❝ We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy. ❞
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Summary:
On her honour, Naerys had not known her drunken fool of a cousin had conceived a passion for her handmaiden, nor that her fair friend had deigned to meet his glassy gaze. Naerys had always been fanciful, but even she could have never dreamt Daeron would steal Roslin away in the dead of night.
Her father had been bemused, her mother affronted, her grandfather furious. Roslin had come to the Red Keep as a hostage, the price her family paid for their inaction during the Rebellion. She was never meant to be a dragon’s bride. How the gods favoured her proud, ancient blood.
She could still hear her uncle’s cursing, something along the lines of the fucking Hightowers again. Oldtown celebrated from dusk to dawn when word spread of the star-crossed lovers. In the end, Daeron and Roslin seemed content in their punishment: exile to serene Summerhall.
Naerys thought the scandal excessive. If the Hightowers were truly beginning the game anew, Daeron was a poor choice for pawn. Her father would sit the Iron Throne; after him, Valarr.
As for herself… well, she would find her own path.
( In which Princess Naerys dreams of song and splendour while Prince Daeron's wife spirals in her sorrow. )
Warning/Tags: Alcoholism/Alcohol Abuse, Effects of alcoholism within relationships, Relationship Problems, Religious Guilt, Religious Fanaticism, Grief/Mourning, Victim Blaming, Pregnancy/Miscarriage, Grooming, Sexual Harassment/Sexual Assault, Canon Incest, Targaryen Incest, Emotional Manipulation, Aerion Targaryen (tba)
He'd want to take care of you, he really would. He'd probably reach for his goblet and then pour you one too. I can imagine him downing his wine and then moving to cuddle, hiding his face in your neck.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
He's for them tits guys. He loves resting his head on your chest, between your breasts. He like to suck on your tits and play with them while you're fucking.
I can't really see him having this one part of his body that he likes. I mean come on, we all saw how miserable this man is and how lowly he thinks about himself. Wrap this man in a blanket, give him a pat on the back and a kiss on the forehead.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Anywhere really, he hardly care. I fell like he'd be reluctant to come within you since he probably wouldn't want to get your with child in fear they might inherit his 'gift'.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Lowkey would want someone to walk in on your riding him. He doesn't know why but the thought of someone seeing him under you while you take whatever you want from him makes him flustered and hard within seconds.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
He knows very well what he's doing. It's said in the books that he has been with whores so I don't doubt that he knows how to fuck. But I think that from all his escapades to the flea bottom he only learned how to take pleasure for himself so he'd have to learn how to pleasure you too.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Lotus or missionary. He likes seeing you on top, he's bit lazy too so he wouldn't need to do a lot lmaoo. But I feel like Daeron is a switch so he'd probably enjoy fucking you just as much as having you dominate him.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Oh Daeron is cracking jokes while at it. I feel like he is the most unserious of them all when it comes to fucking. He'd tease and joke and chuckle breathily if you'd get flustered.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
He's not groomed. He hardly takes care of the hair on his head so down there is even more wild. He has hair on his pelvis, base of his cock and around his belly button. He does have some hair on the path between his stomach and cock but they're too sparse to be called a happy trail
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
He wants to please you - that's his goal. Even if he's not very good at it I can see him clinging to you and whispering how good you are taking him or how good you're making them feel. He'd plant some wet kisses over your skin or cup your face.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Likes it and does it often. It doesn't matter that he has you and can have sex whenever he wants it, he'd still do it.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Lactation kink, despite not wanting to get you with child when a child arrives he is more that eager to suck on your nipples and taste the milk himself. Exhibitionism as I said in the above. Loud sex, he gets off on the idea of someone hearing as you fuck.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Anywhere, he's not picky. He likes the bed in your chamber since it's the most comfortable but he doesn't have a problem with pinning you against the wall in an abandoned hall or have you against the shelves in the library.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
