#house of the dragon
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sugurugetos · 3 days ago
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HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 1.08 — Lord of the Tides (2022)
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venusbyline · 2 days ago
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i just need Aegon breeding me every year. i really wanna carry his children. i wanna be pregnant and full of his seed 😭😭
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born to marry him, forced to read fanfics about him
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aemondstark · 3 days ago
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ALICENT HIGHTOWER in HOUSE OF THE DRAGON
01.04 "The King of the Narrow Sea"
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gameofthronesdaily · 2 days ago
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HOUSE OF THE DRAGON (2022—) 1.01 "The Heirs of the Dragon" // 2.08 "The Queen Who Ever Was"
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moonwyvern · 3 days ago
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Morning (wip)
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murmel-malt · 12 hours ago
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Alicent in (book!)accurate Hightower colors for Anon!
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tanyariarey · 3 days ago
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Aemond's morning routine 😈 Thank you to my wonderful patrons for supporting my fan art! 💙🙏
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scorpiusartistry · 3 days ago
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Aegon the second with his only surviving child, Jaehaera. Questioning if it was worth it.
I saw something that pissed me off so I made some fluff/angst that soothed me. Physical drawing my therapy
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stelliumh3arts · 22 hours ago
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The details of the blonde heads...I'm sobbing.
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King Aegon II Targaryen and his family, circa 129 AC From Left: Otto Hightower, Aegon II Targaryen, Aemond, Daeron (in portrait), Jaehaerys, Alicent Hightower, Queen Helaena Targaryen, Maelor, Jaehaera
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The Young Queen Jaehaera Targaryen with her grandmother, Alicent Hightower, circa 131 AC
Also on Insta
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irlplasticlamb · 11 hours ago
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mhysa.
prints + merch + commission info pinned to profile :)
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idkyetxoxo · 2 days ago
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Aegon Targaryen - Whispers of Peace
Summary - Since the birth of their children, King's Landing has known no peace—only the chaos of their four energetic kids. Amid the noise and mischief, Aegon and her find moments of stolen affection, proving that love can flourish even in the madness of parenthood.
Pairing - Aegon Targaryen x reader
Warnings - None
Word count - 2062
Masterlist for Aegon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.
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"Come," I urged, grabbing Aegon's hand as he approached me, his leisurely stroll interrupted by the sudden gleam of mischief in my eyes. 
His smile faltered in confusion as I yanked him forward, and without another word, I began running, pulling him along with me through the winding corridors of the castle. 
His laughter, once rich and relaxed, turned breathless as he tried to keep up.
"Why... are we... running?" he managed, gasping for breath and stumbling over his own feet. His fingers tightened around mine, a lifeline in the whirlwind chase.
I didn't answer, not yet. Instead, I darted into a narrow alcove, dragging him with me. The stone walls pressed in, cool against our flushed skin. 
Placing a hand over his mouth, I met his wide-eyed gaze with a silent plea for silence. He nodded, eyes dancing with questions, his breath warm against my palm.
In the stillness, we heard them—tiny feet pounding the flagstones, echoing like a drumbeat of chaos and glee. Moments later, a blur of colours and curls hurtled past. 
Our children, two sets of mischievous twins, raced by with gleeful shrieks that could melt the iciest heart. 
Aenys and Aelora, their silver curls streaming behind them, led the pack, arms outstretched like birds in flight. Not far behind, Maelor and Maegon followed, their eyes alight with joy, hands clutching makeshift wooden swords that clattered as they ran.
The quartet vanished around a corner, their laughter fading into the distance but leaving behind a trail of warmth and happiness.
I exhaled deeply, leaning back against the stone. The weight of parenthood—exhausting, beautiful, and overwhelming—settled over me. 
When I opened my eyes, Aegon was staring, his expression soft and filled with the kind of love that makes everything else seem insignificant.
"We are severely outnumbered," I whispered, my hands finding their place on his chest as if they'd always belonged there. He chuckled, the sound rumbling beneath my touch.
"Oh, you're only realizing that now?" he teased, his tone light but his eyes alight with a deep, enduring affection. "I've been their target for hours, you know. The girls had me cornered, braiding every strand of hair they could get their hands on. I may never untangle it."
I laughed, picturing Aenys and Aelora with their tiny fingers tangled in Aegon's hair, their faces alight with concentration. "And the boys?"
He rolled his eyes, though his smile betrayed him. "The boys were serenading me with the longest, most off-key ballad I've ever heard. Apparently, they're aspiring bards now."
"I'm losing my sanity," I admitted, letting my head rest against his chest. His arms closed around me, strong and comforting, and for a moment, it felt like the world had paused just for us.
"Shall I remind you," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "that after the boys were born, you were the one who insisted we have more children as soon as possible?"
"You could've talked some sense into me," I countered, feigning indignation. 
My hand found its way to his chest, delivering a playful slap. He caught it with a grin, bringing it to his lips and pressing soft kisses to my knuckles.
"Who am I to deny my beautiful wife anything?" he murmured, his words brushing against my skin. He intertwined our fingers, his gaze unwavering. "Especially when it means countless nights together."
"You are an opportunist," I whispered, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks as he leaned in. 
His lips found their way to my jaw, leaving a trail of kisses that sent shivers down my spine. I closed my eyes, sinking into the warmth of his embrace.
"That I am," he replied softly, his mouth hovering just over mine. "But you love me for it."
Before I could respond, his lips claimed mine, capturing me with a tenderness that quickly turned to urgency. The kiss deepened, igniting a passion that stole the breath from my lungs and made the world fall away.
