uncomfortable truth
pairing: daeron targaryen x princess reader
cw: toxic relationship, violence, mention of verbal and physical abuse
wc: 1.5k
a/n: an attempt to write angsty with a little hurt/comfort if you squint, but idk if i succeeded... it's my first ever akotsk fic, don't eat me alive!
ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ © ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ
ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴇᴇᴅʙᴀᴄᴋ, ɪ'ᴅ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ ɪᴛ
ʙʟᴀɴᴋ + ᴀɢᴇʟᴇꜱꜱ ʙʟᴏɢꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ʙʟᴏᴄᴋᴇᴅ
After having spent the evening personally venturing into the streets of King’s Landing in hopes of finding your forsaken husband, you finally stormed into one of the usually empty chambers of the Red Keep, which was now filled with gasps and moans of pleasure. The feeling of betrayal mixed with anger flooded your chest as you saw your personal servant straddling your husband’s lap, her upper garments undone, exposing her skin to the sudden cold of your arrival.
‘Out. Now,’ your sharp tone burst through the air, causing the pair to stop in their tracks.
‘My lady, I-’ the maid started, trying to regain her composure, only to get interrupted by your agitated voice.
‘That’s a command, not a request!’
Both you and your husband followed the servant with your eyes, as she tried to flee the room. When the girl was picking up her garments, Daeron shifted slightly in his place, covering himself with the discarded shirt.
‘You always know how to ruin the fun…’ a mumble escaped his lips, as he was hoping you wouldn’t hear his snarky remark.
‘Silence!’ you barked at him, getting closer to the bed, while the maid finally left the room in fear.
‘Don’t you silence me, woman!’ he snapped back, only to get slapped across the face, with force unheard of from a lady.
‘I. Said. Silence.’ You ground out every word, making sure it stung like the strike, to which your husband slowly got up, scowling in pain, trying to hold his tears back.
The red mark on his cheek slowly started forming into an imprint of your palm. Seeing it almost made you feel guilty. Almost.
‘I’ve been running around this gods’ forsaken city all night. Holding witness to sights no lady should endure. Filth, poverty, abuse, sodomy, you name it. Got verbally insulted, catcalled, numerous times. I had to withstand undignified touch, and thank gods Ser Roderick was there to protect me in time. All because I was worried to death about my moronic husband. I went to so many brothels I have actually lost count after the fifteenth, all in hopes of finding you and bringing you home. Only to have you sneaking around and fucking my own maid.’
‘You’re not my mother, I don’t need you running around after me.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ you sat down on the edge of the bed, ‘My sincere apologies, for caring whether I would be presented with my husband wasted in bed, brought back home in a coffin, or simply witness his corpse disposed of in a ditch, after he choked himself to death on his own drunkard vomit.’
He rolled his eyes before responding, ‘No need for theatrical scenarios, thank you very much.’
Watching him with narrowed eyes over his remark, you almost let ‘I can show you theatric scenarios you-’ slip, but opted for no comment instead.
‘Besides,’ he picked up the conversation again, ‘I never asked you to care.’
Your annoyance finally reached its boiling point. ‘Oh you know what, fuck you Daeron. I’m sorry that I’m the only one performing my marital duties. I’m sorry that my conscience would not let me sleep unless I knew you were alive and well.’
‘Hope that makes you feel better about yourself, now that you know I’m alive and unwell.’
‘You know damn well it doesn’t make me feel better. Your father was also worried.’
A groan filled the room on the sole mention of Maekar. Daeron pressed his fingers against his temple simulating a headache, only to swiftly clasp his hands and proclaim sarcastically, ‘Oh my, how grateful I am to be so well-taken care of, by both my sweet wife and my dear father!‘
The tired and irritated sigh that escaped your lips redirected his gaze back to you. ‘He sent his own guard along with me to escort you back, you moron. He cares, Daeron.’
‘Well, I don’t. Besides, he only cares about our reputation and his succession, not me. So fuck him.’
‘This is exactly the problem, Daeron. You don’t fucking care. You refuse to see the good intention behind our actions, you call it nagging, when in reality, we just want what’s best for you!’
‘And how the fuck you would know what’s best for me?!’ his own agitation reflected in the risen voice.
‘Because I care about you! I have eyes, you know?! And I can tell what’s not good for you!’
