vaelry

[vaelry]

Tangled Heart and Gryffindor Fire - Sirius Orion Black x Malfoy!Reader

Summary : If anyone ever found out, it would ruin them both. He was the disown heir of the Black family, the defiant prodigy with reckless charm and a smirk that could start wars. You were the untouchable princess of the Malfoy name—sharp-tongued, elegant, dangerous in all the ways that made your last name feel like a curse and a crown. And yet, Sirius couldn’t stop himself from kissing you in shadows. No one could know. Not Lucius, not Narcissa, not anyone in the inner circle of polished masks and pure-blood pride. Because this wasn’t just a secret romance. This was betrayal of blood, of house, of everything they’d been raised to protect.

Warning : Reader is described having a blonde hair, Reader is Lucius little sister, Smut +18 (MDNI), Rough Sexs, Jealousy, Fingering, Degradation, Dom!Sirius, P in V, Unprotected Sexs.

Sirius Orion Black Masterlist.

Wizarding World Masterlist.

Dividers by @inklore

The doors to the Great Hall groaned open as you stepped inside, flanked by Violet and Narcissa. Laughter echoed from the Gryffindor table—loud, carefree, unmistakable.

You didn’t need to look to know his laugh. But your eyes betrayed you anyway. Sirius was there, sitting far too close to Marlene McKinnon, his head thrown back, hair a disheveled halo as he laughed at something she’d said. She leaned in, eyes bright, smiling up at him in that familiar way—like she’d done it before, like she knew just how to get him to laugh like that.

You stopped mid-step, your chest tightening like a vice was being cranked slowly behind your ribs. He hadn’t even noticed you yet.

The air around you felt heavy, suffocating, even though no one else in the hall seemed to notice the crack of lightning behind your eyes.

Then—

“Hey are you okay?” Narcissa’s voice rang out louder now, snapping through the fog in your head.

Sirius’s laughter stopped.

You saw his head turn, sharply, too sharply, like his name had been shouted instead of yours. His grey eyes locked on you instantly. His smile faltered. He looked like he’d been caught—but caught doing what?

Nothing, and yet everything.

Your spine straightened like a snapped wand.

You turned slowly, blinking at Narcissa like her voice had just pulled you back from somewhere distant, and she gave you a look of concern beneath perfectly sculpted brows. Violet, beside her, had narrowed her eyes—not at you, but at the Gryffindor table.

You didn’t give Sirius another glance.

Your expression shifted into something effortless—composed. Like nothing had fractured.

You made your way with them to the Slytherin table, skirts swaying, heels clicking lightly against the stone floor, the air behind you thick with tension.

Barty Crouch Jr. was already seated, lazily sipping pumpkin juice like he hadn’t a care in the world. He looked up as you approached and immediately gave you a knowing grin.

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Took your time.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching over him to grab his untouched pumpkin juice. “You were going to let it get warm.”

He chuckled low in his throat and caught your wrist before you could pull away, his long fingers curling around your skin.

“Sit with me,” he said smoothly, patting the space beside him. “You’re already drinking my juice. Might as well use me for the rest.”

You gave him a smirk that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “What are friends for?”

As you settled beside him, you felt Sirius’s gaze burning from across the room.

You didn’t look his way—not once—but your body knew.

It felt like heat trailing over your neck, your shoulders, the bare strip of thigh exposed beneath your skirt as you crossed your legs. You lifted Barty’s pumpkin juice to your lips, took a slow sip, and laughed at something Violet said—because you could.

Barty leaned in slightly, close enough to brush your arm, and said under his breath, “You know he’s going insane.”

You tilted your head, eyes still locked ahead. “Who?”

He chuckled, but there was something sharp beneath it. “Don’t play coy. You’ve had Black wrapped around your little finger for months.”

You shrugged. “He doesn’t seem too bothered.”

Barty turned slightly, his voice lower now, playful but laced with steel. “Then why is he watching like he’s about to come over here and hex me?”

You finally glanced across the hall—and Sirius was staring. Not laughing. Not talking. Just watching.

His jaw clenched, hand white-knuckling the edge of the table. Marlene said something beside him, but he didn’t even blink. His eyes were on you.

On your lips wrapped around the rim of Barty’s glass.

On the way Barty’s fingers still traced lazy circles against your wrist beneath the table. And for a split second, you held his gaze.

Everything slowed.

You didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch. Just looked at him, calm and unreadable, like you hadn’t had his name ripped from your throat on the astronomy tower an hour ago.

And then, like a curtain dropping, you turned your head back to Barty and said sweetly, “Maybe I’ll keep sitting with you all week.” Barty grinned wickedly. Behind you, Sirius Black shattered his glass.

The corridors were quiet—eerily so—as you strolled alone, your fingers trailing lightly over the cool stone walls. You’d just left the bathroom after lunch, relishing the peaceful lull of your free period. The castle always had a way of breathing when no one was watching, the silence almost comforting.

Until— A hand grabbed your wrist. Hard and urgent. You gasped, spinning on your heel, only to see him. Sirius.

Before you could speak, before you could think, he yanked you forward, pulling you with quick, unrelenting strides.

“Sirius—what the hell—”

He didn’t answer. Just dragged you down a corridor you both knew too well, his grip tight and unyielding, his jaw set like stone. You struggled, trying to pull your hand back, but his grip only tightened.

“Let go—”

The wall shimmered. The Room of Requirement appeared before your eyes like it had been waiting for this exact moment.

He shoved the door open and pulled you inside. The second you were through, it slammed shut behind you.

A bed.

There was a bed in the middle of the room—dark wood, green velvet sheets, low lighting, warm and intimate. You ripped your hand out of his grasp and spun around to face him, furious.

“What is wrong with you?!”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stood there. Breathing heavy. Eyes wild. The kind of look that didn’t just see you—it devoured you.

Then he laughed—low and sharp, a sound full of disbelief and something almost dangerous.

“You really want to play this game with me?” he said, voice like gravel and smoke.

You blinked. “What are you talking about?”

Sirius stepped closer, slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking something that already belonged to him.

“You think I didn’t see you?” His voice dropped to a growl. “With Crouch. Laughing. Flirting. Drinking from his bloody glass like you were performing for me.”

Your heart pounded.

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were.” His voice was calm now, terrifyingly so. “And you knew exactly what you were doing.”

You opened your mouth, but his hand shot out, cupping your jaw—not rough, but firm, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away.

“I don’t share,” he whispered, voice tightening. “Not you. Not ever.”

Your breath hitched.

The air between you crackled—heavy, electric. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, and your knees nearly buckled from the contact.

“Sirius—” you began, but your voice wavered.

“I saw the way he touched you,” he murmured. “I saw it. And you let him.”

Your hands trembled at your sides. You wanted to push him, curse him, kiss him—anything to break the tension between you.

“I let him because I didn’t think you cared anymore,” you whispered back, breath shallow. “You were too busy laughing with Marlene to notice.”

He stiffened. His jaw clenched.

“Is that what you think?” he said darkly. “That I don’t care?”

His mouth was on yours in the next heartbeat—hard, hungry, furious. His hand slid into your hair, gripping it tight, pulling you into him as if he needed to consume you. You gasped into the kiss, hands flying to his chest, gripping the front of his shirt.

“Sirius—”

“You drive me mad,” he muttered against your mouth. “Every bloody day. You wear those skirts, smile like you don’t know what you do to me—and then pretend like we’re strangers in daylight.”

“You told me we had to keep it secret—”

“I told you that because I didn’t want to see you dragged through the mud for being with someone like me. Someone who being disowned by his own family.”

His forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting, your bodies trembling from the closeness.

“But you’re not a secret to me,” he added, voice cracking. “You never were.”

The confession hit like a storm. You reached for him again, this time slower, softer. But Sirius was already pulling you toward the bed, hands finding your waist, your hips, gripping you like he was anchoring himself.

He sat down, dragging you into his lap, your legs on either side of him. You could feel him—all of him—and the ache between you sparked like flint to fire.

“You want to know what’s wrong with me?” he whispered, hands roaming your thighs. “You.”

You gasped as he kissed you again, slower this time but no less desperate.

“Everything about you,” he growled against your neck, “makes me insane.”

You arched into him, fingers threading into his hair, tugging just the way he liked. He groaned, kissing down your throat as your breathing hitched with every brush of his mouth.

“I hate pretending I don’t know you,” you whispered.

“Then stop,” he said, biting your earlobe just enough to make you gasp. “Because I’m done pretending.”

The room pulsed with the tension of what was unsaid—what had always been felt but never spoken. And when he kissed you again, this time there was no restraint.

The second your back hit the bed, Sirius was on you—not rushed, not careless, but hungry. His eyes were darker than usual, heavy with something between frustration and desire. He hovered over you, one hand sliding to the buttons of your shirt, and when he looked up, his voice was rough with control he was clearly struggling to hold onto.

“You wore this,” he muttered, gaze flicking down to the nearly sheer lace barely hiding what he craved. “Knowing what it’d do to me.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but he was already leaning in, lips brushing your collarbone, breath hot against your skin. His fingers worked open the last button with a practiced ease, parting the fabric like he was unwrapping something sacred.

Then he saw it—thin lace, the faintest hint of sheer blush pink. No padding. No protection. Just you, barely covered.

He let out a sound low in his throat. A growl.

“Merlin—” His fingers slipped around to the clasp between your breasts, and he didn’t even hesitate. One tug. The lace slackened. And your chest spilled free beneath his gaze.

You shivered as the cool air hit your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his stare.

“Perfect,” he breathed, eyes locked on your chest. “You’re perfect.”