A deep neckline is a go to. He also gets turned on if your sit on his lap when he's speaking with someone. You can saying nothing and just sit against him, grinding discreetly and then he's having you the moment you get somewhere secluded.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Nothing that would hurt him. He is already miserable enough so he don't won't to be hurting either. I don't think he'd stop but would feel bit awkward if your told him to breed you (my thoughts only). Also anything that has to do something with blood (not period blood), he's seen enough of it in the realm of dreams, he doesn't have to see it when he's awake too.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
I feel like a giver... but he's just bad at it. He likes to go down on you, don't mind it when you ask but he's just too much out of his mind due to the wine to do anything with sense. Don't tell him that though, he'll get even more insecure. He likes receiving but would definitely prefer to get on his knee before you than se you do so.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
He's somewhere between fast and slow, he doesn't want to tired himself but he still wants to feel good. He's sloppy with the though! Chaotic so I can't say he's sensual but neither he is rough.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Oh definitely a big fan. He enjoys them really much and it's a great solution when he's busy (and he has been forced to) with matters of the court. I see him running away from training in the yard just to fuck you in a secluded corner of the castle.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
He would but is too lazy for it. If you took initiative he'd immediately agree but I doubt he'd suggest it himself.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Low. Genuinely, he's too drunk to go at it for long. I think 2-3 rounds the best before he needs to stop.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
To use it on you? Not really. To use it on him? ...👀
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
He is able and likes to whisper few teasing comments into you ear but I can imagine him pulling out when you're about to come just to piss you off and make you needy for him when it's him on top.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
This slut MOANS okay? Those breathy moans and needy whimpers that echo through the chamber even if he let's them out straight into your ear.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Sometimes he dreams about certain times when you two fuck. At first he took them as normal ones since he had you on his mind a lot but when the dreams started getting a bit too detailed and your later love-making a bit too similar to it he realized that he dreams of you too. But those dreams he likes so
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Solid 8 inches (20,5 cm). He's straight with a dark pink tip. He leaks and this one spot a little above his base is the most sensitive one. He LEAKA okay? I don't make the rules.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
If he's not thinking about dreams or wine, he's thinking about sex. He seeks you out often as is not ashamed of it! He's a needy man.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Almost immediately but he needs you pressed up against him to sleep peacefully.
His wet dog energy has captivated me. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! 🫶 Y’all got Daeron instead of Maekar but it will be also published later.
Girl…..you know what I would love. A jealous Daeron like have him mad jealous but it’s not readers fault more like he got jealous that other men are vying for her attention when her eyes are only for him.
You can let that be smutty or not let your brain decide lol
✫✦*⏾ a night of jealousy
✦ daeron targaryen x reader ✦
NSFW / MDNI ⏾ contains: jealous tipsy daeron x reader. daeron is sober and very apologetic by the time the smut happens ;) you're at a post-tourney (no, not *that* tourney) feast with knights and nobles, and daeron gets jealous of the polite attention you're receiving from valarr. you aren't in an established courtship or betrothal with daeron, but you share mutual feelings. reader's ancestry/relation to the targaryens is left open. daeron is a needy sad hot mess! enjoy!
Daeron crossed his arms. His voice carried its usual tipsy tremble, but he was worked up in a way you'd never seen. His eyes shone with tears. "I'll tell you plain what I'm getting at. You want to fuck him, don't you?"
Daeron waved an arm in the air, lazy and demanding, tired eyes searching for the feast's cupbearer. He pointed down at his emptied cup and sighed.
"My wine," he grumbled, his gaze flitting from his goblet to where you sat across him as he slumped in his chair. The cupbearer, a spindly young boy no older than ten and two, nervously poured Daeron more wine from the flagon and then hurried away to attend to other guests.
There were dozens and dozens and dozens of you packed inside the vast pavilion of red and black. Familiar draconic flags fluttered all around. Itinerant minstrels adorned in all manner of colorful costume filled the tent with music and mirth. Men and women of the court (some you recognized, some you didn't) sat at endless tables of cooked game, tart berry cakes arranged in frosted heaps, and exotic fruits brought in from Essos that popped with sweet and sour juices as you ate them.
The atmosphere was cheerful, raucous, opportunistic-- this was a tourney gone well for House Targaryen. One dragon prince in particular had been lavished with praise the entire tourney for his consistent victories, and the smallfolk adored him.
