn’t like Daemon went into their relationship with expectations it would fail…and even if he had, if anyone asked, he was stubborn enough to adamantly deny that the possibility had ever occurred to him. 

It had occurred to him, very briefly, but it wasn’t an expectation, and it wasn’t concerning enough to deter him. They liked each other enough that he was fairly confident that they could make it work. Or, at least, it was worth trying to make it work.

So they did.

And it did.

Still, he was stubborn, not stupid, and he realized things were stacked against them—her age, his age, her fame, his family, just to name a few. They were on opposite ends of nearly every spectrum and the idea of them being together was nonsensical to the point where anyone with half a mind would call them doomed from the start.

It was the reason they didn’t tell anyone. Not a soul. Not his ex-wife, brother, closest friends, or coworkers. Not her assistant, manager, friends, or costars. They knew she was dating someone and that she was happy, and eventually, he told Laena that much, too. 

That was all that mattered, right? 

It was all that mattered to him. 

Her age and celebrity were irrelevant to his love for her, truly, but he knew when people found out about them, they would be unable to focus on much else, and Rhaenyra knew it too. The negative press would be overwhelming, and they didn’t want that—they just wanted each other. 

And so, they kept the details of their affair to themselves. 

☆

It wasn’t sordid—I mean, it wasn’t truly an affair. He was single. She was single. 

(Or at least they had been when they met. Now they were both very much taken.)

Rhaenyra was financially stable and confident in a way he couldn’t crush if he wanted to (and god, he didn’t, he loved that about her. He loved everything about her). 

They weren’t doing anything wrong on a legal or moral level. But that didn’t mean people would think their relationship was right, either. 

I t felt so fucking right. 

Surely people would feel differently if they knew how he felt?

He had never felt this way about anyone before. 

Then again, his feelings couldn’t change the fact he was old enough to be her father. 

☆

“Fuck, feels so big, too big. Daddy, please—” 

“Shh, you can take it, I know you can, sweetheart. You were made for this, made for my cock to slot into your pretty cunt.” 

“S’too much.” 

“It’s exactly how much you need. You’re a needy little thing, aren’t you? My needy little girl.” 

“Uhhuh, yours, and I need you, need you so much—need your cock and your cum and your love, please—dad—”

“You have all of that, sweetheart, and you complain it’s too much.” 

“I—ah, fuck, I’m sorry.” 

“I know, sweetheart, and I’ll give it all to you. Now be good and quiet and let daddy fuck you.” 

☆

After, she was tucked against his chest, his soft cock was still buried inside of her, while his hand stroked her belly. She was sniffling a little, which wasn’t uncommon for her—she got overwhelmed after a few orgasms, sometimes to the point of being emotional. He didn’t mind it, the way a few tears leaked from her eyes while her cunt leaked all over his cock. 

Okay, he actually really fucking liked that.

“I meant it, you know. I don’t think I’ve ever loved someone before,” she admitted, pressing a wet kiss to his knuckles, which she had pulled to her lips, “But…it’s like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this—and I finally found it, and I’m so ready to love you.” 

He laughed, “Fuck, I know exactly what you mean. I didn’t realize how much was missing in my life until you were in it and filling so much space I had never noticed was empty. “ 

She giggled, squirming against him and reminding him of how overstimulated his limp cock was, still clutched by the heat of her cunt, “You’re saying I make you feel full, daddy?” 

His fingers combed through her hair, “You make me feel absolutely stuffed, so full of love and happiness that my cock swells up every time I think of you. And it’s so full it spills out in the form of cum, so I can fill up your pretty cunt.” 

She moaned, “I like being stuffed full of you. Of your cock and love. I just—it feels right, like you’re touching every part of me and it makes me want you to touch every part of my life, too, because everything is better with you in it—with you inside of me.”

Fucking hell, this girl. 

He wanted to be part of everything she did—wanted to be there for everything. 

He wanted to take care of her and love her and fuck her every day for the rest of his life. 

☆

Much like with fatherhood, there was a shift—a change—that had previously only occurred when Rhaena and Baela were born. There was a life before them and a life after them, and fuck, he felt that shift with Rhaenyra, too. It was instantaneous, not based on logic or even love but some sort of paternal intuition that labeled her as important in a way he could not help but acknowledge. 

He felt like she should have as permanent a place in his life, a sort of permanence he associated with his actual daughters which was fucking insane. 

And much like with his actual daughters, the thought of losing her was just…incomprehensible. 

But he didn’t see her as a child, certainly not his child. She wasn’t his daughter, she was his partner, and the degree of passion and possessiveness that came with that made him all the more infatuated with her. 

When all of his feelings were piled on top of each other, it was just so much in the best possible way. 

He had far too many feelings to fight off, it would be a losing battle, and so he did not even attempt to try—if they scared her away, so be it, there was no changing it. 

Somehow, though, his feelings hadn’t scared her away.

Somehow, she returned them. 

He had known she was perfect from the second he saw her, but the past few weeks had shown him that she was perfect for him. 

He would spend the rest of his life proving he was perfect for her, too, if she let him. 

☆

She bought the apartment above his.

He bought her a wedding ring. 

She spent every night he was in the city with him. 

He spent every minute he was in the city thinking about her. 

Still, she didn’t tell anyone about him, and he didn’t tell anyone about her. 

She would allude to being in a relationship in interviews, just as he told his colleagues that he had a girlfriend when he refused to go out with them. It had gotten to a point where they were almost concerned at his lack of socialization, but he couldn’t change the fact he would rather be with her than anyone else. 

☆

In a perfect world, he would take her out with him. He would have a possessive arm wrapped around her while she stunned his friends with her wit and charm. He would dance with her while they watched enviously and then, when they were out of sight, he would finger her in a dimly lit corner of the club. 

In a perfect world, he would go with her to red carpets and events, proudly grin at his sweet girl as she effortlessly answered questions the vapid reporters threw at her. He would pose for photos beside her, hold her hand during boring premieres, catch her when she got tipsy at the afterparty, and eat her out in the limo back to their building. 

In a perfect world, she would meet Laena and the girls. She would show up to birthday parties and family events, wearing a pretty dress and holding a present appropriate for the occasion. She would make his brother rage over the indecency of their age difference and his sister and law jealous of her youthfulness. She would make his nephews drool while everyone else was awed by her charisma and conversational abilities.

In a perfect world, he could hold her hand at farmer’s markets, they could go on runs together, they could go out to get smoothies, or groceries, or spend an afternoon at the zoo. They could go to the beach and spend way too much time in the sun. They could go on vacations and drink too much before getting handsy in the cabana or hotel elevator, too tipsy and turned on to wait until they had privacy to show how much they loved each other.