My arms slid around his neck, drawing him closer as we surrendered to the moment, letting ourselves be swept away in the solace of each other's touch—if only for a fleeting heartbeat.
A high-pitched squeal shattered the quiet, pulling us apart. We broke away, gasping, our cheeks flushed and our eyes wide.
Turning, we were met by the sight of our small army of children standing mere paces away. Their faces were a delightful array of amusement and faux dismay. Maelor was the first to find his voice.
"Gross!" he declared, but the mischievous sparkle in his eyes betrayed his playful teasing.
"Again! Again!" Aelora exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight. Her sister quickly joined in, their laughter mingling and echoing through the hallway like the sweetest of melodies.
Aegon and I exchanged glances—equal parts exasperation and joy—before laughter overtook us, spilling out with a warmth that filled every corner of the hall.
"What have you all been up to?" I asked, crouching down to smooth Maegon's unruly hair, though my voice held a note of playful suspicion.
"Maegon and Maelor are saving us from the monster!" Aenys declared, bouncing excitedly on her small feet.
"Oh?" Aegon joined me, dropping to a knee as Aelora threw her arms around his neck. "And who, is this monster?"
"Uncle Aemond!" Maelor proclaimed, and I felt my eyes widen. I stifled a gasp, glancing between the children and Aegon, who had already dissolved into laughter.
"That's not very nice," I scolded gently, my tone affectionate but firm. "Uncle Aemond is older than you. We show respect to our elders," I added, giving Aegon a light push as he struggled to contain his mirth.
"But Mama, he never smiles!" Maegon pouted, crossing his arms in defiance.
"He smiles at us," Aelora interjected, nudging Aenys. The girls exchanged a conspiratorial glance before sticking their tongues out at the boys.
"Perhaps that's because you two don't drive him quite as mad as your brothers do," Aegon teased, his eyes twinkling as he looked at Maegon and Maelor, who exchanged a sheepish glance before breaking into giggles of their own.
The children's giggles hadn't yet subsided when a shadow moved at the edge of the hallway. 
I saw their eyes widen in unison, and their antics suddenly paused. Aemond had appeared, his expression stoic as he approached. The children exchanged quick glances—a silent message passing between them.
Without warning, a chorus of squeals erupted.
"Run!" Maegon shouted, eyes wide with mock terror, and in an instant, the small army scattered like leaves in the wind. 
Maelor grabbed Aenys's hand, tugging her along as they darted around the corner. Aelora clung to her brother's arm before letting go and spinning away with laughter that rang out like bells.
I stifled a laugh of my own, standing up as Aegon mirrored me. 
We turned to see Aemond, who had come to a halt with one brow raised, his gaze following the children as they disappeared from sight. 
He shook his head slightly, a hint of something—was it amusement?—dancing in his single eye.
"For the peace of the city," he began dryly, his tone carrying all the weight of a man who had seen more chaos than he cared for, "I beg you two to stop having children."
I pressed my lips together, fighting the urge to burst into laughter. Aegon, however, wasn't nearly as reserved. He snorted, folding his arms across his chest with a wide grin.
"You're just jealous, brother," Aegon teased, his voice dripping with mockery and affection. "All that stoic brooding of yours can't hide it forever."
Aemond rolled his eye with exaggerated weariness, but the faintest twitch of his lips betrayed him. 
"Jealous? Hardly," he retorted, his tone as sharp as ever, but beneath it, there was a trace of warmth—a fleeting softness only those who knew him well could detect.
"Of course," Aegon said, leaning in as if sharing a great secret. "Just keep telling yourself that."
With a sigh that was almost theatrical, Aemond turned on his heel, his long stride carrying him away. 
"Do try to keep them in line, or the city may not survive their next game," he called over his shoulder, his voice fading as he disappeared around a corner.
The hallway was suddenly quiet, save for the distant echoes of children's laughter. I felt Aegon's arm slide around my waist, drawing me close. 
"He does love them," I said softly, my smile lingering as I thought of Aemond's rare but genuine moments of affection.
"In his own begrudging way," Aegon agreed, pressing a light kiss to my temple. 
We stood there together, savouring the calm after the chaos. The warmth of the moment wrapped around us like a cherished memory in the making, one more to add to our ever-growing collection.
"So, what do you say?" Aegon murmured, turning me gently to face him. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned in closer. "Shall we give them another sibling?" 
His lips began a slow, deliberate path across my cheek, his breath warm against my skin.
I couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and free. "With our luck, we'll end up with another set of twins," I replied, cupping his face in my hands and giving him a playful squeeze. 
He pouted, and I felt a rush of affection, the kind that made even the wildest dreams seem possible. "Then there will truly be no saving us—or the city."
His lips curled into a roguish grin. 
"Imagine it," he whispered, his voice soft and reverent as he continued to trail kisses along the curve of my neck. His fingers danced up and down my sides, igniting sparks wherever they touched. "A little babe, with tiny fingers and a pout that rivals yours. Your beauty, my charm. Utter perfection."
I burst into laughter, breaking the spell as I pressed my palms against his chest, gently pushing him back. 
Crossing my arms, I fixed him with a mock-serious glare. "Aegon Targaryen, stop this nonsense at once."
He groaned dramatically, his eyes rolling skyward before settling back on me, the glimmer in them undimmed. 
"Fine, no new sibling," he mumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched in betrayal of his surrender.