He had seated himself beside you for the better half of the evening now. Truthfully, you had somehow never spoken much with Valarr prior to this night. You knew Valarr to be a dutiful heir who diligently accompanied his father Baelor on royal duties. He didn't seek justification for brawls like Aerion or immerse himself in indulgences like Daeron.
A few knighted men had gathered at your table to listen in. They wore what you deemed "vanity armor"-- armor that specifically reminded you of Aerion's, built for spectacle as much as fierceness. You didn't remember their names, though they'd introduced themselves gladly. One belligerent had the gall to kiss your hand, laughing as he complimented the sparkling diamonds arranged in your hair like stars.
Valarr commanded attention as easily as his father, and by this point everyone at the table except Daeron was listening to him, though his eyes remained on you only. He'd told you a great deal of his most recent excursions tonight, and you had to admit you found his stories genuinely interesting. He could speak politics in an easy manner and he carried himself with an almost too endearing politeness. But it was refreshing. You nodded for him to carry on as you sipped at your cup of rosy tea.
"Cousin, won't you be glad to be rid of all this noise now the tourney's ended?" Daeron suddenly interjected, gesturing into the air before slamming his wine cup down onto the wooden table.
Bewildered, you turned your head to look across the table at Daeron. Having heard the drink in his voice was enough, but seeing his current state was another thing entirely. You had thought Daeron was content as everyone else while you kept up conversation with Valarr. Now you could see you had him misread.
He looked positively pissed off, and his hair was ragged and coming undone from the silky black string it had been tied back with. He'd loosened his doublet at the collar, and if you looked close enough, you could make out small droplets of red wine that had spilled onto the similarly red fabric over his chest.
"What?" Valarr asked, breaking your gaze and casting Daeron a worried look.
"Never mind me," Daeron replied curtly. "You can return to enthralling us all with your tales of glory and your princely endeavors." Daeron rolled his eyes in clear annoyance, and even you were appalled at his rudeness toward his own cousin tonight.
The couple of knights that still hovered around you exchanged awkward glances. Valarr opened his mouth to speak, looking more puzzled than offended. You stood up quickly, wanting to keep the evening peaceful, especially between cousins.
"My lord," you started, anxiety growing in your chest. "I believe he's sick with too much drink. Excuse me, I think I'll help him now."
The prince blinked back in confusion, but relented, sensing the discomfort in your voice. "Alright then, my lady. But do find me if he gives you any trouble." He smiled at you in earnest.
"Thank you."
It was all you managed to stutter out as you pulled Daeron up by his arm, away from the table and away from his wine. Your face burned red hot with embarrassment.
You snuck out from the tent, snatching an idle pitcher of water on your way out. You were relieved to be away from any prying eyes. The field flickered with other pavilions and bonfires, and the sky glittered with bright stars.
"What is the matter with you?" you asked Daeron in an angry whisper, afraid to draw any more attention. You shoved the pitcher into his hands expectantly, and he took a long drink before tossing it to the ground in angry stupor.
"You have spent--" Daeron's words slurred as he momentarily lost his footing in the wet dirt outside. He caught himself, opting to lean back against a tree instead of taking your hand. "You have spent this entire night listening to him prattle on about himself."
"Oh, have I?" you asked, stunned at this display of jealousy.
Daeron scoffed. "Why do you bother listening to him? Does he make you feel important as he forces you to acknowledge his boasts? Because he'll be king someday?"
Your head spun at the unexpected accusation. Daeron could be sarcastic after a few cups, but he was usually rather good-natured. Quiet and somber, at worst, at least in front of you. You'd never seen this side of him before. Something stirred inside you that you couldn't quite name.
"It matters not to me that he'll be king," you enunciated slowly. "He spoke to me with kind intention. You saw there was nothing untoward. I don't know what you're getting at."
Daeron crossed his arms. His voice carried its usual tipsy tremble, but he was worked up in a way you'd never seen. His eyes shone with tears. "I'll tell you plain what I'm getting at. You want to fuck him, don't you?"
Your mouth fell agape with shock.
"What?!" you exclaimed, at a loss for better words. "What? No! No, no, no! Why would you even speak such a thing?"
Daeron held his head in his hands and took a shuddering breath.