Fuck, in a perfect world, everyone would know he loved her.

But the world wasn’t perfect. There were consequences to all those wants. 

And so, they stayed inside. 

☆

He worried at first that they would get bored of each other without having outside influences or events, but they didn’t. 

They were compatible in a way he hadn’t been with other partners. She was high maintenance, true, but not in a way that required a lot of effort on his part since he was naturally overbearing. Her needs matched his needs and when they were together they fell into a routine that was so easy it was hard to remember they just met.

He would chop vegetables while she experimented with sauce recipes. She would do yoga while he lifted weights. She would listen to podcasts while he listened to conference calls. When he was with Laena and the kids she would text him photos from the restaurants and salons she visited in his absence, giving him an idea of what she was up to without making any attempt to make him feel guilty for not being there with her.

(Sometimes he really fucking wished he was there with her, though, especially when she sent pictures of slick silicone with captions like, “thinking about you, but nothing feels as good inside of me as you do, daddy :( " )

They had the same taste in TV—and in movies. He was delighted to finally have someone who appreciated films from before the 21st century. Laena and his daughters had always teased him about his “old man” preferences where Rhaenyra just laughed, “I happen to like old men and old movies.”  

Almost every evening they spent together involved something from the golden age or the silver screen playing out in front of them while Rhaenyra snuggled against his chest. Sometimes she even fell asleep there, and he was tasked with carrying her to bed.

God, that made his heart sing, because it meant she was comfortable enough to doze off against him, trusting enough not to even stir when he lifted her. 

He hadn’t experienced that since Rhaena decided she was too old for cuddles and he hadn’t realized how much he missed the reassurance it offered him, that he was seen as someone safe.  

☆

But their compatibility didn’t end with cohabitation and entertainment, no, it extended to every part of their relationship, including—or perhaps, especially—sex.  

They had similar libidos and kinks and their relationship was serious enough that he could experiment in ways he hadn’t attempted in a fucking decade. 

He had seen articles label her, “every man’s fantasy” and scoffed, but she was determined to fulfill his every fantasy and she did so with ease, fuck, she was even eager to explore the possibilities for pleasure and kinks he had only seen in porn, not in practice. 

He had never had more sex or better sex in his entire life, and Rhaenyra seemed to agree. 

“I always thought you had to compromise quality for quantity or vice versa, but with you…” 

“And I always thought my sex drive would drive people away, I can be…exhausting.” 

“Mhm, but I like it. I love it. I will let you drive me anywhere, anytime, Daemon.”

“Oh, it’s Daemon now?” 

“Mhm, gotta seem mature so you don’t put me in the backseat, you’d hardly see me masturbating back there, and then, what is the point? The view is way better from the passenger seat."

“You’re a menace.” 

“But I’m your menace!” 

☆

She was affectionate and touch-starved in a way no other partner of his had been, and though he hated what had led to her being like that, he fucking loved it. 

He loved that she wanted him to join her in the shower or bath.

He loved that she trusted him to shave her, blade scraping away hair and leaving behind smooth flesh.

He loved that she gave him her hairbrush, fully expecting him to detangle her locks and braid it before bed. 

He loved that she let him take care of her.

And most of all...

He loved that she didn’t just let him do those things, but that she loved the fact he did. 

It made him feel like he had another purpose within their relationship that had been lacking with others, and it never felt like a chore, not when Rhaenyra was so open in showing her appreciation. 

“You take such good care of me, daddy, can I take care of you too, please?” 

Those words made his cock stiffen almost immediately because he knew the sweet mouth whispering them would soon be wrapped around the base of his prick while the length was buried in her throat. 

She knew she didn’t have to do that for him—she just wanted to, because she loved that, too.

She loved sucking his cock.

She loved sitting on the counter and shaving his jaw. 

She loved massaging his shoulders and neck.

She loved taking care of him. 

Fuck, he loved that too. 

He didn’t realize he needed that sort of attention to be fully fulfilled, but now that he had it, god, the thought of living without it was painful. 

☆

At night, she clung to him. 

She draped herself over him or against him, demanding cuddles that he happily offered.

Sometimes, he slept on top of her—he didn’t understand how it was comfortable for her, but she would beg for it, wanting to feel the weight of him all night. 

Sometimes, she wanted to feel his cock all night, too, pleading for him to stay inside even as she dozed off. 

On a few occasions, after she had really late nights and came home exhausted, she showered, fell into bed, and was nearly asleep in seconds. Still, she managed to murmur, “So tired, daddy, but never too tired for you. Always wet for you. You can fuck me if you want to, but I might rest a little…” 

His girl wanted his cock, even when she was dozing off. 

Fuck, he wanted her, even when she was asleep. 

He would always want her. 

☆

“Going to fuck my sweet little girl to sleep? I’ll be gentle, rocking my hips into you just like I’d rock a baby in my arms, hm?” 

“Yes, please, please—”

“So polite, my little girl with her little cunt, how can I resist you?” 

“You don’t, daddy, you don’t have to, I’m yours.” 

☆

He wanted to marry her.

He wanted to have kids with her.

He wanted things he shouldn’t want, given that she was twenty-two.

But she swore she wanted them too. 

☆

“I can feel it, ugh, it’s so good, so full, ahh I wish it would take.”

“My little girl wants a baby?” 

“Uhuh want my belly to be all swollen so everyone knows you fucked a baby into me, daddy.”

“My little girl wants to make me a daddy again, hm?” 

“Yesssss.”

☆

It was fucked up how much he liked the idea. Because it wasn’t simply a matter of, “she would be attractive when carrying my offspring,” or some fetish for the aesthetics of pregnancy. It wasn’t even the desire to have another child—though both of those were appealing thoughts, they didn’t make his cock harden.

No, this was something far more perverse. 

This was the idea of seeing part of him grow inside of her, and the fact other people would see it too. 

Everyone would be forced to acknowledge that she loved him, that she fucked him, and that she wanted to carry his babies. The thought of that made his ego flare and his length twitch.

It would tie them together, too, a child. It was a terrible reason to have one—and not the only reason he wanted kids with her—but a predatory part of him though, if you have children, she can never fully escape you, that is a tie that can’t be cut. She couldn’t leave.

He hated that those were the sort of thoughts that aroused him when he thought of her being pregnant, or getting her pregnant. 

But that didn't change the fact that they did.

☆

“I like that thought, too,” Rhaenyra admitted when he confessed his perversions because he’d feel worse about them if he hid them. 