His mouth found your nipple with a desperation that made you gasp. It wasn’t gentle—it was needy, like he’d been thinking about this moment all day. His tongue circled slowly, then he sucked hard, groaning when you arched into him.

“Sirius,” you moaned, your fingers diving into his thick dark hair, tugging.

That earned you another groan. He liked when you did that—loved it. His other hand came up to cup your other breast, warm and strong and possessive. His thumb brushed over the sensitive peak, teasing until you whimpered.

“You always so responsive, sweetheart,” he murmured, switching sides, lavishing the other with the same heated attention. “You just melt for me, don’t you?”

You could barely nod.

The pull of his lips, the pressure of his hand, the way he worshipped every inch of your chest—it had you writhing beneath him, breathing his name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

He looked up at you through thick lashes, lips glistening. “Tell me you didn’t wear this for him.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

His hand gripped your side—firm, not rough, but grounding. “Crouch. Don’t lie.”

You shook your head quickly. “No—no, Sirius, I didn’t. I wore it for you.”

His expression shifted then. The tension in his jaw softened, but his eyes never lost their fire.

“Good,” he said simply. “Because I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.”

Then he was kissing you again—open-mouthed, tongue stroking against yours with slow, possessive intent. The taste of him, the weight of him, the feel of your bare chest pressed against the fabric of his shirt—it was all too much, and yet not enough.

He broke the kiss just long enough to whisper against your lips: “You’re mine.”

You moaned in response, clinging to him like he was the only real thing in the world. And in that moment, maybe he was.

The room was silent but for your breath—ragged, uneven—and the quiet rustle of clothing being pulled aside. The air between you and Sirius had shifted. He wasn’t playful now. He was possessive, simmering with the kind of energy that made the hairs on your neck stand on end.

Your panties were gone before you could even register the movement—tugged down in one quick motion and discarded with a low growl.

“You’ve been wet for me this whole time,” Sirius rasped, his voice hot and close against your ear. “Should’ve known. You’re always like this—just waiting for me to touch you.”

Then his fingers were on you.

And in you.

Two of them, thick and confident, sliding into your folds with no hesitation. Your body arched off the mattress with a sharp gasp, your hands fisting in the sheets as you cried out his name—louder than you meant to. His groan was dark and guttural, his fingers already thrusting deep and hard with practiced precision.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, watching your body react. “You’re soaked.”

The wet sounds filled the room, obscene and intimate. You bit your lip, whimpering, but Sirius wasn’t slowing down. His eyes locked on yours as he curled his fingers just right—pressing against that spot that made your legs tremble and your walls clench around him.

“That’s it,” he murmured, breath heavy. “Right there, huh? That’s where you fall apart for me?”

You couldn’t answer—not with words. You only moaned, your head falling back, lips parted, overwhelmed by the heat pulsing through your core.

He leaned down, lips brushing the side of your neck. “You don’t look like a Slytherin girl or Lucius Sister right now,” he whispered, each word slow and deliberate. “You look like my slut.”

You shivered violently as he picked up his pace, fingers thrusting harder, deeper, curling and stroking with a rhythm that had your body twitching beneath him. His other hand moved to grip your thigh, holding you wide open, making sure you couldn’t squirm away.

“You don’t get to pretend anymore,” he growled, teeth grazing your skin. “Not after this. Not after the way you’re gripping my fingers like your life depends on it.”

“Sirius—” you gasped, fingers clawing at his arm, needing something to hold on to.

He looked down at where his fingers disappeared into you, his jaw tightening. “Look at that,” he said darkly. “So desperate. So greedy for me. And all day you walked around like nothing’s happening between us.”

You clenched at his words, your body betraying your composure, and he felt it.

“Oh?” he chuckled, the sound dangerous. “That got to you, didn’t it?”

You whimpered, thighs shaking.

“I should keep you like this,” he continued, lips at your ear now, fingers curling again, driving you mad. “Every night. Until you stop pretending during the day.”

Your voice broke into a cry, the kind that made Sirius groan and bite your shoulder—gently, but with clear intent.

“I love when you fall apart,” he murmured, “but I think I love breaking you even more.”

And in that moment, with his hand working you with such unrelenting purpose and his voice melting into your skin, you couldn’t remember anything but him.

Sirius didn’t stop.

He didn’t slow.

His fingers kept thrusting into you, rough and deep, slick with need and desperation. Each movement was perfectly timed, curling just right to hit that spot inside you over and over again—relentless, precise. Like he knew your body better than you did.

And maybe he did.

Your head fell back against the pillow, mouth open in a silent cry before another moan—louder, breathless—tore from your throat. You couldn’t contain it. You didn’t care if anyone outside the Room of Requirement heard. Not when it felt like this.

Not when it was him.

“Sirius,” you gasped, voice cracking, hands fisting into his shirt now, tugging desperately like it might anchor you to reality.

He groaned low, his breath hot against your skin. “Say it again,” he growled, the sound laced with hunger. “Say my name like that again.”

You barely managed it. “Sirius—oh Merlin—”

A growl rumbled deep in his chest, and you felt him twitch against your thigh where his body pressed against yours. His pace didn’t falter—those fingers plunging into you like he was chasing something, chasing your edge, your surrender. Each time your walls clenched around him, he cursed under his breath like it physically affected him.

And it did.

“Every time you say my name like that…” he muttered, teeth grazing your jaw, “I swear I’m going to lose it.”

Your hips bucked into his hand, and he curled his fingers again—harder this time. Right on that spot. Your whole body locked up, your toes curling, your thighs trembling. The pleasure wasn’t soft or slow—it was fierce, primal, explosive.

You cried out, the sound high and raw, your body breaking apart under the pressure as your release hit you like a storm. Sirius held you through it, his fingers not stopping, milking every pulse of pleasure until you were gasping his name, again and again, half-wild and clinging to him like you’d fall through the mattress without him.

“That’s it,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours, eyes dark and blazing. “Just like that. That’s how I want you.”

You whimpered, trembling, your hand reaching for his wrist as the sensitivity began to sting—but you didn’t want him to stop. Not yet. Not when he was still watching you like that, lips parted, flushed, panting.

“Look at you,” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “Falling apart for me and only me.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt, trying to catch your breath. Your heart felt like it was trying to punch through your ribs.

“You drive me mad,” he whispered against your mouth. “Every bloody day, pretending we’re strangers. Then you come to me like this—mine—and I forget how to breathe.”

Your only answer was another kiss—hungry, messy, filled with the kind of silent promises neither of you could speak aloud in daylight.

You let out a soft, frustrated whine when Sirius slowly pulled his fingers from your body, the wet sound obscene in the silence between you. Your walls ached at the sudden emptiness, clenching around nothing, already desperate for more. For him.

He looked down at his glistening fingers, smirked, then sucked one into his mouth with a satisfied groan.

“Taste that,” he muttered, eyes locked on yours, voice low and wrecked. “You’ve no idea what you do to me.”

Your breath caught as he reached down and undid his trousers, dragging the zipper down with a slow, deliberate hiss. His hand disappeared briefly, and then—his cock sprang free, hard and heavy in his palm. He stroked himself with maddening ease, lazy and confident, like he had all the time in the world.

And you?

You couldn’t look away.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, but Sirius was already sliding between them, forcing them open again with a quiet growl. “Don’t you dare hide from me now.”

Then the head of his cock tapped against your soaked folds, making you jolt and whimper, your hips instinctively bucking toward the touch. A wicked smirk tugged at his lips, and he did it again—teasing you with nothing but the tip, sliding it up and down your slit, spreading your arousal over his cock.

“Sirius—” you gasped, your voice trembling, your whole body hypersensitive. “Please…”

He leaned over you, his free hand bracing beside your head, his mouth a breath from your ear. “You’re so needy for me, sweetheart,” he murmured, dragging his cock once more through your slick folds, nudging your entrance but never quite pushing in. “So impatient.”

You arched your back, your nails raking up the back of his neck into his hair. “You’re torturing me.”

“Good,” he growled, voice hoarse. “Maybe then you’ll remember who makes you feel like this when you’re sitting pretty at the Slytherin table, pretending you don’t know me.”

He shifted his hips just slightly—and you felt the tip of him press right against your entrance. Still, he didn’t move. Just held there. Heavy. Ready.

“You want me to take you?” he asked, dragging his lips along your throat. “Like the slut you're?”

You nodded frantically, your breath catching on a moan. “Yes—please, Sirius…”

He groaned like the sound of your begging physically hurt him. “Then take a breath, princess,” he whispered, brushing his mouth over yours. “Because once I start, I’m not stopping.”

And with one slow, dragging thrust—he pushed in.

Inch by inch.

Your body stretched around him, slick and tight, drawing him in deeper than you thought you could take. Your back arched, your nails dug into his arms, and you moaned his name like it was the only word you’d ever known.

He hissed through his teeth, jaw clenched. “Fuck. You feel—perfect.”

He didn’t move yet. Just held there, buried to the hilt, letting you feel every inch of him as your walls pulsed and fluttered around him.

“Look at me,” he ordered, voice rough.

Your eyes met his—stormy, wild, possessive.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, brushing the hair from your face with a tenderness that contradicted the way his cock throbbed inside you. “Even when you pretend I don’t exist. Even when your name’s called from a different table. You’re. Mine.”

You couldn’t think.

Not with Sirius buried so deep inside you—thick, long, stretching you in a way that blurred your thoughts and turned your whole world into nothing but him and the way he moved. His pace had never been gentle. From the very first thrust, he’d claimed you with a kind of rough desperation, slamming into you with rhythm and purpose, like he was trying to mark you from the inside out.