Dreadful silence, broken by occasional irritated huffs from both of you, filled up the room for a while before he spoke again.
‘You say you care, but you just pity yourself and your ill fortune for having been wedded off to a degenerate like me,’ he mumbled, shifting on the bed to lay on his side.
‘The only pity I carry is towards your helpless mind. For not caring about anything. Not me, not your family, not your duties, not even yourself.’
He smirked in response, ‘Right, I’m shitty at everything I do, and?’
‘And?’ you paused, trying to decipher his drunkard trail of thought, ‘Daeron, you’ve sworn to love me, to protect me!’
‘And I do.’ he whispered, reaching out his hand in hopes of brushing his fingers against yours, but you moved your hand just in time to avoid his touch. ‘You know very well I can’t protect you myself, that’s what your guards are for.’
A bitter smile crept onto your face and your gaze darted towards the other side of the room, as you could not believe his words, ‘If you loved me you would care about what I said about tonight’s events,’ you responded, clutching your fists both out of frustration towards him, and genuine fear that you might have started crying right there and then because of your torment, ‘Yet you failed to even bat an eye after hearing all the atrocities of today.’
And he noticed. As much as he hid behind the alcohol craze, as much as he claimed to be indifferent to your care, the still tender part of his soul ached at the thought of causing you so much distress. The feeling of guilt finally started to bloom inside his chest.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said sitting up, while you moved away from him to the very end of the bed, resting your back against the wooden pillar supporting the canopy, ‘I regret my actions, and having to put you through all of this.’
‘You’re not…’ you stared into his eyes with a blank expression on your face, anger and sadness washing off towards apathy, ‘And you couldn’t at least fuck a nameless whore, you had to do it with my only good maid.’
Your words stung. His guilt grew to an unbearable size. He got out of bed and knelt before you. ‘My love, I’m-’
‘Don’t call me that,’ you interrupted sharply, looking down on him.
‘But I love you, I do. I really do. And I- I promise to never do it again.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘I swear!’
You let his words linger for a while. The sight before you both stroked your ego, but also ached the pride you had in marrying into the Targaryen family.
‘You look pathetic…And I thought you didn’t care, why then are you on your knees now, Princeling?’
‘I know I do, and I said I don't care but I do… I’m just… I-’
His words got stuck in his throat. He did not know what he was, how he was. Or rather, he didn’t want to voice those projections. Yet you knew. You could see right through his disheveled facade.
‘What are you, Daeron?’ a rhetorical question lingered on, before you decided to end his suffering, ‘Are you helpless?’ you asked, reaching your hand out towards him, as an invitation for closure and a crumb of intimacy, to which he nodded and cautiously crawled closer to meet your touch, ‘Stubborn?’ you started playing with his hair as soon as your palm rested on top of his head, ‘Unwilling to receive help?’
‘Yes… I’m sorry…’ he almost purred into your chest as he hugged your figure tighter and nestled into your touch, like a huge cat.
‘We’ll see about that, my prince. I will help you through it, yeah?’
‘Thank you.’
‘Look at me,’ you asked gently, to which he obliged. ‘You just need to promise to try and get better.’
‘I promise.’
‘No more deception.’
‘No more,’ he promised, taking your free hand and kissing it, all while maintaining eye contact.
You finally blessed him with a smile at the kind gesture. He took it as an invitation to peck your lips, which quickly turned into more passionate kisses, traveling down your chin, jaw, and your neck. You stopped him to look at his slightly foggy eyes from both the alcohol as well as the threat of tears that were almost streaming down his cheeks just moments prior. By cupping his face and stroking his cheeks gently with your thumbs, especially the one with your mark still burning hot on it, you wanted to savor and capture his attention before speaking up again.
‘I’ll do whatever it takes to get you to feel better,’ you said, tucking away a loose strand of hair that had fallen onto his face, and placed your palm back against his skin, ‘Starting off with eliminating distractions.’
‘Whatever you say,’ he agreed, covering your hands with his own, ‘I can try dropping the alcohol, the whores, the nightly escapades…’
‘Let’s start with simple eliminations. How about the whoring servants?’
He smiled, humored with the potential of your jealousy. Yet his expression quickly changed to a more troubled one, seeing your horrifying grin. ‘You wouldn’t…’
‘Try me, my love.’
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