Plus, he was pretty sure nothing he said would scare her away at this point. Her response to him pointing out red flags in their relationship was, “I’ve never liked the color green,” so really, he shouldn’t be surprised. 

“I like the idea of being tied to you. I like the idea of creating something with you. I like the idea of wearing the evidence of that on my waist,” she swallowed, “I like the idea of people knowing about us.” 

Fuck.

“I do too, sweetheart.” 

☆

There had always been a separation between his time in the city and his time at home, and that fact had never felt disingenuous but then, he had never hidden anything about his time in the city, there was just rarely anything there worth mentioning. He worked. He spent time with colleagues. He drank, dined, and picked up women at high-end bars. He liked his life, but no part of it was noteworthy, what really mattered was living outside of the city. 

Until now.

Because now Rhaenyra lived in the city, and she was definitely something that really mattered to him and it felt wrong to ignore that fact around his loved ones, because he loved her, too. 

Things were going so well between them. 

When they were together, life felt perfect, and the thought of things changing—of losing that, and losing her—it was a risk he couldn’t bring himself to take. 

A voice that sounded annoyingly like Laena’s said, “Every umbrella does a perfect job of keeping you dry…until it starts to rain, that is when you realize it’s broken.” 

Their relationship was untested in so many ways. It felt strong, but it had never been exposed to the elements. 

He knew—or at least part of him knew—that if they were meant to be together, then they would continue to be together, they would survive it. The response of his daughters or the media wouldn’t change that. 

But what if it did?

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

☆

Arryn has been outspoken about relationship struggles related to her fame and fortune, specifically the invasion of privacy that comes with it and the pressure her preferred lifestyle puts on those outside of the industry. And yet, Arryn has always been firm in the fact that she does not want to date someone involved in film in any capacity. 

From what the pair has said so far about their romance, “Daemyra” seems to be built off of a strong foundation with no signs of structural problems. But I feel obligated to ask—even if it isn’t an issue in their relationship now, in the eyes of the public and press it's still in its infancy. One has to wonder if cracks will grow over time, and if this will eventually collapse like those that came before it. 

Arryn looks displeased by the question, but she does answer.

“Daemon is…maybe not more mature than my past partners, but he is a lot more confident and stubborn. He loves himself enough to stand up for himself, and he isn’t afraid of being an asshole—I mean that affectionately. If there was an issue, it wouldn’t be left unsaid for months, we would talk about it, so the newness of things feels irrelevant to our success in a way it wouldn’t have with my previous relationships.”

Targaryen smiles, “You know, the first piece of relationship advice I got was, ‘true love is loving someone enough to make sacrifices for them,’ and I think that is very true. You can’t welcome a new person into your life, much less marry them, without making sacrifices. You sacrifice free time and personal space, at the very least. 

“With Rhaenyra, I love her enough that privacy is a sacrifice worth making to be with her. There was no hesitation or question about that in my mind.  Plus, I’ve always been a bit of an exhibitionist, so it is hardly a sacrifice at all.” 

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

☆ Baela ☆

Okay. Baela got it.

Her mother was, annoyingly, absolutely right. 

Rhaenyra Arryn was at least three inches shorter than her but she had a sort of energy that was so big and bright that it was kind of staggering. 

Maybe that is why they called them ‘stars’ Baela thought with a sigh. 

Rhaenyra Arryn was also, of course, really fucking gorgeous and really fucking nervous, and the latter of those two facts made Baela feel both smug and optimistic in a way she hadn’t been before.

Baela had met a handful of her mother’s boyfriends over the years and found them all to be polite but largely disinterested in her and her life, which was just fine with her. 

But she also had the misfortune of seeing her friends meet their parent's new partners and she knew it could be much worse than that. Many were condescending and dismissive, acting more entitled to their partner's time than their partner’s children, sometimes to the point where they even competed for attention.

And often times, the partner won.

The whole “prioritizing being sugar daddy over an actual dad” was a very real phenomenon in the upper echelon. 

She didn’t think her father would date someone who treated her like that, but it was also kind of hard to imagine Rhaenyra Arryn worrying about what Baela would think of her. Not that she was lacking confidence, she was awesome, but she was also seventeen with an internet prescene the size of a postage stamp. Someone with Rhaenyra’s sort of fame (and, like twenty-eight million Instagram followers) humbling themselves to the point of anxiety over meeting their boyfriend's children was just…kind of insane. 

Being the boyfriend’s child in question in this situation was also kind of insane. 

This was all kind of insane.

Baela supposed Rhaenyra could just be acting nervous, that was like, her profession. But the fact she was willing to pretend to be nervous because she knew this mattered to her dad was still a green flag in her opinion.

☆

Laena gave her a hug, which Rhaenyra returned, giving a simple but genuine-sounding apology, “I’m so sorry about this week.” 

Her mom waved her off, “It hasn’t been that terrible. No one at work cares, and the number of interview requests has really done wonders for my ego.” 

Rhaenyra grinned, “Which is in desperate need of recovery after your husband abandoned you for a barely legal bimbo such as myself.” 

Yeah, that was a Choiceᵗᵐ the press had made. It was good that her mom wasn’t being made out as some villain in all this, but it sucked that Rhaenyra was. From the headlines alone you would think her dad blindsided her mom with the divorce so he could chase after someone younger right under his ex-wife’s nose and maybe also in her bed (ew).

The truth—the fact they had been divorced for literal years before he and Rhaenyra even met—was comparatively underreported. 

Articles focused on her mother’s career, with a bogus anonymous source claiming her father was threatened by her work and intelligence which led to their separation. Others said he was jealous of her devotion to work and motherhood, an issue Rhaenyra definitely didn’t have given her highest form of education was a GED.

If it were all true, Baela could see how it would still be embarrassing for her mom—her husband of more than a decade leaving her for a woman half his age. But that wasn’t true at all.  

Still, having your picture run alongside ones of Rhaenyra Arryn while strangers online compared you had to fucking suck, and she was impressed at her mother’s handling of that. 

Her mother laughed at Rhaenyra’s comment, “The gate manager has kept anyone away from the house and the team you sent has been great. I’m sure it will settle down, but until then, I’m more than coping.” 

Rhaenyra nodded, her attention turning to Baela and her sister, “I owe you two an apology as well, I didn’t mean to bring on a social media shitstorm,” 

Rhaena gasped exaggeratedly, “You said a bad word.”

Baela hid her laughter behind her hand while Rhaenyra looked startled, falling for the good girl act her sister had perfected over the years. The classic self-defense mechanism of a younger sibling was one that her parents could see through in a second, especially after thirteen years of practice, but Rhaenyra could not. 