And it was working.

Every time his hips snapped into yours, a gasp, a moan, or a broken whimper tore from your throat. You felt dizzy—your head spinning, your body hypersensitive, your thoughts reduced to one repeating word: Sirius.

He hovered over you, braced on his arms, his eyes dark and locked on your face. His hair fell over his brow, sweat beading at his temples, his lips parted as he breathed raggedly through the effort of holding himself back—barely.

“Look at you,” he groaned, voice low and wrecked, “completely cockdrunk already.”

You barely heard the words. Couldn’t even feel the heat rise in your face. All you could do was clutch at his back, your legs trembling around his waist, holding onto him like he was the only solid thing in the room.

Then his eyes dropped to your belly—and he paused. His hand moved, slow and deliberate, down your front until his palm pressed lightly against your lower stomach. He sucked in a breath when he felt it: the thick bulge of his cock, so deep inside you it made your whole body twitch.

“Fuck,” he growled, the word breaking at the edges. “You feel that?” He pressed a little firmer, thumb tracing the swell. “That’s me. That’s how deep I am.”

You squirmed beneath him, overwhelmed, your body arching into his touch and away from it at the same time. You could feel everything—too much—and yet not enough.

Sirius leaned in close, his forehead resting against yours, the tip of his nose brushing your cheek as he started moving again. His pace was brutal, relentless, every thrust pulling a cry from you, his breath shaking with the effort to keep control.

“I love seeing you like this,” he muttered, his voice thick. “So full of me. So ruined.”

Your nails dug into his arms, and you could barely form words. “Sirius—please—I—”

He kissed you before you could finish, swallowing your moans, owning the way your body trembled under him. He was everywhere—his scent, his heat, his voice—and you didn’t want to escape. You never did.

“You take me so well,” he breathed against your mouth, hips snapping harder. “Like you were made for this. Made for me.”

And gods help you, you were.

Because nothing in the world felt more right than being under Sirius Black like this—utterly undone, claimed, adored… and completely his.

Sirius didn’t slow.

If anything, he grew more unrelenting—his pace rough and punishing, each thrust landing with purpose, shaking the bed beneath you and driving the air from your lungs. His cock hit that devastating spot inside you over and over again, with maddening precision, until your cries dissolved into open-mouthed gasps and incoherent moans. You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. You were nothing but sensation.

A beautiful, ruined mess beneath him.

You barely realized when your hands moved up, cupping your own breasts, squeezing them to match the rhythm of his thrusts. Your nipples were swollen and sensitive from his earlier attention, but you didn’t care. You needed something—anything—to ground you while your entire body shook beneath the force of him.

Sirius groaned at the sight.

“Look at you,” he breathed, voice hoarse and wrecked with hunger. His dark hair clung to his sweat-dampened brow, his chest heaving with every ragged breath. “Fucking hell, you’re touching yourself for me while I’m buried in you.”

Your eyes rolled back when he shifted just slightly—just enough to hit that spot again, and again. Your body arched off the bed, back bowing like a taut string as a cry tore from your throat.

“S-Sirius—”

“Say it louder,” he demanded, his thrusts harder now, deeper, making your entire world tilt. “Let everyone hear who’s making you fall apart.”

You whimpered, barely able to form his name, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from how intensely good it felt—how overwhelming it was to be completely at his mercy.

His hand slid over your belly again, then up between your breasts—resting lightly at the base of your throat, not squeezing, just feeling your pulse flutter beneath his palm.

“Look at me,” he growled.

Your eyes fluttered open, glassy and dazed. He smirked, pleased with what he saw.

“Fucking cockdrunk,” he muttered with reverence, watching you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “So tight—so wet—you were made for this. Made for me.”

You clenched around him at the sound of his voice, and he groaned, low and guttural, dropping his forehead to yours as he kept moving—each thrust dragging you closer to the edge, your body trembling with how close you were.

He watched everything.

The way your hands squeezed your breasts, the way your lips fell open on broken moans, the way your body bucked and squirmed beneath his with every deep stroke. He loved seeing you like this—ruined, desperate, completely his.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice a raw, possessive rasp. “And I’m not letting you forget it.”

Sirius groaned low in his throat, deep and guttural, as he felt the way your body clenched around him—tighter than before, impossibly tight. You were milking him, dragging him closer to the brink with every desperate squeeze, and his rhythm only grew more relentless.

He didn’t slow.

If anything, he doubled down—his pace savage and punishing, driving deep with every thrust, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing off the stone walls of the hidden room. His hand shot up, fingers curling around your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his.

“Look at me,” he growled, his voice rough, laced with a dark edge. “You’re such a mess for me. Spread open, dripping, begging for it like a good little Slytherin slut.”

The word made you moan—your voice a broken, breathy cry of his name that had his cock twitching deep inside you. His thumb dragged across your bottom lip, slow and possessive, before pressing into your mouth.

“You like it when I talk to you like that?” he murmured, hips slamming into yours so hard the bed creaked. “When I remind you what you are?”

You nodded against his grip, moaning around his thumb, your body arching helplessly beneath his.

“You pretend you’re so put-together during the day. Perfect little pure-blood princess,” he sneered, his voice low and biting, “but at night? At night you fall apart for me. On your knees. On your back. Taking everything I give you.”

His words lit something wild in you—heat rising fast and overwhelming in your belly, your toes curling, your fingers digging into his back.

“You love it, don’t you?” he pressed, his eyes dark with lust, fury, and something deeper. “Being ruined by me. Owned by me.”

You cried out again, louder this time, your back arching violently as you felt the edge hit you hard and fast. He felt it too—the way your walls clamped around him, milking him with ruthless intensity—and he cursed under his breath, a sharp hiss between his teeth.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me lose it—”

You barely heard him.

Everything was crashing—white heat curling up your spine, your entire body shaking as your climax ripped through you like a storm. You moaned his name over and over, your voice ragged and breathless.

Sirius groaned, deep and raw, as he grabbed your hips and buried himself to the hilt—so deep you felt the pressure in your gut. His forehead dropped to yours as he held you there, his whole body trembling.

“Mine,” he whispered again, almost reverent now, even as his voice stayed dark. “All fucking mine.”

And in that moment, there was no one else in the world.

Just Sirius Black—dominant, possessive, ruined right alongside you—and the burning echo of everything he made you feel.

The room was still vibrating with the echo of your moans and his low groans, but all you could hear now was the sound of your own ragged breathing and the faint thud of Sirius’s heart against your chest.

You lay beneath him, limp and trembling, your skin damp with sweat and your body humming from the force of what he’d just done to you.

Sirius chuckled—soft, low, full of dark satisfaction—as he looked down at you.

“Look at you,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your flushed, dazed face. “Completely wrecked. Absolutely beautiful.”

You blinked slowly, still floating, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks as your lips parted in a shaky breath. You couldn’t even speak. You didn’t need to.

He leaned down and kissed you.

It wasn’t like before—no fire, no teeth. Just warmth. Reverent and deep, slow enough for you to melt under the weight of it. His hand cradled your jaw as if you were something fragile, precious, something his.

Then, reluctantly, he pulled out.

You whined softly at the sudden emptiness, your legs twitching as your body instinctively clenched down around nothing. Sirius hushed you gently, slipping one strong arm around your waist as he rolled you into him.

“Shh, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he whispered, wrapping you tightly in his embrace.

You didn’t fight it—you collapsed against his chest, burying your face into his warm, inked skin. He smelled like sweat, firewood, and the faintest trace of his cologne. Familiar. Safe.

His hand trailed slowly up and down your spine, grounding you with each pass. The other one tangled gently in your hair, fingers soothing the strands as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, voice softer now, almost hesitant.

You nodded against his chest, still trying to catch your breath.

He kissed your hair again.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “Took me so well.”

There was something about the way he said it now—nothing mocking, nothing dominant—just pride. Affection. Like he couldn’t believe he had someone who gave so much of herself to him.

You shifted slightly, curling into him tighter. The cool air of the room kissed your skin, but he was so warm, his body so solid against yours, that you didn’t care.

He tucked the blanket that had appeared beside the bed—thank the Room for its timing—around your bare frame, shielding you from the chill. Then he exhaled slowly, head resting against yours.

“You drive me mad, you know that?” he murmured.

You smiled faintly, lips brushing his chest.

“You too,” you whispered.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing your cheek with his thumb. His eyes, normally filled with fire and mischief, were soft now. Honest.

“Promise me tomorrow morning… when you walk past me in the corridor like you don’t know me… you’ll at least remember this.”

You looked at him, your heart aching with something heavier than lust. Something real.

“I always do,” you said quietly.

He nodded once, jaw clenched like he wanted to say more—but instead, he just pulled you closer, held you tighter, and didn’t let go.

Not for a long while.

Tag List : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @hayleythecannibal @ceoofglytchell @ashblooddragons @laedeviour @venusbyline

[vaelry]

The Price of Desire - Reader!Targtower

Summary : The weight of duty, of expectations, of being torn between love and obligation—had slowly crushed you beneath it. Your brothers had fought over you, your fate decided not by your own heart but by the desires of men who would never understand you. And when their words turned cruel, when the halls of your home became a battlefield of whispers and accusations, you had done the only thing you could.

Warning : Angst, Self-Neglect and Starvation, Emotional and Psychological Distress, Family Conflict and Betrayal, Forced Expectations and Loss of Autonomy, Death and Loss, Verbal and Emotional Abuse.

a/n: Dividers is from @zaldritzosrose , check her blog to see more.