Triumph flared in my chest, and I reached up, threading my fingers through his silken hair. 
I tugged him closer, my lips brushing his ear as I whispered, "No one said we couldn't practice, though." I bit down gently on his earlobe, pulling away with a feigned innocence that I knew would drive him mad.
His breath caught, and he let out a low, theatrical groan. 
"You are insatiable," he accused, though his voice was tinged with laughter and something deeper. 
His hand found mine, and before I could respond, he was tugging me along, our steps quickening down the corridor.
We ran side by side, the sound of our laughter echoing off the stone walls. There was something magical about these moments, where the world outside seemed so far away, and nothing existed except us, the stolen seconds between responsibility and chaos. 
Our fingers were intertwined so tightly I couldn't imagine letting go, not now, not ever.
We reached our chambers, and I could already feel the heat of the moment building between us once more. 
Aegon paused at the threshold, glancing at me with a smile so full of promise that I felt my heart quicken. 
"Are you sure it's just practice?" he teased, his voice low and filled with unspoken possibilities.
I bit my lip, looking up at him with a playful gleam in my eyes. "Convince me," I whispered, my fingers trailing up his chest, "and I might just consider it."
He grinned, his eyes darkening with that familiar hunger. 
"Don't get me wrong," he murmured, his lips brushing my ear, "I love practising with you. It's my favourite pastime." His breath was warm against my skin, and his voice was thick with desire.
I laughed, the sound light and full of mischief. "Is that so? Well, maybe I'll let you practice a little more, then."
His eyes gleamed with unmasked delight as he stepped toward me, closing the distance with a sense of purpose that sent a flutter through my chest. 
His hands cupped my face, tender yet possessive, as he leaned in, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that was both gentle and demanding. 
The warmth between us grew, a fire that neither of us could ignore.
Without another word, he swept me inside. The door clicked shut behind us, leaving the rest of the world behind.
A/n - Another set of twins was indeed conceived that night all thanks to Uncle Aemond who begrudgingly kept the kids occupied by letting them turn him into a princess 🤭
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melinoyart · 2 days ago
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two slow dancers, last ones out
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hisfavegirl · 2 days ago
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HOTD Characters when you posted something that angered them on instagram.
a/n : with their revenge.
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Aegon :
Aegon wasn’t just jealous—he was seething.
He hadn’t been paying much attention to his phone, probably nursing a drink or sprawled out on his bed in boredom, when his notifications started going off. Dozens of messages, tags, and mentions, all leading back to one thing.
Your post.
The second he saw it, his entire body tensed. His fingers gripped the phone so tightly he nearly cracked the screen.
You were practically naked. The lighting was teasing, the pose deliberate—bare skin, just barely covered, revealing far too much. His mouth went dry, his jaw locked, and his pulse spiked with something dark and possessive.
And then, the comments.
“I think I just died and went to heaven.”
“No way you’re single posting this.”
“You’re actually cruel for this.”
“Let me take you out, I’ll treat you better than he ever could.”
Aegon snapped.
His tongue pressed hard against his cheek, his breathing slow and measured—forced control. Every part of him burned. The thought of other men looking at you like this, imagining things they had no right to—it made his vision blur with rage.
Did you want this? Were you trying to make him lose it? Because if so, congratulations. It worked.
His hands were shaking as he opened your messages.
Aegon: What the fuck is wrong with you?
Aegon: Take it down. NOW.
Seconds passed. No response.
His jaw ticked, his heart pounding. He could already see you smirking at your phone, enjoying this.
Aegon: Do you think this is funny? You think I’ll just sit back while you let every desperate asshole on the internet drool over you?
Another moment of silence.
And then—
Aegon: Fine. You don’t want to listen? Then I’m coming to you.
He didn’t care where you were, who you were with. This wasn’t going to be solved over text. If you thought you could push him, make him jealous, tease him like this—
You were about to find out exactly what jealous Aegon Targaryen really looked like.
Aegon Revenge :
THE INTERNET WAS NOT READY.
People had barely survived your last stunt.
And then—
He ended them.
A video.
Dim lighting. A massive, ornate mirror reflecting everything.
You—completely bare, wrapped in Aegon’s arms, your back pressed flush against his chest. His grip on your thighs, fingers digging in as he held you up, your body rocking against him.
And then—
Him.
Silver hair messy, sweat dripping down his bare chest. His lips bruised, parted, his eyes half-lidded—but focused. Locked on the mirror. On you. On himself.
He didn’t even turn off the sound.
Your whimpers. His low groans. The sound of skin against skin.
And then—his voice. Rough. Arrogant. Possessive.
“Let them watch. Let them know exactly who you belong to.”
And the caption?
“You’ll never be me. You’ll never have her.”
THE INTERNET? DESTROYED.
The guys:
“What the actual fuck?”
“No way. NO WAY. I refuse.”
“Delete this right now, Aegon, I’m not joking.”
“BLOCKED. REPORTED. SOBBING.”
“She was supposed to be ours. OURS, YOU BASTARD.”
“First, she posts that picture, now THIS? Haven’t we suffered enough?”
“Aegon. BRO. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.”
“This wasn’t just a flex. This was a declaration of war.”
“Bro didn’t even try to be subtle. Just straight-up ruined us.”
“I WAS LIVING A PEACEFUL LIFE, AEGON.”
“I can’t even be mad. He won. He fucking won.”
The Girls:
“This is the most disrespectful thing I have ever seen, and I need more.”
“The mirror. The hand placement. The fucking arrogance. I’m unwell.”