She was all flustered as she apologized, “Oh shit—shoot, I’m sorry for that too.” 

Rhaena lost her composure, giggling while Daemon pointed out, “She’s teasing.” 

The woman let out a big exhale and a choked laugh, “Right. Of course. They are your daughters, they were probably cursing before they left their cradle.” 

“It’s developmentally important for children to have descriptive words in their limited vocabulary to help convey their emotions.” 

Rhaenrya snorted, “Like fuck?” 

“Exactly,” he smiled at her and squeezed her shoulders reassuringly—because he wanted to reassure her, because he loved her—before introducing them properly, “Rhaenyra, this is Baela and Rhaena.” 

“It really is nice to meet you two. It’s terribly cheesy to say, but I really have heard a lot about you. He is the very picture of a proud father.” 

Baela swallowed, “We’ve heard very little about you, so perhaps not a very proud boyfriend.” 

It was mean, and she regretted saying it almost immediately because her dad looked so disappointed. 

Rhaenyra took it in stride though, “You’ve probably heard enough about me to know the former matters more to me more than the latter.” 

It took a second for Baela to process that.

Jesus Christ, this was surreal.

Rhaena piped up, “It’s nice to meet you, too. 

Rhaenyra smiled, “God, this would be so much easier if I could bribe you two.” 

Baela snorted in surprise, that was very blunt.

“You could try,” she suggested, but Rhaenyra shook her head, “Daemon told me not to. Otherwise, I totally would have bought you ponies or something.” 

Her sister pointed out, “We already have ponies.” 

Ugh, “You have a pony, I have a horse.” 

Rhaena rolled her eyes, “They are the same thing.” 

“They aren’t.” Baela said with a glare, knowing she was just trying to rile her, she looked back at Rhaenyra, “I have a lipizzan horse where she has a dales pony.” 

Rhaenyra smiled, looking amused.

“I’m very jealous—I have stables in my place upstate, you know? That would be a dream.” 

Her father looked offended by this, “I’m not a good enough mount for you?” 

They all very pointedly ignored him, a fact Baela was thankful for because—gross.

“I didn’t know you liked horses,” Balea said, responding to Rhaenyra. It was true, she hadn’t seen that in the unavoidable headlines about the girl. But she supposed hobbies were poor clickbait fodder.

“Mhm, I had to learn for the part of Caroline Abbott and they couldn't get me to stop.” 

“Daemon used to ride,” her mother pointed out.

“I still ride,” he argued, but he was once again ignored while Rhaenyra brightly said, “He told me.” 

Her mother smirked, “He used to compete. Has he shown you the pictures?” 

“Laena…” Her dad said in his typical tone of warning. 

“He hasn’t! There are pictures?”

Her mom nodded, “So many pictures. Such tight pants.” 

“Dressage pants are supposed to be tight.” Her dad argued. 

“Look there is tight and then there is whatever you had going on there. You were showing way more than the horse in those. It's a miracle you managed to father children.”

Her dad huffed, “Aren’t you supposed to be going somewhere?” 

Her mom’s eyes narrowed but she did look down at her watch and sigh, “I suppose so.” 

Baela had never seen her mom skip her Saturday brunches with friends, which had been described to Baela as, “all girls, all gossip, and bottomless sangrias.” 

It seemed today was no exception, and they’d probably have a lot to talk about. 

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

☆

☆

The “huge” age gap between the pair has been an equally huge point of contention in the media and the general response toward their relationship across all platforms. The most approving of comments argue it is irrelevant, but the disapproving voices are far louder and seem a great deal more prevalent. 

The disparity in years is certainly notable—Daemon Targaryen is twice the star's age, with more than two decades between their birth years. He was walking off stage with his college diploma before she even took her first steps. It is a difference that would be insurmountable for many, and that is clear in the response the news has garnered. But does that make it ‘gross’ or ‘predatory’ or even ‘doomed to fail’?

Rhaenyra Arryn doesn’t seem to think so. 

“I was expecting it—though perhaps the infantilization is a bit more extreme than I had anticipated. I’m not a child, I’m not jailbait, I’m not barely legal. And even when I was, people were more than happy to sexualize me. Now those same people seem to think I’m not old enough to make intelligent decisions about who I have sex with. You can’t have it both ways.”

The star sighs before carrying on, “I’m sure some of it is born from genuine concern, but it's so unnecessary. If anyone is taking advantage or isolating anyone here, then I’m the one at fault, not the victim.” 

“Look, I can’t say age doesn’t matter, because it does. But it isn’t everything, not when both parties are consenting adults. I’ve been with guys younger than me who wanted to settle down as soon as we were legally able to. I’ve been with guys who were older than me and still afraid of commitment or unsure if they ever wanted children. I think what you want in your future says more about longevity and compatibility than what you’ve done in the past.

“Daemon has a past, obviously, and he has had a breadth of life experience that I can’t compete with at twenty-two…but it isn’t a competition. It’s a relationship. We’re on the same page now, that is what matters to me. So what if I wasn’t in the prequel? Everyone hates prequels.” 

However, Arryn did agree her partner's age may impact the longevity of their relationship, “Statistically, you know, he’ll probably go first.”

Targaryen, who had joined us at that point, laughs, “It’s true. But I’m grateful for it—it means I’ll never have to live in a world without her, hm?”

‘Smitten’ is the only word I can think to use for the way they look at each other.

“See? When he says stuff like that how can I not be completely obsessed with him? He isn’t too old for me. He’s perfect for me,” Arryn proclaims with a grin.

It is hard to argue with her about that. 

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

After her mom left, Rhaenyra returned her attention to them, “So back to the bribery. I’m not above buying your affection. What good is money if it can’t get people to like you?” 

Baela couldn’t help her smile, because she was so obviously being sarcastic. Still, she could play along, “I’ve always wanted a cat.” 

Rhaenyra seemed to consider this before nodding, “I’ll see what I can do.” 

Her dad groaned, “We’re not getting a cat.” 

“We don’t have to. Maybe I want a cat.” Rhaenyra said primly.

“I don’t like cats.” He argued.

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, “No one asked you.” 

“Pick something else,” he pleaded in her and Rhaena’s direction.

“Nose piercing.” It had been an ask ever since she was fifteen, and she didn’t even want one that badly anymore but she was stubborn enough to still be annoyed her parents said no.

Her dad made a choked noise while Rhaenyra leaned in, looking interested, “Oh, what type?” 

“A stud on either side,” she offered, thinking of the photos she still had saved somewhere on her phone. 