The gardens of the Red Keep were bathed in the golden glow of the late afternoon sun, the scent of blooming roses and fresh-cut grass weaving through the warm air. You walked along the stone path, the skirts of your gown trailing behind you as your ladies-in-waiting flanked you on either side. Their laughter mingled with yours, the high, melodic sound echoing against the castle walls as one of them whispered something scandalous about a lord’s wandering hands at last night’s feast. You clutched your chest in feigned shock, eyes sparkling with mischief, before giggling behind your hand.

But then, like a gust of cold wind cutting through the summer warmth, the laughter died. The shift in the atmosphere was palpable. You felt it before you saw them.

Your brothers.

Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron moved toward you, each with a different intensity in their gaze. The three of them, varying in temperament yet bound by blood, were like shadows cast upon the garden’s beauty—too alluring, too dangerous.

Aegon was at the forefront, his golden hair catching the sunlight, a lazy smirk curling his lips. His violet eyes, often clouded with indulgence, now held a sharper edge, a possessive gleam that made your stomach tighten. Behind him, Aemond walked with measured grace, his sapphire eye gleaming as his remaining violet one locked onto you. There was always something unreadable in Aemond’s gaze, something both terrifying and intoxicating. And then there was Daeron—your sweet, charming younger brother, his boyish handsomeness a deceptive mask for the sharp cunning that lurked beneath.

“My sweet sister,” Aegon purred, reaching for your hand. His fingers, warm and calloused, enclosed around yours, his thumb brushing lightly against your knuckles. “You look radiant today. Doesn’t she, brothers?”

Aemond hummed, his eye raking over you in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. “She does. Though I imagine Father would prefer her dressed in something less… distracting.”

You scoffed, playfully pulling your hand from Aegon’s grasp. “Must you always tease me, Aemond?”

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk. “Must you always give me reason to?”

Daeron chuckled, stepping closer. “Ignore them, sweet sister. You are a vision, as always.” His fingers brushed against your wrist—so light, so fleeting, yet enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Aegon’s smirk deepened as he leaned in, his breath fanning over your ear. “Tell me, little sister… who are you trying to tempt with that dress?”

Heat bloomed across your cheeks, though you refused to let them see your flustered state. “It is merely a dress, Aegon.”

“A dress meant to lure men into madness,” Aemond muttered, his voice edged with something dangerous.

You rolled your eyes but grinned nonetheless. “If you three are done tormenting me, I am going to our father’s chambers to read to him. You may join me if you wish.”

Aegon tilted his head, his smirk never faltering. “Shall we, brothers?”

Aemond and Daeron exchanged glances before nodding.

And so, the four of you walked through the corridors of the Red Keep, each step heavy with something unspoken, something electric. The air was thick with tension—an intoxicating, forbidden tension that neither of them dared voice but all of them felt.

The heavy wooden doors of your father’s chambers creaked as they swung open, the familiar scent of burning incense and old parchment wafting toward you. The room was dimly lit, the golden glow of candlelight flickering against the stone walls, casting elongated shadows across the space. You stepped forward with a soft smile, the warmth of anticipation bubbling in your chest—only for your breath to catch at the sight before you.

Rhaenyra and her husband, Daemon, stood near your father’s bedside.

The air in the chamber shifted, the once welcoming warmth turning thick and charged, almost suffocating. Behind you, your brothers stilled, their presence shifting into something tense—something dangerous. You could feel it in the way Aemond’s body went rigid beside you, the way Aegon’s usually easy smirk tightened into something unreadable, and the way Daeron hesitated just slightly, his hand hovering near the hilt of his belt as if uncertain whether he would need to defend you.

Rhaenyra was as radiant as ever, her silver-blonde hair cascading down her back in intricate braids, her violet eyes sharp and calculating as they flickered toward you. She smiled—soft, practiced, but not without caution. Beside her, Daemon stood like a shadow, dark and unreadable, his sharp lilac gaze dragging over you with something more intense, something far more dangerous than what lay beneath your half-sister’s careful demeanor.

“Sweet sister,” Rhaenyra greeted, her voice warm, though there was something else laced within it—curiosity, perhaps? Or suspicion? “It has been far too long.”

You returned her smile, stepping forward with grace, the fabric of your gown clinging to your form in all the right places, accentuating the curves that had long since drawn the attention of men throughout court. You knew you were a temptation—an irresistible, forbidden fruit. And you knew the way the men in this room fought to resist you, to mask the hunger in their eyes.

“Rhaenyra,” you said sweetly, reaching out to clasp her hands. “I am glad you are here. I had not expected you so soon.”

Daemon chuckled, low and smooth, and you did not miss the way his gaze dragged over the delicate curve of your throat, the exposed skin of your collarbone. “Your nameday is a special occasion,” he drawled, stepping forward, his voice like silk and steel entwined. “And we would not dare miss the opportunity to celebrate you.”

Behind you, Aegon scoffed, the sound filled with a mix of amusement and irritation. “Celebrate?” he echoed, voice dripping with mockery. “That is rich, coming from you, uncle.”

Daemon only smirked, unfazed by the tension crackling in the air. He turned his gaze to you again, slow and deliberate. “I must say, little niece,” he murmured, “you have grown into quite the vision.”

The compliment was bold—too bold. Aemond tensed beside you, and you could feel the restrained fury rolling off him in waves. His fingers twitched, curling into fists at his sides. Daeron, ever the golden boy, kept his expression schooled, but you did not miss the way his jaw clenched. And Aegon… Aegon laughed, a sound devoid of humor.

“She has always been a vision,” Aegon said, stepping forward, positioning himself closer to you, as if laying claim. “But you would know that, wouldn’t you, uncle?”

Daemon’s smirk never wavered, his violet eyes gleaming with something unreadable—something dangerous. “Indeed,” he mused, tilting his head as if contemplating a move on a cyvasse board. “Though I wonder… does she know just how tempting she is?”

You felt your pulse quicken, heat creeping up your spine. The weight of their gazes—Daemon’s, your brothers’—burned against your skin, sending shivers dancing across your arms. There was something intoxicating about it, something wickedly thrilling.

Rhaenyra, sensing the unspoken tension, cleared her throat, breaking the spell. “Enough, Daemon,” she warned, though there was a knowing amusement in her gaze as she looked between you and your brothers. “We are here for my sister’s nameday, not to provoke a fight.”

Aemond exhaled sharply through his nose, stepping beside you, his presence grounding yet possessive. “Then perhaps our uncle should remember his place,” he muttered, his voice edged with venom.

Daemon only laughed—low, dark, and knowing. He turned back to you, offering his hand. “Come, niece. Will you not sit with me? Indulge an old man with your company before you begin your readings?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding against your ribs. You could feel the weight of your brothers’ stares, the silent warning in their stiffened postures.

You smiled, soft and demure, though the weight of Daemon’s lingering gaze sent a shiver rolling down your spine. He was temptation itself, a man born of fire and chaos, but you were no fool. To accept his invitation would be to step too close to the flame—and you knew, without a doubt, that the men behind you would not allow it.

So, with all the grace and poise of a daughter of kings, you tilted your head, auburn curls cascading over your shoulder as you replied sweetly, “Perhaps another time, uncle. My father awaits me.”

Daemon’s smirk did not falter, but there was something dark in his eyes—something intrigued, something almost amused—as he inclined his head in mock acceptance. “Of course, little niece. Another time.”

With that, you turned away from him, your silk skirts whispering against the stone floor as you walked toward your father’s bedside. The flickering candlelight cast warm shadows across Viserys’ frail form, his skin pallid, the weight of his years pressing upon him like an unbearable burden. And yet, when he looked at you, his expression softened, his tired eyes crinkling at the corners as you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his sunken cheek.

“Father,” you murmured, your voice as tender as the touch of your lips. “I found a new book in the library today. I think you will like it.”

Viserys let out a slow, rattling breath, his smile faint but genuine as he nodded. “You always… find the best stories, sweet girl.”

Your heart ached at the sound of his voice—so weak, so fragile. Once, your father had been strong, a king whose presence filled a room. Now, he was but a shadow of himself, and it pained you more than you dared admit.

Behind you, your brothers hovered like sentinels, their looming presence a silent promise of protection. Aegon leaned against a nearby pillar, arms crossed, but his usually lazy demeanor was absent; his sharp violet gaze was locked onto Daemon, watching, waiting. Aemond stood just behind you, close enough that you could feel his heat, his fingers twitching ever so slightly as if resisting the urge to reach for you. And Daeron, ever the quiet observer, remained near the doorway, his expression unreadable.

It was a silent warning.

Daemon would not come near you again. Not tonight.

And yet, the gods were not done testing your resolve.

Before you could even open the book in your hands, the chamber doors swung open once more, the sound of hurried footsteps filling the room. You turned in surprise, only for your breath to hitch at the sight before you.

Jacaerys and Lucerys.

Your half-sister’s sons.

They strode into the room with the easy confidence of princes, though their eyes immediately sought out their mother. Rhaenyra smiled at them warmly, but the tension in the room had already shifted, thickened, crackling like embers waiting to ignite.

Because as soon as Jacaerys’ gaze landed on you, his steps faltered.

For the briefest moment, he hesitated, his dark eyes widening ever so slightly as they raked over you—not in the way one looks upon a sibling, but in the way a man looks upon something he desires.

And Lucerys, younger though he was, was no better. His gaze flickered downward, tracing the delicate curve of your figure beneath the fine silk of your gown, before he quickly averted his eyes, his jaw tightening.

Your brothers noticed.

Aegon scoffed, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “Oh, this is rich.”