“HOW DO I SIGN UP FOR THIS LIFE.”
“He knows he’s that guy, and he’s making sure we do too.”
“Aegon is actually dangerous because why is this so hot??”
“This should be illegal. In every country. And yet I can’t look away.”
Meanwhile, Aegon?
He was smirking, watching the absolute chaos in the comments, lazily scrolling, completely unbothered.
And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:
“Cope. She’s screaming my name, not yours.”
With that—
The internet was officially incinerated.
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Aemond :
Aemond rarely paid attention to social media. It was a distraction, a meaningless void filled with people desperate for attention. But when his phone buzzed relentlessly—notifications flooding in, people tagging him, sending him something over and over—he knew something was wrong.
Then he saw it.
Your post.
His entire body went rigid. His grip on the phone tightened, fingers twitching against the screen as his eye locked onto the image.
You were practically naked.
The dim lighting barely concealed you, your pose deliberate, teasing, calculated. It left just enough to the imagination while making it painfully obvious what you wanted people to see.
And judging by the comments, it was working.
“You’re actually a goddess.”
“This is illegal. It has to be.”
“I need a minute. Maybe an hour. Maybe my whole life.”
“If he doesn’t wife you after this, I will.”
Aemond’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His chest burned with something vicious, a white-hot fury that spread through his veins like wildfire.
Who the fuck did these men think they were? Speaking like this—like they even had the right to look at you, let alone imagine more.
His breathing was slow, controlled, forced—because if he let himself fully feel this, he’d break something.
He opened your messages, his fingers moving before he could even think.
Aemond: Take it down.
No response.
His teeth ground together, his patience already paper-thin. He could feel you smirking at your phone, waiting, pushing him.
Aemond: Now.
Still nothing.
A dangerous heat flickered behind his eye. His grip on the phone was dangerous now, his mind already racing with possibilities.
Aemond: You think this is a game? You think I’ll just sit back while you let every desperate bastard in the world stare at what’s mine?
His lips curled into a sneer as he refreshed your post, seeing the numbers climb—more likes, more comments, more eyes on you.
Fine. If you wanted attention, he was about to give it to you.
Aemond: You’re going to regret this.
And before he even gave you a chance to answer, he sent one last message.
Aemond: I’m coming to you. Right now.
You wanted to test him? To push him to the edge? You were about to see exactly what happened when Aemond Targaryen is jealous.
Aemond revenge :
The Internet Was Not Just Broken—It Was Destroyed.
Aemond had been quiet lately. Too quiet.
People should have known he was plotting.
And then—
He dropped the video.
Dark sheets. Low lighting. Your body sprawled against his bed, wrists tied above your head, satin bindings digging into your skin.
And then—
His hand.
Slow. Intentional. Inside your cunt.
Aemond wasn’t even looking at the camera—his gaze was locked on you. Sharp. Unrelenting. His lips curled into something dangerous as he watched you struggle beneath him.
And then—his voice. Low. Rough. Possessive.
“They can watch. But they’ll never touch.”
And the caption?
“Don’t bother fantasizing. She’s already ruined for anyone else.”
The Internet? Utterly Incinerated.
The Guys:
“I can’t keep doing this, bro.”
“AEMOND. THIS WAS NOT NECESSARY.”
“This wasn’t even a flex. This was pure domination.”
“I was a happy man. Now I’m in hell.”
“He could have just hinted at it. But no. He had to prove it.”
“What the actual fuck is this??”
“I just dropped to my knees in Walmart.”
“I need time to process. Maybe a lifetime.”
“WHO ALLOWED THIS???”
“No way. NO WAY. I refuse to accept this reality.”
“This is actually a hate crime"
The Girls:
“The hand placement. The bindings. I actually feel pain.”
“Aemond Targaryen is actually disrespectful for this.”
“I don’t know whether to cry, scream, or book a one-way flight to his bed.”
“The way he’s just watching her struggle—I am NOT OKAY.”
“WHO GAVE HIM THE RIGHT??”
“I hate her. I love her. I want to be her.”
“The fact that he tied her up and still made sure to show off?? I need a moment.”
Meanwhile, Aemond?
Unbothered. Probably sipping wine, watching men suffer, knowing no one could ever take you from him.
And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:
“Cry harder. She’s not leaving my bed.”
With that—
The internet was officially annihilated.
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Jace :
Jace wasn’t the type to obsess over social media. He didn’t scroll mindlessly or waste time checking comments. But when his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when his notifications were flooded with messages, tags, and people sending him something over and over—he knew something was up.
Then he saw it.
And everything else faded.
You. Practically naked. The lighting was soft, shadows barely concealing you. The way you posed, the way your skin was on full display—every inch of the picture was deliberate.
And the comments?
“Holy fucking shit.”
“No way in hell Jace is letting this slide.”
“You’re actually unreal.”
“If you ever need someone to treat you better… just say the word, baby.”
Jace’s jaw locked. His grip on the phone tightened so hard his knuckles went white.
His chest burned—jealousy, rage, something dark and possessive twisting deep in his gut. Did you want this attention? Were you enjoying the way these men spoke to you, the way they looked at you? Did you forget who you belonged to?
His vision blurred as he opened your messages, his fingers moving before he could think.
Jace: Take it down. Now.
Nothing.
His knee bounced, jaw ticking as he refreshed your page, watching the numbers climb. More likes. More comments. More eyes on you.
Jace: Don’t make me repeat myself.
Still nothing.