“Two piercings. Of course.” Her dad grumbled.

Rhaenyra seemed excited, though, “You know I always wanted a septum piercing, you can hide them too. But I didn't want to go alone. We should do it. I bet there is a place nearby—“

“Excuse me—“ her father interrupted, “I believe that required parental consent.” 

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, “I doubt it. It isn't a nipple piercing or anything, for fucks sake.” 

Her father straightened, “How do you know the requirements for nipple piercings?”

“Unimportant. We’ll see how the septum goes first.” Rhaenyra said. 

“I don’t like the idea,” her dad grumbled.

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, “You don’t like the idea of your daughter expressing herself during such a developmentally important time of her life?” 

“It’s her face.” 

Rhaenyra looked in her direction, “Does he police what makeup you wear, too?” 

Baela couldn’t get a word in before her dad got defensive, “This is different. It’s a hole in her face. Two holes!”

Rhaenyra looked unamused, “Sorry to break it to you but she already has two permanent holes in her nose, they are called nostrils. Do you have a problem with those, too?”

☆

Two hours later, Baela was admiring the parallel studs in the mirror while Rhaenyra tipped the dude—like she hadn't already shelled out god knows how much money to empty the place.

She posted a photo of Rhaenyra in the chair, piercer posed in front of her, on her stories. 

They posed for a selfie, too, that Baela posted on her main feed. When she had described the desire to take one as “for clout” Rhaenyra had understood but her dad had said that was “using her.” 

Which, she pointed out, was kind of the entire point of taking the picture.

He thought that was “wrong.”

“You’re telling me not to take advantage of her?” Baela asked sarcastically.

Rhaenyra just laughed, “It isn’t taking advantage if I consent! That goes for both of you!” 

☆

☆

Baela may have wanted the picture, but it was Rhaena who coyly mentioned her friends were going to do karaoke that night while giving a look toward their father and Rhaenyra, who had their hands linked a few paces behind them.

“You don’t have to.” Daemon said at the same time as Rhaenyra said, “I’d love to!” 

He sighed, his head tipping in Rhaena’s direction, “You could have just asked for a cat.”

Rhaena smiled, “Or, I could have asked for a little sister.”

Bold.

Clearly, her dad realized he had lost this battle, and he was back to pouting.

 “I never get invited,” he grumbled, and Rhaenyra laughed—bumping into his side since apparently having their hands tangled wasn’t enough contact for the pair.

Gross.

She grinned up at him, “Of course not. You’re a man. And you’re old. And if you did go, you’d have to deal with teenagers swooning over you.” 

He looked confused, “What?” 

Rhaenyra shook her head, “I may not have had a traditional childhood, but it is a universal female experience to crush on your friends' dads.” 

His mouth opened and closed before he argued, “That isn’t true.”

Baela snorted, “It’s absolutely true.” 

Rhaena nodded in agreement, “And it’s gross.” 

Her dad looked horrified. 

“Well, I guess we don’t have to worry about that anymore. No one is delusional to think they have a chance when you’re dating her.” Rhaena offered.

“They never had a chance!” He argued. 

Rhaenyra sighed, “Never underestimate the grandeur of a teenage girl's self-confidence or self-consciousness.”

☆

Before they left her dad tossed Rhaenyra the keys to his car, warning them to, “Not do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

Rhaenyra laughed, “Well, that doesn’t rule very much out, does it?” 

☆

☆

It was weird. She stood out so much but still managed to fit in so flawlessly Baela wasn’t sure how she managed it.

Media training, probably. 

Socializing was really just improv, in a way, and clearly, Rhaenyra excelled at that. She answered questions with a smile and didn’t hesitate to ask ones in return, too. She seemed genuinely interested in what the group of thirteen to eighteen-year-olds had to say, even though Baela couldn’t imagine she actually was.

She had that sort of grace you expected of royalty, but the type of humor that made it clear they were part of the same generation.

It was weird. 

Baela swallowed when she heard Rhaenyra deny a selfie request, “I want the media to know Baela and Rhaena are my favorite, okay? So you’ll have to sneak some pictures from afar if you want them, and we can do posed ones next time.”

“Next time?” The girl asked brightly—one of Rhaena’s friends that Baela didn’t know very well.

Rhaenyra nodded, then paused—“Well, so long as I get invited back. The novelty of celebrity wears off eventually.” 

Somehow, Baela doubted that. 

☆

They spent a few hours in the off-season theater, which belonged to the Blackfyre family, and was frequently commandeered for sleepovers and parties—of both the birthday and karaoke variety.

Rhaenrya was a good sport about it—laughing when the mixed track of Disney hits came on, and singling along when it was appropriate without overshadowing or making any of the teens feel embarrassed by their own abilities. 

By the end of the night, everyone seemed to be in love with the woman, and Baela couldn’t blame them.

It was what she imagined a masterclass might look like. For what, though, she wasn’t sure. Maybe for cult leaders? Because that was kind of the energy—an ability to comfort those in her proximity while still inspiring awe among them.

It was a scary sort of ability, honestly, though admirable, too. So long as she used it for good, it was probably fine. 

But on the topic of cults…

“Hey, what are your thoughts on Scientology?” 

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

RHAENYRA ARRYN BIDS GOODBYE BROADWAY,

SAYS HELLO TO PRIVATE PARTY [EXCLUSIVE VIDEO]

Quite the downgrade! Rhaenyra Arryn [22] performed for a dozen teens this weekend at the Rebellion Theater House, a historic building managed by the Blackfyre family .

An anonymous source close to the star provided the video and said, “It was just for the Targaryen girls and their closest friends,” the ‘Targaryen girls’ are, of course, the daughters of Arryn’s beau, Daemon Targaryen [45].

“She is trying really hard to impress them,” our source says, “She isn’t used to that—having to try at all. That isn’t part of her repertoire. She is pretty and rich and white, she doesn’t have to worry about anything in life, but she is worried they won’t like her .”

It’s understandable. I wouldn’t like my dad dating someone just a few years older than me! Did we forget to mention that? The eldest of Targaryen’s daughters is a mere four years the star’s junior. On the bright side, I’m sure the star has a great deal more in common with them than her forty-five-year-old boyfriend. Our source even said,

“I don’t know what they talk about, but I’m not sure they do much talking, if you know what I mean.”

Oh, we do. We ALL saw those photos on the beach! Our source continued on, saying, “She is crazy about him, though. I’m quite sure they’ll have a last name in common soon enough—if nothing else!”

It seems we should be on the lookout for an announcement from the couple in the coming weeks! Exciting!