Aemond’s fingers curled into fists at his sides, his sapphire eye gleaming dangerously. “It seems our dear nephews have forgotten themselves.”

Daeron said nothing, but the shift in his posture was unmistakable—a silent readiness, a quiet threat.

Rhaenyra, ever the queen in waiting, arched a brow at the sudden tension. “Surely you all can behave for one evening?” she chided, her tone light but firm.

But Daemon? Daemon only smirked.

He had noticed it too.

And he was enjoying every moment of it.

Jacaerys cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away from you as he turned back to his mother. “We came to see you before the feast,” he said, though his voice was tighter than before. “We only just arrived.”

Lucerys, ever the quieter of the two, simply nodded, though his hands were clenched at his sides.

You tilted your head, amusement dancing in your eyes. “You must be tired from your journey.”

Jacaerys met your gaze then, something unreadable flickering behind his dark eyes. “Not at all,” he said smoothly. “In truth, I rather enjoy being here.”

Aegon laughed, low and knowing. “Do you, now?”

The room was a battlefield without swords.

Your brothers. Your half-sister’s sons.

Daemon watching from the sidelines, amusement gleaming in his eyes like a man who enjoyed watching the world burn.

The chamber had grown quieter as the evening stretched on, the only sounds filling the space being your own voice, soft and steady, weaving tales from the book in your lap. Viserys had drifted into slumber somewhere in the midst of your reading, his breath slow and shallow, the weight of his age pressing heavy upon him. You watched him for a moment, your heart aching at the sight of how fragile he had become.

Carefully, you leaned down and pressed a delicate kiss to his sunken cheek, your lips brushing over his skin like the whisper of a promise. “Rest well, Father,” you murmured.

With gentle hands, you closed the book in your lap, its worn leather cover cool beneath your fingertips. But just as you prepared to rise, the chamber doors groaned open once more, breaking the quiet.

You turned your head just in time to see your mother step inside.

Alicent Hightower carried herself with the poise of a queen, her deep green gown clinging to her form with all the elegance of a woman who knew the power she wielded. Her auburn hair, the very same shade as your own, cascaded over her shoulders in thick waves, her eyes sharp as they swept over the room—taking in the presence of your brothers, your nephews, Rhaenyra, and Daemon all lingering within the king’s chambers.

For a brief moment, her gaze softened when it landed upon you.

“You should begin preparing for the feast,” she said, her voice calm but firm.

You nodded, knowing better than to protest. “Of course, Mother.”

Slowly, you rose from your seat, smoothing out the delicate fabric of your gown as you turned toward the rest of the room. Your brothers remained where they were, watching you with unreadable expressions. Aegon, still leaning lazily against the pillar, smirked as if he knew something you didn’t. Aemond stood tall and rigid, his sharp gaze never straying from you, while Daeron remained quiet, observing, always waiting.

And your nephews

Jacaerys’ jaw had tensed when he heard your mother’s words, as if the thought of you leaving unsettled him. His dark eyes followed your every movement, something flickering behind them—something intense. Lucerys, younger though he was, shifted his weight as if debating whether to say something, but ultimately kept his silence.

You turned to Rhaenyra last, offering a polite nod. “It was good to see you again, sister.”

She smiled, though there was a knowing look in her gaze. “And you, sweet sister.”

But it was Daemon who spoke next.

“Leaving so soon?” he mused, his voice slow, deliberate. “Such a shame. I was quite enjoying your company.”

Your heart gave a traitorous flutter at the low timbre of his voice, at the way his violet gaze dragged over you with a heat that should not have been there—not from your uncle. Not from a man who had already claimed a wife. And yet, there it was, burning between you like the fire that coursed through your family’s veins.

Aemond stiffened at your side. “She has preparations to make,” he said coolly, his voice edged with something dangerous. “You will have to find entertainment elsewhere, uncle.”

Daemon only smirked, as if he relished the way your brothers bristled at his presence, as if he enjoyed pushing them to their limits just to see how far they would go.

Aegon, never one to miss a chance to stir chaos, let out a low chuckle. “Gods, it’s almost amusing how you all circle her like wolves.” He tilted his head, his violet eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Tell me, little sister, does it not exhaust you—being the object of so many affections?”

His words were playful, teasing. But there was something else beneath them—something possessive, something dark.

You met his gaze, unflinching. “Affection is not a burden, dear brother,” you mused, tilting your head ever so slightly. “But I suppose you would not know much of it.”

Laughter rippled through the room, but Aegon only smirked, as if your sharp tongue amused him rather than wounded him.

Jacaerys stepped forward then, his expression unreadable. “May I escort you?”

The question was innocent enough, but the way he said it—the way his eyes locked onto yours with something that felt like longing—was anything but.

Before you could even part your lips to answer, Aemond stepped closer, his presence a silent threat. “That will not be necessary.”

Jacaerys’ gaze snapped to his, the tension between them palpable.

For a moment, the chamber was silent.

And then Rhaenyra sighed, shaking her head. “Come, Jace, Luke. We will see her at the feast.”

Jacaerys hesitated, his jaw tight, but eventually, he relented. With a final glance in your direction, he turned on his heel and followed his mother and brother out of the room.

That left you with your brothers. And Daemon.

You let out a soft breath before nodding once. “I shall take my leave.”

Daemon was still watching you, still smirking, as if he knew something the others did not. But he said nothing.

Instead, it was Aegon who moved first, pushing off the pillar as he reached out and traced a single finger along your wrist before murmuring, “Don’t keep us waiting too long, little sister.”

Aemond said nothing, but when you turned to leave, you could feel the heat of his gaze burning into your back and Daeron, Daeron simply watched. Silent. Calculating. As if he, too, was waiting for his turn.

Your chambers were alight with the glow of countless candles, their soft flames flickering against the polished mirrors as the maids worked around you with quiet efficiency. The scent of roses and myrrh clung to the air, a delicate perfume that only added to the anticipation humming in your veins. Tonight, the Red Keep would be alive with music, laughter, and the undeniable tension that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

You sat poised before the vanity, your auburn hair being woven into intricate braids, cascading down your back like strands of molten copper. The maids worked carefully, twisting and pinning each lock into place, adorning your hair with pearls and golden pins shaped like the seven-pointed star—a silent homage to your mother’s faith.

And then there was the dress.

Deep emerald, rich as the forests beyond the Reach, clinging to every sinful curve of your body. The corset cinched your waist to perfection, accentuating the swell of your hips, the fullness of your chest. The neckline plunged low, revealing the soft, tempting swell of your breasts, a display meant to command attention—to tempt, to ensnare. The fabric shimmered in the candlelight, each movement sending ripples through the delicate embroidery, as if the very dress was alive with seduction.

From the reflection in the mirror, you caught sight of your mother standing behind you.

Alicent Hightower’s expression was unreadable at first, her sharp green eyes sweeping over you with careful calculation. Then, slowly, a smile curled her lips, and she reached forward, her touch surprisingly gentle as she brushed her fingers over your cheek.

“You are my daughter,” she murmured, the warmth in her voice sending a shiver down your spine. “More Hightower than Targaryen.”

The words settled deep within you, filling you with something heady, something powerful. You had always known your blood was a battle of two legacies—one of fire, one of faith. But tonight, clad in emerald, you were no dragon’s daughter. You were a queen in the making.

Your lips curved into a smile, tilting your head into her touch. “That pleases you, doesn’t it, Mother?”

Alicent hummed softly, tilting her chin as she studied you, her fingers tracing a slow path down your arm. “It does,” she admitted, voice as smooth as silk. “The court will see you tonight and know that you are not like her.”

Her.

Rhaenyra.

The unspoken name hung heavy in the air, a shadow neither of you acknowledged.

A knowing look passed between you, the understanding silent but absolute. You were not like your half-sister—the wild heir who ruled over Dragonstone, the reckless Targaryen who let fire consume all in her path. No, you were something else entirely.

You were fire carefully contained within glass, dangerous in its restraint.

You reached for your mother’s hand then, pressing it gently between your own. “I will not disappoint you.”

Alicent’s lips curled ever so slightly. “You never have.”

The moment stretched between you before she finally stepped back, casting one last approving glance over you. “Come,” she said. “The feast awaits.”

And as you rose to your feet, the emerald silk flowing around you like liquid temptation, you knew that tonight—tonight, the Red Keep would burn, not with dragonfire, but with the fire of desire.

The grand doors of the throne room swung open, the polished gold and iron catching the glow of the torches. Your mother walked beside you, her posture as regal as the crown that adorned her auburn hair, guiding you forward with a hand light on your wrist. But it was you the court watched.

The moment you stepped inside, the room fell into silence.

Noble lords and ladies, knights and bannermen, even servants lingering at the edges of the hall—all had turned to look at you. It was not mere curiosity that held them breathless, nor was it simple admiration. No, what filled the air was something heavier, something darker. A hunger unspoken yet understood.

You could feel their eyes—tracing the shape of you, the curves the emerald silk accentuated, the delicate rise and fall of your chest beneath the low neckline. The corset cinched your waist to perfection, making you look like something carved by the gods themselves. Your auburn hair shimmered in the candlelight, twisted into elegant braids that revealed the graceful column of your neck, a sight meant to be admired, perhaps even worshipped.

Your mother kept walking, unbothered, her grip on you steady as she led you toward the high table where your family awaited.

Your brothers were the first you noticed.

Aegon lounged back in his seat, a goblet of wine in hand, but his violet eyes had darkened with something unreadable as he watched you approach. Aemond sat straighter, his sharp, calculating gaze never once wavering from you, his lips parted ever so slightly as if you had stolen his very breath. And Daeron, usually quiet, stared as if he was seeing something forbidden, something untouchable.