"I've dreamed of you these past nights," he finally admitted, his eyes fixed on his black leather boots that were dirtied with mud. "I dreamed of you endlessly. It's an awful dream. I dreamed of you dancing with a dragon around a bonfire, and you flew off on its back into the dark night sky above."
"And?"
Daeron offered no answer, still resigned to his own conclusions. The night air felt thick and heavy, and you knew it wasn't the smoke of the bonfires making it hard for you to breathe.
You shook your head, sighing.
"You misunderstand yourself," you spoke, your voice mixed with irritation and concern. You took a reluctant step closer. "Your dreams. And me. Who am I here with, right now?"
His face softened at that, though he made no effort to wipe away any wetness from his eyes.
"You're here with me..." he trailed off, looking at you with a more sober sincerity.
"I'm here with you. I'm out here alone with you. Only you."
Daeron stood up straighter, taking another deep breath before pulling you in close with both arms, tears falling.
"Gods, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I've been a fool tonight."
"Shhhh..." you hushed. You wouldn't let this go-- you'd make sure every grievance and worry of yours was clearly understood in the morning. But for now you let him hold you close. Past the wine, you could smell the fine oils in his hair, sandalwood and warm spices, and every breath you took relaxed you further until your head was buried in his chest.
You'd been walking together for at least an hour now, hand in hand, circling through patches of grass dotted with tiny yellow and white flowers while Daeron sobered up and cleared his head. The night was still young; every tent in the tourney meadow still boomed with song. You chatted to each other in hushed but happy tones, the mood between you tentatively repaired.
The two of you had chosen to distance yourselves from the festivities, eventually finding a small abandoned pavilion and taking refuge inside. It seemed safe enough. It was dark inside, but enough moonlight shimmered in for you to see Daeron clearly.
He laid you down on an abandoned rough-spun blanket, careful and sweet, and kissed his way from your face and down your neck to your breasts. His fingers fumbled with the lacing of your dress until finally your breasts were free. He kissed them all over, his cock growing harder beneath his black breeches.
He came back up to kiss you, sloppy and messy and full of desperation. You moaned softly into the kiss once his tongue found your own. His hand cupped your cheek as he kissed you deeper, wanting to drink you up more than any wine.
His other hand moved below, under the velvety skirts of your dress and creeping up until he found the wet spot between your thighs. His fingers began to slowly rub at your clit, making you cry out with every tease. He shushed you, placing a finger to your lips. His hand left your clit to pull his hard cock out. How badly he was throbbing for you.
"Tell me you need me," Daeron begged.
"I need you, please Daeron, I need you," you moaned for him. You could feel his tip pulsing against your entrance, and slowly he started to slide inside you. Your slickness eased him in as you threw your head back, inhaling sharply when it felt like too much to take.
He stopped then, giving you time to spread your legs wider, to try to accommodate his girth and length.
"You're so perfect," he praised. "So beautiful. So kind. Forgive me again, please..."
You dripped around him while he kissed you again, the loose strands of his sandy blond locks brushing against your face as he moved his cock in and out.
Daeron's rhythm was a steady back and forth, finding all the right angles that made you even wetter. He kept on that way until you felt his cock throb deep inside you, and he held it there, biting his lip while your legs shook at his sides.
You felt another throb, and suddenly he hooked both hands under your thighs and started fucking you harder. It felt so good, so good you could barely think. He thrust himself in deeper, pace growing more erratic.
The shaft of his cock was pressing against your sweet spot with every push back inside. You struggled to contain your moans for more. A lady shouldn't be heard like this. You threw your head back, your hands covering your mouth, your gaze unfocused in the surrounding darkness as you came around him.
"Fuck, yes, yes, just like that," he whimpered when he felt you squeeze down around him. He gave a low moan of pleasure, breathing heavy, and managed a few more strokes inside you before pulling out in a well practiced motion. He came hard, his seed spilling all over your thighs as he quivered in ecstasy.
He collapsed on top of you, shaking and spent. You laid there in stillness, wrapped in each other's arms, comfortable but exhausted after such an emotional evening.
"I don't deserve you," Daeron confessed, planting a kiss on your lips. His eyes were sorrowful. "Your kindness. Your beauty." Another kiss. "Your passion. Your forgiveness. I'm undeserving of it all."