His tongue pressed hard against the inside of his cheek, his blood boiling. He knew you were doing this on purpose. Testing him. Pushing him.
Jace: You think this is funny? Letting every desperate asshole in the world think they have a chance?
He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair before sending one last message.
Jace: Fine. You don’t want to listen? I’m coming to you.
Because if you thought you could make him jealous, make him furious, and just get away with it?
You were about to learn exactly what happened when Jace Velaryon snapped.
Jace Revenge :
The Internet Was NOT Okay.
People were still recovering from the last time you posted something that had them spiraling—
And then he ruined lives all over again.
A video.
Low, moody lighting. The golden glow of a bedside lamp casting soft shadows over your bare back, your skin flushed, the smooth curve of your spine on full display.
And then—
His hand.
Fingers twisting in your hair, pulling just enough to tilt your head back, exposing the slope of your neck, the sharp inhale that followed.
His other hand—out of frame, but you could feel it.
The video was silent, except for the sound of breathing—his and yours, deep, uneven, filled with undeniable tension.
And the caption?
“Mine.”
The Internet? SHATTERED.
The Guys:
“Jace, bro. What the fuck.”
“This is personal. I feel personally attacked.”
“Nah. This is war.”
"BLOCKED. REPORTED. UNFOLLOWED.”
“I can’t do this anymore. I’m logging out forever.”
“This is actually illegal. I’m calling the police.”
“Jace, be honest… was this necessary? Was it??”
“I just threw my phone across the room. I can’t look at this.”
“Bro really said ‘you thought you had a chance?’ and ended us all.”
“At least let me heal from the last post first, damn.”
The Girls:
“That hand placement? That possessiveness? Yeah, I’m in pain.”
“Jace Velaryon is the standard. I’m sorry.”
“The hand in the hair. The bare back. The silence. Yeah, I’m not okay.”
“HOW DO I APPLY TO BE HER?”
“The way he’s handling her like that… this is too much.”
“I will never get over this. Ever.”
“Who gave him the right to post something like this?”
Meanwhile, Jace?
Completely unbothered. Probably smirking, watching the chaos unfold, scrolling through the absolute meltdown happening in his comments.
And just to ruin them further, he dropped a comment under his own post:
“Don’t be jealous. She’s right where she belongs.”
With that—
The internet was officially in ruins.
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Daemon :
Daemon wasn’t a man who checked social media often. He didn’t care for it. But when his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when people kept sending him something, tagging him, warning him—he knew something was wrong.
Then he saw it.
And the world around him went silent.
It was you. Practically naked.
Soft lighting, shadows teasing just enough to make the image dangerous. The way you posed—deliberate, taunting, meant to provoke.
And the comments?
“I need a moment. Or a lifetime.”
“She’s actually unreal.”
“Daemon’s done for. There’s no way he’s letting this slide.”
“If he won’t treat you right, just know my DMs are open, .”
His fingers curled around his phone, grip tightening until the device creaked.
His jaw clenched, his breathing slow and controlled—because if he let himself fully feel this, if he let the jealousy and rage take hold, he would break something.
Or someone.
You were his. And yet, here you were, putting yourself on display for every desperate, pathetic fool to see. Did you enjoy this? The attention? The way they drooled over you?
A muscle in his jaw ticked as he opened your messages.
Daemon: Delete it. Now.
Nothing.
His nostrils flared, his lips pressing into a thin line. He refreshed the page—saw the likes climbing, the comments piling up. More eyes on you. More men thinking they had a chance.
Daemon: I won’t ask again.
Still, no response.
His vision blurred at the edges, his pulse pounding hard in his ears. He didn’t need to guess what you were doing—smirking at your phone, waiting, pushing him.
Fine. You wanted to play this game?
He sent one last message.
Daemon: I hope you had your fun. Because I’m coming to you. And when I get there, you’re going to regret making me jealous.
If you thought you could tease him, taunt him, make him seethe like this and get away with it—
You were about to learn exactly what happened when Daemon Targaryen snapped.
Daemon Revenge :
The Internet Was Not Ready.
People were barely breathing after the last time you pulled a stunt—
And then, he ended them.
A video.
Steam curled in the dimly lit bathroom, water cascading down your bare skin. Your body, glistening under the soft glow, was pressed firmly against the fogged-up glass.
And then—
Daemon.
His hand, wrapped around your wrists, pinning them behind your back. His body, completely covering yours, silver hair damp, clinging to his skin.
He wasn’t looking at the camera—he was looking at you.
His lips ghosted along your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin as his voice—low, smug, downright sinful—rumbled against your ear:
“Go on, love. Tell them how badly you want me.”
And the caption?
"Try harder. She’s not going anywhere."
The Internet? Decimated.
The Guys:
“THIS IS A CRIME AGAINST HUMANITY.”
“I am NOT okay. This is NOT okay.”
“You didn’t just flex. You obliterated us.”
“Daemon, bro, was this NECESSARY???”
“The way he claimed her, I—no, I can’t do this anymore.”
“Just say you hate us and go.”
“I actually felt physical pain watching this.”
“Daemon, bro. This was unnecessary.”
“HE’S NOT EVEN FLEXING—HE’S JUST OWNING US.”
“This man has no mercy. ZERO.”
“I would literally sell my soul to trade places with him.”
The Girls:
“I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY.”
“The way he’s just holding her there like that… I need to go outside.”
“Hands behind her back??? IN THE SHOWER??? I am ACTUALLY in pain.”