Your nephews were no better.

Jacaerys tensed when he saw you, his grip tightening on the armrest of his chair, his chest rising and falling just a little too quickly. Lucerys, younger but no less captivated, had his brows slightly furrowed, as if he could not decide whether he wanted to look or look away.

And then there was Daemon.

Your uncle. Your father’s brother. A rogue prince who should not have looked at you the way he did.

His lips curled into something amused, but his eyes… his eyes were devouring. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his goblet to his lips and took a sip, his smirk deepening as if he had all the patience in the world to play whatever wicked game he was entertaining in his mind.

You inhaled softly and took your seat, your mother standing beside you as she turned to address the court.

“As Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, it is my honor to welcome you all on this joyous occasion,” Alicent’s voice rang through the hall, smooth and powerful. “Tonight, we celebrate my daughter, a beacon of grace and virtue.” Her gaze flickered down to you then, pride gleaming in her green eyes. “May this night mark the beginning of a prosperous future for her.”

She raised her goblet, and the court echoed her gesture, lifting their cups in unison.

“To the princess,” she toasted.

“To the princess,” the hall repeated.

You lifted your own goblet, your lips curving as you took a sip. But even as the feast began, even as the music filled the air and laughter broke the tension, you could still feel them watching you. Your brothers. Your nephews. Your uncle.

A shiver danced down your spine when you laughed at something Helaena murmured beside you, a soft, genuine sound that made her smile in return.

And then the mood shifted.

A shadow fell over your table as a tall figure stepped forward, his presence commanding, his movements purposeful.

Lord Cregan Stark.

He was unlike the men of court, unlike the lords who whispered behind their goblets and played games with empty words. He was a wolf, broad-shouldered and solid, his dark hair falling past his shoulders, his storm-gray eyes piercing as they locked onto yours.

“My lady,” Cregan said, his voice deep, steady. “Would you grant me the honor of a dance?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Aegon shifted in his seat, fingers drumming against the table. Aemond’s jaw clenched ever so slightly, while Daeron, though polite, was watching intently. Jacaerys’ lips pressed into a thin line, his fingers tightening against his goblet, and Lucerys shifted uncomfortably.

Daemon merely smirked, waiting.

You tilted your head, meeting Cregan’s gaze with a slow, knowing smile. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

You placed your hand in his, his warmth enveloping you as he guided you away from the table, away from the stifling heat of the gazes that followed your every step. And as he led you to the dance floor, as his hands settled on your waist, firm yet respectful.

The hall was alive with music, the soft melody of strings and flutes weaving through the air like a spell. The flickering glow of a thousand candles cast golden light across the polished marble floors, where lords and ladies twirled in elegant unison. Yet, for all the splendor of the feast, the attention of the court was not on the revelry.

It was on you.

Cregan Stark’s hand rested at your waist, steady and firm, his grip possessive yet respectful. His other hand held yours, his calloused fingers brushing over your knuckles with each step. He led the dance effortlessly, his strength guiding you through the turns, the folds of your emerald gown swirling around you like a whisper of temptation.

“You look breathtaking tonight,” he murmured, his deep Northern accent laced with something softer, something only for you.

The warmth of his breath against your ear sent a delicious shiver down your spine, your cheeks flushing despite yourself. You let out a light giggle, tilting your chin up to meet his storm-gray eyes, finding them filled with a quiet intensity.

“You flatter me, my lord,” you teased, your voice honeyed, the smile on your lips both coy and knowing.

Cregan chuckled, his thumb brushing idly against the back of your hand. “I only speak the truth.”

You felt their eyes on you.

The weight of their stares burned into your back—your brothers, your nephews, your uncle. They watched, silent, their expressions unreadable, but you could feel the tension thrumming beneath the surface like a beast ready to bare its fangs.

Yet, for this moment, you let them simmer in their jealousy.

As the dance slowed, Cregan’s hand at your waist lingered, his touch warm even through the layers of fabric. He studied you, his expression unreadable, but there was something contemplative in the way his eyes roamed your face, something deeper than mere attraction.

“Tell me, princess,” he began, his voice lower now, meant only for you. “What future do you see for yourself?”

The question was innocent on the surface, yet there was weight behind it, a meaning that stretched beyond mere pleasantries. He was not just asking about idle dreams—he was asking about your fate, your marriage.

You smiled, tilting your head, your fingers curling ever so slightly against his shoulder as you looked up at him through your lashes. “Why, my lord? Are you asking for yourself?”

The tease was meant to fluster him, to make him chuckle and shake his head.

But instead, he smiled. Slow. Certain.

“Yes,” Cregan said, his voice unwavering.

Your breath hitched. The answer was unexpected, yet the certainty in his tone sent something thrilling through you, something unfamiliar and dangerous.

He did not laugh it off, did not turn it into jest. He meant it.

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could respond, the music ended. The spell broke, and applause filled the hall.

Cregan stepped back, still holding your hand, his fingers brushing against yours before he finally released you. His gaze lingered, as if he was memorizing every inch of you, as if he was already claiming you in his mind.

And when he turned to leave the floor, you stood there, breathless, as the weight of his words settled over you. Behind you, at the high table, the men who had watched you so closely all night were seething.

As you made your way back to the high table, you could feel the weight of their stares pressing into your back. Your brothers, your nephews, your uncle—each one had watched your dance with Cregan Stark with something unreadable in their eyes. Aegon swirled the wine in his goblet with slow, lazy movements, though the grip he held on it was far from relaxed. Aemond sat rigid in his chair, his jaw tight, while Daeron kept a carefully neutral expression, though his fingers tapped restlessly against the table. Jacaerys and Lucerys were no better, the tension rolling off them in waves.

And then there was Daemon.

The Rogue Prince leaned back in his chair, his smirk faint but ever-present, watching you with an amusement that did not quite reach his eyes. There was something else there—something more dangerous, more possessive.

You ignored the storm brewing behind you and settled back into your seat beside your mother, who turned to you with a small, knowing smile.

“You danced beautifully, my love,” Alicent murmured, her voice warm yet sharp enough to cut through the tension at the table.

“Thank you, mother,” you replied sweetly, though you could still feel the ghost of Cregan’s hand on your waist, his words lingering in your mind.

Alicent exhaled softly, setting her goblet down with a quiet clink before turning to face you fully. “I received no less than ten marriage proposals for you this evening,” she remarked, her voice laced with amusement.

You blinked before laughter bubbled up from your lips, light and airy. “ten? My, I must be quite the temptation.”

The table was silent.

Aegon let out a short scoff, but he said nothing, merely tipping his goblet back as he took a long drink. Aemond’s fingers curled into a fist against his lap, while Jacaerys glanced away, his jaw tightening. Daemon smirked, swirling his wine, but his eyes never left you.

Alicent, ever the picture of grace, simply smiled at your reaction. “You are, my love. The most sought-after bride in the realm.”

You hummed in response, tilting your head in mock contemplation. “And yet, I have no intention of marrying so soon after my nameday,” you mused, your lips curving into something teasing. “Surely, I deserve more time to enjoy my youth before I am given to a lord?”

Your mother nodded in agreement, reaching to brush her fingers over your cheek in a rare display of affection. “I believe that is wise. There is no need to rush such decisions.”

A sigh of relief rippled through the table.

Aegon visibly relaxed, though his expression was unreadable. Aemond exhaled slowly, his tense shoulders loosening ever so slightly. Daeron nodded in silent approval, while Jacaerys and Lucerys both seemed to ease, though they still looked wary.

Daemon simply chuckled under his breath.

You took a sip of your wine, allowing the tension to settle. You had no doubt that they would fight for you, that this battle for your hand was only just beginning.

And as the feast continued, you smiled to yourself, knowing that tonight, you had won.

Laughter and music still filled the hall, the rich scent of spiced wine and roasted meats lingering in the air, but you barely noticed any of it when you heard your name being called.

“Sweet niece,” came the familiar voice, deep and warm, laced with affection and something else—something darker, something possessive.

Your head snapped up, and your eyes widened before a delighted giggle escaped your lips. “Uncle Gwayne!”

Without thinking, you rose from your seat, your emerald skirts swishing around you as you rushed toward him. Gwayne Hightower stood tall and proud, his fine tunic of deep green embroidered with golden thread, his auburn hair combed neatly, his sharp features softened only by the small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

He opened his arms just as you threw yourself into them, wrapping you in a strong embrace. The scent of leather and polished steel clung to him, mingling with the faint hint of the oils he used in his hair.

“I have missed you,” you murmured against his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your hands.

“And I, you,” he said, his voice a low rumble as he tightened his hold on you just a fraction longer than necessary.

From the high table, your mother’s body went rigid, her goblet still in her grasp, though she did not drink. Alicent’s sharp eyes watched the way her brother held you, the way his large hand rested on the small of your back, the way his thumb brushed—so subtly it could have been imagined—against the fabric of your gown.

She was not the only one who noticed.

Your brothers had gone completely still. Aegon’s once-lazy posture stiffened, his fingers tightening around his goblet until his knuckles turned white. Aemond, who had been methodically cutting into his food, now simply held the dagger, his single eye locked onto you with an unreadable expression. Daeron’s polite demeanor had slipped, his lips pressed into a thin line.

And Daemon—Daemon was smirking. Amused. But not pleased.

Your nephews were no better. Jacaerys and Lucerys exchanged glances, their hands curled into fists against their laps, the easygoing air they carried all but gone.

Oblivious to the tension your embrace had sparked, you pulled back just enough to look up at Gwayne.

“I have something for you,” he said, reaching into the pouch at his belt.