Any bets on a wedding date? Or perhaps the more important (and inevitable) divorce date?

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

They touched a lot. 

That was hard for Baela to ignore. 

Because she was so not used to that.

None of her friends’ parents were affectionate—most of them didn’t even like each other and that was evident in their every interaction. 

Her parents definitely liked each other, but they had been separated for long enough that she could scarcely recall them kissing or cuddling. They didn’t cringe away from each other or anything, but they weren’t handsy, either. 

Her mom hadn’t been like that with her partners, either, not that Baela spent a lot of time with them.

But her dad and Rhaenyra…she’d never seen him behave like this before. 

She’d never seen any adult behave like this. 

It wasn’t flagrant PDA or anything. Baela had done worse with the people she was dating in front of her parents before, it was just so…constant.

Hands were always on the other’s waist, hip, chest, arm, or thigh, as if they couldn’t get enough of each other. 

She made it through dinner but fucked off to her room after because once the scrapbook came out it was way too much for her.

.

“I feel like I brought home a date to my parents,” her dad grumbled.

Her mother snorted before pointing out, “Your parents are dead.” 

Rhaenyra laughed, and fuck even that was musical sounding, how was that even possible?

“She isn't showing me baby pictures of you, she’s showing me photos of you with babies. It’s totally different,” Rhaenyra said, patting her dad's leg before freezing. A few seconds passed before she whispered,“Holy shit,” and turned toward Laena with wide eyes, “You should sell these as a natural way to induce ovulation.” 

Gross. Gross. Gross.

Daemon looked unamused, while Rhaenyra doubled down, “See dad—aemon I told you that you could model. You could be the man on the walls of a fertility clinic.”

Baela had not missed the slip-up. But she wished she had.

Seriously, gross. 

☆

Anon: Does she seriously call him daddy in bed? 👀  

Baela: I do not know the answer to that and holy fuck, I sincerely hope I NEVER find out the answer to that.

☆

It was after two AM when Baela found her in the kitchen—though maybe she should have expected it when she saw the light was on, since neither of her parents were night owls, not anymore at least. 

Rhaenyra was wearing an oversized T-shirt with a few holes at the neck and shorts that were probably not technically underwear but were ambiguous given their length. Her hair was still slightly damp, and Baela was trying to decide which was weirder, the fact Rhaenyra Arryn was in her kitchen or the fact that Rhaenyra Arryn had taken a shower in her house? 

What even was life anymore? 

She was bent over a laptop, features illuminated by the glowing light while she sipped at a mug of something. 

It was weird, how she could look so normal while being so…special.

“You should take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Rhaenyra said while making no move to turn toward Baela. 

Fuck.

Baela had not considered that the laptop might reflect what was behind her.

Embarrassing. 

She cleared her throat, “Maybe I should, I could probably sell it for a lot of money.” 

Rhaenyra laughed, and Baela continued her approach, moving towards the fridge and into the other woman’s line of sight.

It wasn’t until she turned that she was able to really study her. 

Her hair was divided into halves, french braided, and tied into two buns—a juvenile sort of style that suited her almost alarmingly well. 

Fuck, she could totally be a student at Baela’s high school and she wouldn’t think twice about it. Like this, she looked so young. 

She wasn’t, though. And even if she was,  she had been working for almost as long as Baela had been alive. There was a lifetime between them in that aspect, if only a handful of physical years. 

“Do you want me to put on some pimple patches too? The more embarrassing the more TMZ will pay,” Rhaenyra offered, sounding amused. 

Baela frowned, “You know, you really aren’t what I thought you’d be. I thought actors like…wanted to be treated normally, but you acknowledge it a lot.” 

She didn’t wield it over them or anything, but she didn’t shy away from mentioning it, either. 

Rhaenyra laughed, “I mean, sure, being treated normally would be nice. But my life isn’t normal. It’s unfair for me to expect people to pretend like it is. And I don’t want people to have to pretend when they are with me, not under any circumstances.” 

She took a sip from her mug before continuing, “I don’t want people to like me because I’m famous or rich or whatever, but I’m not going to be upset at their inability to ignore it, either. I want to make people feel comfortable with the reality of my life, I acknowledge it so they can too, if that makes sense?”

Baela nodded, because it did.

“It’s late,” was all she offered in response.

Rhaenyra hummed, “I won’t tell them we’re up after our bedtime if you don’t,” she quipped, and Baela couldn’t help but laugh. She was surprised to find herself unbothered by the reference to them and we as if they were peers in this situation. 

“I’ve had too much energy since the show ended to keep normal hours,” Rhaenyra admitted, “And Daemon obviously needs his beauty sleep.” 

“Obviously,” Baela agreed, her head tilting as she mustered up the courage to ask—was she even asking, was it even a question?—“You really love him, don’t you?” 

Who she was referring to would be clear to Rhaenyra—there was only one person it could be. 

Her response was instantaneous, “I do,” followed by, “But—he knows that, but he thinks I’m going to get bored, you know?” She said with a sigh, “He thinks I’m going to change my mind.” 

Baela swallowed, “But you won’t?”

She shook her head, “No. Not about him. He’s stuck with me.” 

Baela believed her. 

“Good. You make him happy, and are tolerable enough—you have good taste in sunglasses.” 

Rhaenyra laughed, “I thank you for both the compliment and approval—now he just has to make it official and fucking propose already,” she said, though her tone made it clear that she was more amused by the delay than upset. 

Weirdly, Baela wasn’t upset by the thought, either. 

“Well. You work on the cat thing. I’ll work on that thing.” 

Rhaenyra grinned, “It’s a deal.” 

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

♡

♡

♡

♡

Rhaenyra Arryn, 20, Thoughts on Love & Fame, Post Split with Longtime Boyfriend. 

We’ll miss the hunky Harwin Strong, but it seems like Rhaenyra Arryn won’t. She hints at what went wrong while sharing what she learned about herself over the past two years that they were together. 

“I’ve realized that I can’t be with someone who is uncomfortable with the fame. Which sucks, because I don’t want to be with someone famous, either, and “famous” and “comfortable with fame” have a lot of overlap in a Venn diagram.

“But there is a reason divorce is such a thing in this world, you know? Actors are egomaniacs. You have to be. You have to think you’re great to put yourself out there for auditions with the expectation that the casting directors will think you’re great too. You have to think you’re hot shit to survive the flashing lights on a red carpet and opinions about your body and dress that will inevitably follow. 