“That hand placement… I’m unwell.”
“You’re telling me she gets to live this life for FREE?”
“Daemon is disrespectful for this and I love it.”
“The way he’s handling her… yeah, I’m done.”
“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen and I will never recover.”
Meanwhile, Daemon?
He was grinning, scrolling through the utter destruction he left in his wake, watching the internet collectively lose its mind.
And just to make it worse, he dropped a comment under his own post:
“Tell me again how you had a chance?”
With that—
The internet was officially in ruins.
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Luke :
Luke was never the jealous type. He was sweet, easygoing—never the one to start fights, never the one to lose his temper.
But when he saw your post?
That soft, kindhearted boy? Gone.
His breath caught in his throat as his grip tightened around his phone, fingers pressing into the edges so hard the plastic nearly cracked. His jaw clenched, his heartbeat hammering in his chest.
You.
Barely covered, skin on full display, your gaze sultry, teasing—like you knew exactly what you were doing.
And the comments.
“This is my Roman Empire.”
“Imagine waking up next to her every morning.”
“Luke is too soft for this, he ain’t doing what needs to be done.”
“If Luke won’t handle her, I will.”
“She doesn’t belong to just one man. She’s for us.”
His vision blurred with rage. Us? The fuck do they mean, us? Did they really think they had a chance? That they could talk about you like this?
He immediately opened your messages, his breathing sharp, his fingers moving fast.
Luke: Take it down. Now.
Nothing.
His nostrils flared. He refreshed the post—saw the likes climbing, the comments piling up.
Luke: I’m serious.
Still nothing.
His patience? Gone. His normally warm, easygoing demeanor? Shattered.
You thought this was funny, didn’t you? You were pushing him, testing him.
Fine.
His next message was short.
Luke: Keep playing, love. But when I see you, don’t bother acting innocent. You wanted my attention? You’ve got it.
And Luke Velaryon?
He never let things slide.
Luke Revenge :
The internet collapsed.
People were barely breathing after your last post, still clawing their way back to sanity—
And then Luke decided to ruin lives.
A video.
Dim lighting, tangled sheets, the heavy sound of breathing filling the air. The camera was shaky, intimate—Luke wasn’t filming for them, he was filming for himself.
And then—
Your voice.
A broken, breathless moan of his name, soft, needy, wrecked.
And in the background?
Luke.
Smirking.
The angle barely caught him—just a glimpse of his sweat-slicked skin, the possessive grip of his hands on your waist. His voice, low, teasing, barely above a whisper:
“Louder, love. Let them know exactly who you belong to.”
And the caption?
"I don’t hear them laughing now."
The Internet Was NOT Okay.
The Guys:
“Nah. This ain’t right.”
“Luke, bro, please, have some mercy.”
“I can’t breathe. I actually can’t breathe.”
“I was having a good day.”
“I need everyone to stop what they’re doing and just process this.”
“He knew what he was doing. And I hate him for it.”
The Girls:
“I am actually going to scream.”
“Luke Velaryon is disrespectful.”
“She is so lucky and I hate it here.”
“I need what she has. IMMEDIATELY.”
“He really had to flex like this? On today of all days?”
Meanwhile, Luke?
He was grinning, scrolling through the absolute carnage in his comments, watching men and women completely unravel.
And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:
“Jealous? You should be.”
With that—
The internet was officially deceased.
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Margor :
Maegor didn’t do social media. He barely tolerated its existence. But when his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when people kept sending him something with messages that ranged from “Bro, you need to handle this” to “LMAO, she’s testing you”—he finally checked.
And his blood boiled.
It was you.
Practically naked.
Soft lighting, shadows teasing every dangerous curve, your expression taunting—as if you knew exactly what you were doing. As if you wanted to drive men insane.
And the comments.
“This is a religious experience.”
“If Maegor won’t handle you, I will.”
“She’s too stunning to be owned by just one man.”
“She belongs to the people now.”
“Maegor is somewhere flipping tables right now.”
His grip tightened around his phone, fingers curling so hard the device nearly cracked. His chest heaved as he breathed through his nose, his jaw locked so tight it ached.
You were his. And yet, here you were, putting yourself on display for every desperate, pathetic fool to see. Did you enjoy this? The attention? The way they lusted after you?
He opened your messages, his anger controlled—for now.
Maegor : The fuck you thinking?
Maegor: Delete it. Now.
Nothing.
His nostrils flared, his patience already threadbare. He refreshed the page—saw the likes climbing, the comments piling up. More eyes on you. More men thinking they had a chance.
Maegor: I won’t ask again.
Still, no response.
His vision darkened at the edges, his rage sinking deep into his bones. He could already see you smirking at your phone, waiting, pushing him.
Fine. You wanted to play this game?
His next message was short.
Maegor: I hope you enjoyed your little show. Because when I get to you, you’re going to learn exactly what happens when you make me jealous.
And when Maegor Targaryen snapped—
There was no escaping him.
Maegor Revenge :
The Internet Was Not Just Broken—It Was Obliterated.
No one was prepared. No one even had time to brace themselves.
Because Maegor Targaryen?
He didn’t just post—he declared war.
A video.
Dim lighting. A massive, gilded mirror reflecting the carnage behind it. Your body—wrecked, ruined, utterly claimed—pressed against the cold glass, your bare skin glistening with sweat.
And then—
Him.
Towering over you, still inside you, his broad hands gripping your hips so tightly there would be bruises—his bruises.
He didn’t even bother hiding his face.