Curious, you watched as he pulled out a velvet box, flipping it open to reveal an exquisite necklace. A delicate golden chain with a striking emerald pendant—a stone so deep in color it seemed to burn with an inner fire. The craftsmanship was impeccable, the edges of the gem catching the candlelight in a dazzling display.

A soft gasp escaped your lips. “It’s beautiful, uncle.”

“Not as beautiful as the one who wears it.” His voice was quiet, meant only for you, but the words sent a shiver down your spine.

Slowly, he reached up, his fingers brushing against your collarbone as he clasped the necklace around your throat. The touch was fleeting, yet deliberate, his fingertips lingering just a second too long against your bare skin.

You smiled, completely unaware of how your mother’s grip on her goblet had turned to iron.

“You spoil me,” you teased, touching the pendant with a soft laugh.

Gwayne merely smirked, his gaze flickering down to the way the emerald nestled perfectly above the swell of your displayed cleavage.

“I only give what is deserved.”

The silence behind you was deafening.

Aegon set his goblet down with a loud clink, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at the necklace now resting against your chest. Aemond’s jaw ticked, his fingers curling into his palm. Daeron’s eyes darkened, though he said nothing.

Jacaerys let out a slow breath, as if steadying himself, while Lucerys glanced at his brother, sharing an unspoken thought.

Daemon, watching it all unfold, merely swirled the wine in his goblet, smirking to himself.

Alicent, however, had had enough.

“My love,” she said, her voice cool, yet sharp enough to cut through the thick tension, “it is time to return to the table.”

You turned to her, tilting your head slightly, but nodded. “Of course, mother.”

With one last glance at Gwayne, you offered him a smile before returning to your seat.

And as you settled back beside your mother, completely unaware of the storm brewing around you, you could not help but touch the emerald at your throat—completely oblivious to the way every man at the table watched, their gazes dark with something far more dangerous than mere admiration.

The warmth of the wine lingered on your tongue as you watched your mother rise from her seat. There was something in the way she moved, something deliberate and sharp. You tilted your head slightly, curiosity sparking in your chest as she turned away from the table, her emerald skirts swaying as she stepped down from the dais.

You followed her with your gaze, brows furrowing when you saw where she was heading.

Straight toward her brother.

Gwayne barely had a moment to react before Alicent reached him, her slender fingers curling around his wrist in a grip that was deceptively strong. Without a word, she pulled him away from the crowd, leading him toward the farthest, quietest corner of the throne room.

The torchlight flickered against the stone walls, casting long shadows over their tense figures.

Alicent did not release him, even when she finally came to a stop. Instead, she tightened her grip. “What do you think you are doing?”

Gwayne merely raised a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific, dear sister.”

Alicent’s nostrils flared, her auburn brows knitting together. “Don’t play coy with me,” she hissed, voice low, sharp. “The way you looked at her, the way you touched her—”

Gwayne chuckled, a sound so rich and unbothered it only made Alicent’s anger burn brighter.

“She is a beautiful young woman, Alicent,” he said simply, tilting his head. “Surely you cannot blame me for noticing.”

Alicent let go of his wrist as if burned, stepping back, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “She is my daughter, your niece.”

“She is not a child,” Gwayne countered, his voice smoother than silk. “She has come of age. And not just I have noticed.”

Alicent froze.

Gwayne took a slow step forward, watching as his sister’s body stiffened. His voice dropped lower, dangerously knowing. “Have you not seen the way they look at her?”

Alicent’s throat bobbed.

“She is… exquisite,” Gwayne murmured, and his eyes flickered over to where you sat at the high table, laughing softly at something Helaena had whispered to you. The emerald at your throat gleamed in the candlelight. “They are all drawn to her. Aegon. Aemond. Daeron.” His lips curled slightly. “Even Daemon.”

Alicent’s fingers dug into the fabric of her skirts.

Gwayne smirked. “And let us not forget Rhaenyra’s sons.”

Alicent’s breath caught. She had noticed it, of course she had. The way Aegon’s usual nonchalance melted into something far darker when his eyes lingered on you. The way Aemond watched you with quiet, possessive intent. Daeron, once easygoing and playful, had begun to stiffen when other men approached you.

And Daemon—Daemon had always been a tempestuous storm, but when it came to you, his interest was undeniable.

Even Jacaerys and Lucerys, who had once looked at you with the affection of kin, now watched you differently.

Alicent inhaled sharply.

“You know it to be true.” Gwayne’s voice was quiet now, almost teasing.

Alicent forced herself to regain composure. “She is my daughter,” she repeated, steel laced in her tone. “She is of Hightower blood.”

Gwayne’s smirk deepened. “Then you should know better than anyone, dear sister—fires are not so easily tamed.”

Alicent did not reply, her jaw tight as she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Gwayne standing there, chuckling softly to himself.

And across the room, unaware of the storm you had ignited, you smiled as you toyed with the emerald at your throat, feeling the weight of more than just jewels resting against your skin.

The moment your mother returned to her seat beside you, you noticed the slight tension in her frame. Her expression was schooled into one of quiet composure, but the way her fingers curled slightly against her lap told you something had unsettled her.

Before you could ask, a servant stepped forward, bowing deeply before presenting a small, intricately carved wooden box. “A gift from His Grace,” the servant announced, his voice respectful.

You blinked in surprise, curiosity sparking in your chest as you reached for the box. Your fingers traced over the delicate carvings of dragons entwined with flames before you carefully lifted the lid.

The candlelight caught on the glint of metal, and your breath hitched.

Nestled inside was a necklace of the deepest, richest gold, the links delicate yet strong, polished to a gleaming perfection. At the center, a striking pendant—a dragon wrought in rubies and black diamonds, its wings fanned out as if mid-flight. It was regal, ancient, breathtaking.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as you lifted the necklace, letting it dangle from your fingers. The gemstones caught the light, casting small reflections across your skin like scattered embers.

“It is stunning,” you murmured, completely enthralled.

Beside you, Rhaenyra leaned in, her gaze sharp yet amused. Then, recognition flickered in her eyes, and her lips parted slightly before curving into a knowing smile.

“That,” she said, voice laced with intrigue, “is Queen Rhaenys the Conqueror’s necklace.”

Your head snapped toward her, eyes wide. “Truly?”

She nodded. “It was gifted to her by Aegon himself, a token of his devotion.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “For years, it has been kept among the royal treasures, untouched… until now.”

A squeal of delight bubbled up from your throat before you could stop it. “Father gave this to me?” you breathed, tracing a reverent finger over the rubies.

“You should be honored,” Rhaenyra said, though there was something unreadable in her gaze as she studied you. “It is a symbol of both power… and temptation.”

A rich chuckle came from across the table.

Daemon.

You looked up to find his violet eyes watching you with something darkly amused, his lips curved in that ever-present smirk. He swirled the wine in his cup lazily before tilting his head.

“I daresay it suits you,” he drawled.

Something in his tone sent a shiver down your spine. “Does it?”

Daemon’s smirk deepened. “Rhaenys herself was the very image of beauty and temptation,” he mused, gaze sweeping over you in a way that made your skin prickle with heat. “A woman whose presence could turn the heads of lords and warriors alike. She was both admired… and feared.” He lifted his cup to his lips, taking a slow sip before adding, “Just like you.”

The words wrapped around you like a velvet caress, thick with meaning. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you kept your composure, offering Daemon a coy smile.

“Then I shall wear it proudly,” you murmured, tilting your chin slightly, “as a true daughter of House Targaryen.”

Daemon’s smirk didn’t falter, but something flickered in his gaze, something unreadable.

A servant stepped forward to help fasten the necklace around your throat, and as the cool metal met your skin, a hushed silence fell over the table.

You could feel the weight of their stares.

Aegon’s gaze was unreadable, but his fingers clenched around his goblet. Aemond’s single eye gleamed with something dark, dangerous. Daeron, normally composed, had an edge of tension in his shoulders. Even Jacaerys and Lucerys, who had once looked at you as kin, now studied you with something else entirely.

The weight of the necklace was nothing compared to the weight of their eyes.

And in that moment, you realized—Rhaenys the Conqueror had been a legend, a queen whose beauty and power ensnared the most formidable men of her time.

And now, you bore her gift.

A gift… and a warning.

The necklace rested against your skin, a stark contrast to the deep emerald of your gown. The gold gleamed under the candlelight, the rubies catching every flicker of fire, glowing like embers against the lush green fabric. Your mother had planned tonight meticulously—your coming of age would be marked by the embrace of your Hightower roots. The rich green, the corset that accentuated your curves, the low neckline designed to tempt and yet uphold your grace—all of it was meant to solidify your place as a daughter of Oldtown, a woman of noble refinement.

But Viserys had other plans.

By bestowing upon you the necklace of Queen Rhaenys, he had made his declaration. You were not merely the daughter of Alicent Hightower. You were the blood of the dragon, the daughter of a Targaryen king. The weight of the gift settled upon you, not just in metal but in meaning. You belonged to the fire, not to the tower.

A delicate whisper from beside you caught your attention. Helaena, lost in her own world as always, murmured something beneath her breath, her pale eyes unfocused as she stared at the flickering flames of the chandeliers.

“The dragon wears the crown of another… flames dance, waiting to consume… the pillars crumble, but the serpent coils tighter…”

You frowned, tilting your head toward her. “What did you say, dear sister?”

Helaena blinked, her trance breaking as she turned toward you with a dreamy smile. “Nothing,” she murmured, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your shoulder. “You look beautiful tonight, sister.”

Before you could press her further, movement in front of you pulled your attention away.