“I’m not saying actors can't be insecure, too, but to feel like you deserve this life, to keep striving to maintain it, you have to be stupidly cocky. If you put two of us together there is always going to be a fight for the spotlight. There is always going to be a sort of jealousy and comparison in terms of numbers, because the importance of those has been ingrained into every celebrity for so long that it’s inescapable, and it doesn’t go away just because you love someone. 

“It’s a competitive industry, you’re competing with your friends for parts, I can't compete with my loved ones, too. And I know I would. I don’t want that, to risk resenting my partner for their success instead of supporting them. I think that is why divorce is kind of inevitable between most celebs.

“But being with someone ‘normal’ is hard, too. They aren’t used to cameras or the invasion into their privacy. Their family isn’t used to it, either. They are going to be inundated with questions and probably picture requests, too. It’s a lot. You have to give up a lot to be with someone famous. And that leads to them resenting you for your success.

“I can’t just become normal, though, and even if I could…I don't want to—I like my life. I like going to fashion week and being on red carpets. I like people listening to me. I like money. I like attention. 

“I want someone who I love more than all of that. But I don’t think I could love them if they needed me to give those things up to love me back.” 

Have partners asked you to before?

Not in simple terms, no. I think…they want me too, though, they just know they can’t ask me to, because it isn’t like my success came as a surprise, it has predated every man I’ve ever dated. 

But even though they knew I was famous when we met, they underestimated the impact that would have on them. And when it was too much—when I was too much, they felt like they couldn’t speak up, they signed up for it, right? So it just became a point of contention that went unmentioned and unresolved. 

“I do get it, you know…knowing someone is famous is different than the reality of having friends sell photos from your Facebook profile of you with past partners or drinking when you were underage to make a quick buck off of tabloids because you’re now famous by association. 

“And knowing someone is rich is different than going on a week-long getaway with accommodations that cost more than some people's houses. It’s a lifestyle that I’ve been exposed to for so long that it feels normal. But to someone who IS normal, it’s excessive to a point that makes them feel guilty. I get that. I get being unable to handle that. But people don’t feel like they can say that. Like your partner is ‘too rich’ just isn’t an accepted thing. That’s like being too pretty or too healthy you know? 

“When people don't feel like they can communicate about a problem with you they tend to blame you. And that's hard. I'll take responsibility for my faults but enjoying the money I’ve earned isn't one of them. If that's an issue the solution is separation because I won’t compromise on that. 

“It took me a long time to realize that.  It sucked realizing that. Especially because gift-giving is one of my love languages and having my expression of that met with annoyance or resentment instead of appreciation made me feel terrible. 

“I realize I’m asking for a lot, here. A guy who doesn’t care about my fame, but is willing to put up with it. A guy unbothered with my wealth but disinterested in taking advantage of it. A guy who is obsessed with me without trying to change me. But I just have to believe he is out there—and I’m cocky enough to believe that someday, I will find him, and when I do, I won’t ever let go.” 

 

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

Rhaenyra Arryn was in her kitchen making pancakes.

Because of course she was.

☆

They tasted really fucking good, too. 

Because of course, they did. 

☆

Rhaenyra Arryn slathered them in a, quite frankly, disgusting amount of syrup.

When Rhaena pointed this out, it was their dad who defended his girlfriend.

“That is how she stays so sweet,” he said with a smile. 

Rhaenyra beamed at him. 

Ugh. 

☆

The wikifeet thing was the last straw, Baela was going out, and she left before anyone could make a fuss. She stomped down the stairs, grabbed her keys, and proclaimed she would, “Be back for dinner,” before slamming the door to the garage.

She would go over to Calla’s house and kill time until she was obligated to return. At least with food around her dad could hungrily look at that instead of Rhaenyra. 

☆

Ugh. 

Calla had a guy over, and though she welcomed her into the house, third wheeling was not Baela’s favorite activity. 

She was positive there were joints hiding in the tin under Calla’s bathroom counter, but she had driven herself and was trying to be responsible, which meant no getting high for her. 

It was summer, though, so she could bum a cigarette off of Calla’s older brother. That was the sort of harmless rebellion that matched her ire, and Brynden had always liked her. 

As expected, he tossed her a pack and lighter, trusting her to bring it back—which she totally would. 

“Those things will kill you, you know?” He teased before she shut the door behind her.

She just laughed, “After the week I’ve had, that is hardly going to deter me.” 

☆

She scrolled through twitter while she smoked, frowning at all the claims of Rhaenyra being a downgrade. Like sure her mom was a literal rocket scientist but it was just ignorant to pretend like the woman didn’t have merits or talents of her own. 

Things only got worse the more she looked, because apparently, some morning show had discussed what a bad influence Rhaenyra was given her past comments about underage sex and work featuring nudity.

“I don’t know any good mother or father who would allow their children to be exposed to a person with those sorts of morals. What type of example does that set? Is that what you want your children looking up to? What you want them to become? Someone taking nude photos, and being nude in films with violent sex scenes?” 

“Exactly. By dating someone like Rhaenyra Arryn you are approving of her whorish behavior and basically inviting your children to mimick it. You’re setting yourself as a parent, and your children, up for failure. It’s horribly irresponsible, the fact any parent not just condones this but takes part in it makes me feel sick. Those poor girls.” 

Baela bristled, that was so fucking stupid, and so insulting to all of them. It called her parents irresponsible, called Rhaenyra a whore, and basically implied Baela and Rhaena would become whores too, based on her actions. 

Like, what the actual fuck?

She didn’t want to defend the woman, not really, but she wanted to defend her family. 

☆

Hey, lady, I’m pretty sure nudity and body positivity isn’t immoral and the roles you take on as an actor don’t represent your personal preferences towards intimacy or condone the actions of the character you’re playing.

I hope you come down this hard on guys who portray villains and how that is a murderous influence their children will surely imitate in time, but somehow, I doubt it.

Also, let me reassure you, any “whorish behavior” predates Rhaenyra Arryn’s presence in my life, I lost my virginity/started having sex way before my dad met her. She had nothing to do with it.

Wait, that isn’t true, one of her songs was on the playlist I made for the occasion (I had better taste in music than men) but still, don’t give her credit for my shitty life choices, I made them all by myself.

Also, it is batshit insane to act like my dad’s girlfriend has any influence on my life, or if she did, that it would be a bad influence just because the world has seen her breasts.

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

☆

☆

It isn’t a topic I want to broach, but it feels necessary given the vitriol directed toward the matter of Arryn having a potentially negative influence on Targaryen’s daughters. The scowl the words earn me is frosty, but eventually, Targaryen answers my question, ‘How do you respond to the allegations that Rhaenyra Arryn is a bad influence on your daughters? Is that something you’ve considered or been concerned with?’ 