Silver hair wild, lips parted, gaze locked on the mirror, watching himself own you in every way imaginable.
And then—his voice. Low, dark, dangerous.
“Let them watch.”
And the caption?
"You’ll never be me."
The Internet? Dead on Arrival.
The Guys:
“I have never been more jealous of a man in my entire life.”
“Maegor, please, have some HUMAN DECENCY.”
“This wasn’t a flex. This was a public execution.”
“I was happy. I was living my life. And now? I have to deal with this.”
“He’s not even trying to be humble. He’s just taunting us.”
“You know what? I’m logging off. I can’t do this today.”
The Girls:
“I’m actually feral right now.”
“HOW DO I APPLY TO BE HER.”
“The way he’s just holding her there like she’s nothing—I need a moment.”
“THIS COULD HAVE BEEN AN EMAIL, MAEGOR.”
“I can’t even hate. She’s living my dream.”
“This is the hottest thing I have ever seen. And I hate that I will never recover from it.”
Meanwhile, Maegor?
He wasn’t even looking at his phone. He had better things to do.
But when he finally did check?
He smirked. Slowly. Lazily. Completely unapologetic.
And just to make it worse, he dropped a single comment under his own post:
“Stay jealous. She’s not leaving my bed anytime soon.”
With that—
The internet was officially incinerated.
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Aegon I :
Aegon wasn’t the jealous type—at least, that’s what he liked to tell himself. He was easygoing, laid-back, the type to laugh things off.
But then he saw your post.
And something inside him snapped.
His phone nearly slipped from his fingers as he stared at the screen. His chest rose and fell, breathing suddenly too shallow as his jaw tightened—so tight it ached.
You.
Barely covered, skin on full display, lips slightly parted like you knew exactly what you were doing. Like you wanted people to look.
And the comments—
“This is actually life-changing.”
“No way Aegon lets her get away with this LMAO.”
“She’s unreal. Divine. Untouchable.”
“If Aegon won’t claim her, I will.”
“Bro, she’s for the people now.”
His grip on his phone tightened so hard his knuckles turned white. The people? The fucking people? Did they think this was a game? That they could just—talk about you like that?
He opened your messages, fingers moving with an urgency that wasn’t entirely controlled.
Aegon: Take it down.
No response.
His jaw clenched harder. He refreshed the post. More likes. More thirsty comments from pathetic little nobodies who clearly didn’t understand their place.
Aegon: I’m not asking.
Still nothing.
His tongue swiped over his teeth as a low growl built in his throat. Oh, you thought this was funny, didn’t you? You were playing with him. Pushing him.
Fine.
His next message was short.
Aegon: I hope you got all the attention you wanted, baby. Because when I see you, the only thing you’ll be worrying about is how long I plan to keep you in my bed.
And Aegon Targaryen?
He never made empty threats.
Aegon I Revenge :
The Internet Was Not Ready.
People were barely recovering from the last time you decided to ruin their lives—
And then, he destroyed them.
A video.
Low lighting. The soft rustling of silk sheets. Your body glowing, tangled in his bed, looking like sin incarnate—your breath uneven, lips parted, skin flushed.
And then—
His hand.
Large, firm, resting possessively on your breast, fingers slightly digging in, making it painfully clear that you were his.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
The worst part was him.
Aegon, half-lidded cocky smirk, his other hand holding the camera, his cock still inside you, his grip lazy, casual—like he had all the time in the world.
And then, his voice—low, smug, devastating:
“Yeah… go ahead. Say something now.”
And the caption?
"Don’t act like you wouldn’t trade places."
The Internet? Absolutely Unhinged.
The Guys:
“Aegon, bro. Please. Have some compassion.”
“This is actually cruel.”
“I hate him so much but I respect it.”
“HE’S NOT EVEN TRYING TO BE HUMBLE ABOUT IT.”
“I was having a good day. Now I have to rethink my whole life.”
“This wasn’t necessary. He just wanted to hurt us.”
The Girls:
“She’s so lucky and I hate her.”
"Not even gonna lie, this ruined my entire day.”
“The way he’s just sitting there like a smug little bastard—yeah, I’m sick.”
“Aegon is the biggest menace to ever exist.”
“I have never known true jealousy until this moment.”
“She’s living the dream. I can’t even be mad.”
“HE KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT HE’S DOING AND IT’S DISRESPECTFUL.”
Meanwhile, Aegon?
He was laughing, scrolling through the absolute devastation in his comments, watching men spiral into despair and women descend into chaos.
And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:
“Keep crying. She’s still moaning my name.”
And with that—
The internet was officially in shambles.
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Rhaenyra :
Rhaenyra wasn’t one to obsess over social media, but when her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when people kept tagging her, sending her messages, practically warning her—she knew something was up.
And then she saw it.
Her stomach dropped. Her grip on the phone tightened.
It was you.
Draped in soft lighting, skin bare and glowing, your pose deliberate—calculated to tease, to tempt, to drive people insane. It left just enough to the imagination, while making it clear you knew exactly what you were doing.
And the comments?
“I can’t believe we’re witnessing perfection in real time.”
“This is actually dangerous.”
“If Rhaenyra doesn’t kill someone over this, I’ll be shocked.”
“No way she’s letting this slide.”
“If she won’t claim you, I will.”
Rhaenyra’s nails dug into her palm as she gritted her teeth. A sharp flare of jealousy surged through her—hot and possessive, a burning anger she rarely felt this intensely.
Because who were they to talk about you like this? To look at you like you weren’t hers?