He scanned your expression, terrified of any rejection. He cleared his throat.
"And I didn't mean to say you wanted to fuck him," he went on. "Only I'd thought of you with him, and it tore away at me. I was heedless with my drunken words. There isn't an excuse. I've disgraced you with my thoughts and I'm sorry for it."
"Hush now," you quieted him. You appreciated the proper apology, though you hadn't given up your plans to speak with him tomorrow about the recent uptick in his drinking, dreams or none. "I'm here with you. Nothing else need matter."
"I'll make it up to you, my sweetling. Truly."
He nodded against your skin after that, closing his eyes and drifting off. You allowed yourself a moment of warm rest beneath him.
You knew you needed to clean yourselves up sooner over later, get out of Ser Yet-to-Returns' tent, and meander back to the royal pavilion as if nothing happened.
Maekar Targaryen is probably looking for Daeron right now, cursing all of his sons for the constant difficulties they raise.
That thought of Maekar amused you as you lied there, legs spread, his eldest son's cum still hot between your thighs as his head lied between your tits.
Let someone walk in. Let someone see where this prince takes sanctuary. Beloved Valarr may find solace in a sept. Daeron Targaryen finds solace in my--
Daeron moved in his sleep. You let him rest a while longer. It felt a pity to wake him when he looked so peaceful, clutching your waist as he snored lightly. You still weren't certain what exactly had brought on his drunken bout of jealousy. Valarr's ever noble demeanor could annoy the wrong sort of man, maybe. Did they row often as children? You didn't remember. Part of you suspected Daeron just didn't enjoy being around Valarr after being compared to him for so many years... Could you really blame him?
Your mind wandered. You've been close with Daeron your whole life. Every nameday spent at each other's sides. You remembered Aerion's seventh... no, Aerion's eighth nameday-- how you and Daeron sat under a table giggling while Aerion declared himself a living dragon and jumped from a chair, injuring an arm in the process and wailing the entire celebration after.
You remembered how you sobbed to Daeron when your first blood came, worried you'd be married away to someone twice your age and whisked across Westeros, far from Summerhall.
You remembered the night you asked him to take your maidenhead. That came years later. You were both grown then, and the order of life at court had necessitated more and more time apart. Your heart had raced when he hesitantly said yes. Gods knew he wanted you bad. He'd looked for your figure and face in brothels before, even moaned your name to the gleeful indifference of well-paid whores.
He had been afraid to defile you. You were adamant that it wasn't defiling if you had asked for it and you both wanted it.
Daeron had known what to do in bed and just how to do it; you'd been clueless in your closely guarded highborn chastity. You were grateful for his expertise and gentleness. He stayed with you that night for as long as he could, promising he'd be forever yours, sneaking away when the dawn's light poured through the window to leave you in your perfectly feigned virtue.
You remembered the first time he confided in you about his dreams. You wondered if his dreams were the reason he never asked for your hand. Surely there'd be no objections, it must all be so obvious to anyone who saw you together--
Reality returned to you suddenly.
"We need to get on." You shifted under Daeron, stirring him from his short slumber. He yawned and smiled back at you; a sweaty mess of satisfaction, relief, yearning.
The dreamer prince sat up, taking in the sight of you in the soft moonlight as he held your hands in his own. His mind felt lighter the longer he looked at you. A beautiful maiden stolen away by a dragon into the night.
author's note: daeron, you dummy! of course the dragon was you the whole time. now you better make it up to reader and ask her to marry you already. oh, and maybe apologize to valarr, too ;p march 8: little edit, realized i accidentally wrote king's landing instead of summerhall lol
ㅤㅤㅤ❛ — some men will say i meant to kill my brother. the gods know it is a lie, but i will hear the whispers till the day i die. and it was my mace that dealt the fatal blow, i have no doubt. ❜
It is said that Jacaerys Velaryon leapt free and clung to a piece of smoking wreckage for a few heartbeats, until some crossbowmen on the nearest Myrish ship began loosing quarrels at him. The prince was struck once, and then again. More and more Myrmen brought crossbows to bear. Finally one quarrel took him through the neck, and Jace was swallowed by the sea.