“I’ve been forced to consider it, but it has never concerned me. My daughters are stubborn in the best sort of way, I’m not sure even I have much influence on their behavior at this point. They are old enough to make decisions based on their own view of the world and who has an impact on that is up to them, not up to me, their mother, or Rhaenyra.

“But outside of that, the suggestion of her being a bad influence is just…utter shit. Rhaenyra has found extreme success in her career by pursuing her interests, focusing on her craft, and fine-tuning her talents. She is ambitious, confident, outspoken, and stands up for the things and people who matter to her, including herself. I think she is an excellent example for any young girl to follow—even if her films aren't quite appropriate for all ages.

“I’m really proud of her. And I’m proud of my daughters. And I’d be proud if my daughters were influenced by her, too.” 

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

When she finished her cigarette and returned inside, she found that more people had arrived—but her joy over no longer being a third wheel was short-lived. After losing not one but two games of mario party, her friends refused to talk about anything other than the woman Baela had been trying to escape. 

She looked at her phone—according to Rhaena’s stories, their dad and Rhaenyra had gone with her to the stables. Among them was a video of Rhaenyra laughing while a silver stallion ate oats from her palm. 

Group texts informed her that her mother was out shopping, and Rhaena would be getting lunch at her friend's house. 

This meant her house was empty, and she’d rather be alone than with this lot and their questions, at least right now.

☆

Her house was not empty. 

Her mom’s car was gone, but her dad’s was there.

Fuck.

She was still annoyed as she shuffled into the kitchen, searching around in the fridge for the fixings to make a sandwich without paying much mind to the location of her father. At some point she would need to shower, the smell of smoke clinging to her in a way her parents wouldn’t approve of.

She wasn’t particularly fond of it, either, which is why she rarely indulged in nicotine. 

But at that moment, she was grumpy, and food had a better chance of improving her mood than washing her hair.

It was only once she dumped what was needed onto the counter that she spotted her dad—well, her dad and Rhaenyra. He was swimming laps in the pool while she was sitting on the edge, feet dangling in the water while she watched. 

Baela rolled her eyes, hadn’t she ever seen someone swim before? It was really not that exciting. 

Her nose wrinkled in disgust when her dad stopped—his hands settling on Rhaenyra’s thighs as she bent to kiss him. 

Nope. 

Baela studiously looked down while she finished making her food, flinging what remained back into the fridge before speeding into her room.

☆

Half an hour later, she brought the dirty plate down, planning to snag a bottle of something caffeinated from the fridge before retreating again and mustering the energy to shower. 

She should have known better than to think the show would be over. 

She should have kept her eyes down and away from the window. 

But she didn’t. 

Jesus.

Blessedly, her dad’s back was to her—reclined in the lounger, while Rhaenyra was perched on his lap, hands draped over his shoulders and a smile on her face.

From her place at the window, Baela had a pretty fucking perfect view of the pop star.

And, the pop star’s breasts. 

Christ.

Baela couldn’t really blame the woman for her topless state, if the positioning of her dad’s hands was any indication, he was responsible for the loss of her bikini top—though the grin on her face showed she was amicable to the situation, at the very least. 

God, it was so inappropriate. She wanted to stomp out there and say something, but then her dad’s fingers moved down to the hip region and Rhaenyra moved slightly, her expression changing into one of pleasure and—nope, abort, abort, she was not going to watch them fuck. She wasn’t. 

☆

She complained about it to Rhaena when she got home later, but she just shrugged.

She didn't care. 

Well. She did care, but in that, “I’m just happy for him,” sort of placid way that Baela couldn’t comprehend.

She wasn’t surprised, though, Rhaena was very much her mother’s daughter whereas Baela was her father’s. It wasn’t like her parents called them their favorites or loved one of them less than the other, there was just an understanding between Baela and her father that was born from their similarities. 

‘Sorry you’re like this but I’m like this too’ 

Much like her father, Baela liked doing things and hated standing or sitting still. Fencing and track were her preferred extracurriculars whereas Rhaena took violin and participated in choir. 

Baela would never.

Even interests they shared, like riding, were approached differently. Baela was always riding, racing, or practicing jumps, whereas Rhaena preferred assisting with teaching the kids taking part in the summer stable program or volunteering time to care for the horses involved in the equine-assisted therapy program.   

Fuck, Baela would rather muck stalls than deal with that.

When it did come to schoolwork, Baela thought it was all boring, but she favored history, stuck in the past whereas Rhaena liked science, thinking about what was possible for the future. 

Rhaena had wanted to learn Mandarin like their mom. 

Baela was angry her school didn't offer Latin like her dad took.

Sure it was a deal language and a little bit useless but it was cool.

Her dad had given her a high five when she said that, followed by a, “Fuck yeah!” 

When Rhaena had argued for family vacations in Paris, Baela had wanted to go sailing with her grandfather. 

When Baela spent hours buried in a book, it was some sort of horror or mystery, where Rhaena was focused on her sketchbook or some trashy teen romance.

They were undeniably sisters but they were so different it boggled her mind at times. 

On this occasion, Rhaena had annoyingly pointed out that, “I caught you making out with Oly under that same cabana last year, didn’t I? If I recall, you had your suit on but his was—“ 

“That’s not the point!” She argued, “I’m a teenager, it’s expected from me, but they should show more restraint.” 

Rhaena sighed, “I think it’s sweet, that she makes him act like a teenager again. ”

Baela huffed. She hated it when Rhaena acted more mature than her. 

“In theory, it might be sweet. Maybe. But I do they have to do that in the backyard?” 

Rhaena giggled, “That’s fair—they definitely should have left a sock on the doorknob or something. Or at least closed the curtains!”

Or, Baela thought once again, they could just not fucked in the backyard where anyone could see them. 

Apparently, that was too big of an ask. 

“I just really don’t want to see that,” she grumbled. 

☆

She didn’t want to hear it, either, and yet…

☆

☆

DID SOMEONE SAY DADDY?

RHAENYRA ARRYN FINALLY FINDS THE ‘DAD’ OF HER DREAMS.

 

Things are heating up in this star’s summer romance, at least beneath the sheets!

Rumors claim the twenty-two-year-old’s forty-five-year-old beau, Daemon Targaryen, goes by a different name in the bedroom.

 

This is just disgusting, trying to profit off of speculation about our sex life is such a huge invasion of privacy and the inaccuracy is insulting. 

To set the record straight: She does not call me daddy just in bed. 

She calls me daddy everywhere else, too.  

☆