Did you want this attention? Did you enjoy knowing people were drooling over you, imagining things they had no right to even think about?
She exhaled sharply through her nose, forcing herself to breathe before she opened your messages.
Rhaenyra: Take it down. Now.
No response.
Her fingers tightened around her phone as she refreshed your post. More likes. More comments. More pathetic fools thinking they had a chance.
Rhaenyra: I will not ask again.
Still nothing.
She could see you smirking at your phone, relishing in this, testing her.
Fine.
Her next message was short, sharp, final.
Rhaenyra: I’m coming to you.
If you thought she would just sit back, let you taunt her, let you make her jealous like this—
You were gravely mistaken.
Rhaenyra Revenge :
The internet collapsed.
People were barely recovering from your last post—scrolling, coping, trying to move on—when Rhaenyra ended them all with one photo.
A single image that sent the entire world into ruins.
It was you.
In her bed.
Soft lighting, silk sheets tangled around your body. Your head tilted back into the pillow, lips slightly parted, the glow of your skin dangerous in the dim light. And then—her hand. Resting on your thigh, fingers glistening with your release sprawled in a way that left no room for misinterpretation. She wasn’t just touching you. She was claiming you.
And the caption?
“Mine.”
The internet lost its mind.
Guys and girls alike descended into madness:
The Guys:
“I am actually about to throw up.”
“Rhaenyra, PLEASE, LET’S TALK ABOUT THIS.”
“Bro, how am I supposed to recover from this??”
“This isn’t fair. This is violence.”
“We lost. We fucking lost.”
The Girls:
“I’m happy for her but also devastated for me.”
“THIS COULD HAVE BEEN ME IN ANOTHER LIFE.”
“Do I congratulate them or do I cry? Or both?”
“Rhaenyra, what was the reason? WHAT WAS THE REASON??”
“I’m choosing to live in denial.”
Meanwhile, Rhaenyra? She was smirking at her phone, watching the despair unfold. She knew exactly what she was doing—dropping the photo, sitting back, and enjoying the chaos.
And just to truly bury everyone, she left a single comment under her own post:
“You can stop dreaming now.”
And with that—
The internet was officially in shambles.
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Alicent :
Alicent never cared much for social media. She found it shallow, a place for desperate attention-seekers, a distraction from real matters. But when her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when messages kept coming in, some filled with concern, others with amusement—she knew something was wrong.
And then she saw it.
Her breath hitched. Her fingers tightened around her phone.
It was you.
Practically naked.
The lighting was soft, intimate—dangerous. The way you posed, the way your bare skin was on display, your confidence radiating off the screen… It was deliberate. It was a taunt.
And the comments—the flood of people thirsting over you, speaking as if they had a right to look at you like this, as if they could ever touch you—
“Mother of the gods, I need a moment.”
“Alicent is somewhere seething right now.”
“You’re actually unreal. Perfection.”
“If she won’t claim you, I will.”
“How does it feel to be the most desired person alive???”
Alicent’s grip on her phone was so tight, her knuckles turned white. A slow, hot wave of jealousy coiled in her chest—sharp, possessive, furious.
Did you enjoy this? The way people devoured you with their eyes? Did you want them to look at you, to desire you?
Her jaw locked as she opened your messages, her fingers moving with icy precision.
Alicent: Take it down. Now.
No response.
She refreshed the page. More likes. More disgusting, pathetic fools thinking they had a chance.
Alicent: I will not repeat myself.
Still nothing.
Her nails dug into her palm, her patience snapping thread by thread. She knew you were doing this on purpose. Testing her. Pushing her.
Fine.
Her next message was short. Final.
Alicent: If you think this little stunt is going to go unpunished, you are gravely mistaken.
If you thought she would sit back and allow you to tease her, to make her jealous, to tempt her patience—
You were about to deeply regret it.
Alicent Revenge :
The internet broke.
People were just recovering from your last post—scrolling, coping, trying to move on—when Alicent ended them all in one swift, merciless stroke.
A single photo.
Dim lighting, silk sheets slightly messy, shadows stretching across warm skin. You—in her bed. Head tilted back, lips slightly parted, hair yanked firmly in Alicent’s grip. The way her fingers curled into your strands—possessive, unrelenting, a silent but undeniable claim.
And the caption?
“Mine. And I don’t share.”
The internet descended into absolute chaos.
The Guys:
“I need a support group. This is actually painful.”
“Bro, I can’t compete with this.”
“Alicent did not have to flex this hard.”
“I swear I was fine five seconds ago.”
“The grip she has—on the hair, on the situation, on my emotions—I can’t take this.”
The Girls:
“Happy for them but also screaming inside.”
“This could have been me in another timeline.”
“Alicent said know your place, and I guess I will.”
“Do I cry? Do I throw my phone? Do I respect it? All of the above?”
“I was coping until she posted this. Now I’m just suffering.”
Meanwhile, Alicent? She was satisfied. Watching the world crumble, notifications exploding with people’s rage, jealousy, and despair.
And to truly finish them off, she left a single comment under her own post:
“Go ahead and cry. It changes nothing.”
And with that—
The internet was officially six feet under.
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Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons
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hoosbandewan · 12 hours ago
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EWAN MITCHELL behind the scenes of HOUSE OF THE DRAGON The House that Dragons Built — 2.04
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lenoirexv · 2 days ago
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EWAN MITCHELL As AEMOND TARGARYEN | House of the Dragon 1x10 | The Black Queen.
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