Your brothers.

All three of them—Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron—stood before you, their towering figures casting shadows against the table. Each wore a different expression, yet their intentions were the same.

“Dance with me,” Aegon grinned, offering his hand first. His violet eyes held a glint of mischief, his smirk lazy yet expectant.

“Dance with me,” Aemond echoed, his tone softer yet no less firm, his single eye burning with an intensity that sent a shiver through you.

Daeron, the youngest yet no less commanding, simply tilted his head with a small smirk. “You cannot deny your favorite brother, can you?”

Three brothers

Three sets of expectant gazes.

You laughed, the sound light, teasing. “Must I choose?”

Aegon’s grin widened. “Would you prefer all of us at once, sweet sister?” His voice was low, suggestive, meant to elicit a reaction.

Aemond scoffed, shooting him a sharp glare before turning his focus back to you. “A proper dance, not one of your drunken antics,” he murmured, as if he were the only one capable of offering you something respectable.

Daeron simply chuckled, shaking his head. “Perhaps we should let her choose instead of fighting like fools.”

You tapped your chin playfully, your gaze flickering between them. The attention was intoxicating, the possessiveness in their stares making your skin prickle.

“You are all so eager,” you mused, tilting your head. “It’s quite endearing.”

Aegon arched a brow. “Endearing?”

Aemond’s lips twitched slightly, a ghost of amusement hidden beneath his usually stoic expression.

Daeron merely extended his hand further, his blue eyes gleaming. “Come now, sister. The night is young, and you deserve to be celebrated.”

Smiling, you placed your hand in his, allowing him to guide you toward the dance floor. The moment your fingers touched, you heard a low exhale from one of your other brothers—Aemond, perhaps. Or Aegon.

Possessiveness was a trait none of them lacked.

As Daeron led you into the first steps of the dance, you could feel their eyes lingering, burning into your back. The weight of their gazes was heavy, intense. You had been theirs before—beloved sister, treasured princess. But tonight, something had shifted.

Tonight, they did not just see their sister.

Tonight, they saw something more.

Something untouchable.

Something they all wished to claim.

The music swelled around you as Daeron twirled you effortlessly across the dance floor. Laughter bubbled past your lips, his touch light yet firm against your waist as he led you through the steps with ease. Unlike Aegon’s wild revelry or Aemond’s measured control, Daeron danced with a natural charm, playful yet undeniably graceful. His eyes sparkled as he leaned in, murmuring, “You truly are the most beautiful creature in the room tonight.”

Your cheeks warmed, though whether from the dance or his words, you weren’t sure. “Flatterer,” you teased, your fingers tightening briefly in his grasp.

But the moment of lightness was met with a heavy contrast.

At the edge of the dance floor, Aegon and Aemond stood, watching.

Their gazes were unwavering, dark and unreadable, their postures stiff with barely concealed tension. Aegon had a goblet in hand, swirling the wine absentmindedly, though he had not taken a sip in some time. Aemond, meanwhile, stood still as stone, his eye trained on the way Daeron’s hand rested against your waist, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

And then came the voice that cut through the tension like a blade.

“Enough.”

Alicent’s tone was sharp, quiet yet firm, meant only for her sons to hear. She did not move toward them, but her presence was enough to demand their attention.

Aegon chuckled first, his lips twisting into a knowing smirk. “Something wrong, Mother?”

Alicent’s eyes were unreadable, flickering between her eldest and second-born before settling on Aemond, whose expression remained carefully blank. She took a slow breath, steadying herself before speaking again.

“She is your sister.”

Aemond turned his head then, his eye glinting in the low candlelight. “Yes,” he murmured, tilting his goblet slightly, letting the wine coat the edges, “she is.”

Alicent’s frown deepened. “You will not entertain thoughts beyond what is proper.”

Aegon let out a low, amused hum. “Proper? Mother, you forget—our blood is not solely Hightower.” He took a slow sip of his wine, pausing for effect before adding, “We are Targaryens, too.”

Alicent stiffened. “That does not mean—”

Aemond interrupted her, his voice softer but no less pointed. “And Targaryens,” he mused, swirling his goblet lazily, “have peculiar customs when it comes to marriage, do they not?”

Alicent’s breath hitched.

It was a subtle reaction, but one her sons did not miss.

Aegon’s smirk widened. “Oh, Mother,” he crooned, feigning innocence, “you knew this day would come, didn’t you?”

Alicent said nothing, her fingers tightening into her palms.

Aemond set his goblet down, straightening. “Viserys has already claimed her as his daughter before the court,” he stated, his tone carrying the weight of undeniable truth. “She is as much a Targaryen as we are. And our ancestors—” He stepped closer, his voice lowering just enough to make his mother hold her breath. “—would not find such things unnatural.”

Alicent turned sharply to Aegon then, as if expecting him to dismiss his brother’s words, to make light of the situation as he always did. But for once, Aegon’s smirk did not reach his eyes.

“She’s no little girl anymore, Mother,” Aegon said, his voice devoid of its usual playfulness. “Everyone in this hall sees it.” His gaze flickered back to the dance floor, where you were still lost in laughter with Daeron, oblivious to the quiet war waging behind you.

Alicent followed his gaze, and for the first time that night, true fear laced her expression.

Because Aegon was right.

Everyone had seen it.

The way lords whispered about your beauty, the way men looked at you with admiration too impure for a princess. Even Gwayne, her own brother, had held you in a way that had sent unease twisting through her chest.

But worse than that—her own sons saw it, too and they did not just see their sister. They saw something much, much more dangerous.

Alicent let out a slow, measured sigh, pressing her fingers to her temple as if warding off an oncoming headache. The candlelight flickered against her features, the strain in her eyes unmistakable as she regarded her eldest sons.

Aegon smirked, tipping his goblet back before speaking. “It’s not just us, Mother.”

Alicent’s fingers curled against her palm. She did not want to hear this. She did not want to acknowledge it.

Aemond tilted his head, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “You’ve seen the way they look at her.”

Alicent exhaled sharply, but Aegon continued, undeterred.

“Our uncles,” he mused, swirling his wine lazily. “Our nephews. It seems,” he cast a glance across the room, his gaze dark with knowing, “our dear sister has bewitched them all.”

Alicent’s lips parted as if to argue, but no words came.

Because she knew.

She had seen Daemon’s watchful eyes when you had entered the hall, the way his lips had curved ever so slightly when Rhaenyra had remarked on your beauty. She had seen Jacaerys tense when you had smiled at Cregan Stark, his jaw clenching with something too close to envy. Even Lucerys, sweet and young as he was, had looked at you with a boyish admiration that was almost painful to witness.

And Gwayne.

Her own brother.

Alicent closed her eyes for a brief moment, composing herself before she spoke. “You will not speak of this again.”

Aegon chuckled, amused by her feigned authority. “Oh, Mother,” he sighed, “denial does not suit you.”

Aemond leaned closer, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down his mother’s spine. “She is no longer a child, Mother. And the men in this room?” His eye flickered to the high table where you had just finished your dance. “They all know it.”

Alicent wanted to argue. To scold them. To command them to stop.

But before she could speak, the sound of your laughter rang through the hall once more.

She turned in time to see you stepping away from Daeron, your cheeks flushed from the dance, your gown clinging to your curves in a way that left nothing to the imagination. The candlelight caught on the necklace around your throat—the necklace gifted by Viserys, by Rhaenys before him. A claim in its own right.

And then, before you could retreat back to the high table, Aegon was there.

He caught your wrist, his fingers curling around your delicate skin, and with an effortless tug, he pulled you back toward him.

A surprised laugh escaped your lips. “Aegon!”

His smirk was wicked as he spun you effortlessly into another dance. “What?” he teased, his voice warm against your ear. “You’ll dance with our little brother but not me?”

You let out a breathless giggle, letting him lead you into the next steps. “You didn’t ask.”

Aegon hummed, his grip tightening slightly at your waist as he twirled you in time with the music. “Must I ask, little sister?” His voice dipped lower, almost lazy in its amusement. “When you belong to us already?”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, though you weren’t sure if it was the way he had said it or the way his touch lingered just a little too long.

At the edge of the hall, Aemond watched.

His hands curled into fists at his side, his expression unreadable, though something dark lurked beneath the surface.

And beside him, Alicent turned away.

Because for all her warnings, for all her prayers, she knew one undeniable truth. No matter how much she fought against it, you were a temptation none of them could resist.

Alicent’s fingers tightened around Daeron’s wrist, her grip firm yet desperate, nails pressing into his skin as if she could anchor him back to reason. Her voice was hushed but sharp, laced with a mother’s warning.

“This is wrong, Daeron,” she whispered, her words edged with quiet fury. “You have lived in Oldtown long enough to understand that.”

She searched his face, expecting guilt, shame—anything that might reassure her that one of her sons had not fallen victim to the same temptation that plagued his brothers.

But Daeron only chuckled.

His violet eyes, gleamed with something unreadable as he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice so that only she could hear.

“I am a Targaryen, Mother,” he murmured.

A shiver ran down Alicent’s spine.

Aemond’s laughter cut through the moment, low and knowing. He stepped closer, resting a firm hand on Daeron’s shoulder, squeezing it with something between amusement and approval.

“Well said, little brother,” Aemond murmured, his lips curving into a smirk.

Alicent’s breath hitched.

Her grip loosened on Daeron’s wrist as realization struck her like a cruel tide, pulling her under without mercy.

Daeron had been raised in Oldtown, surrounded by piety, by the faith, by the teachings of decency and morality. And yet, here he stood before her, unrepentant, unashamed, speaking with the same ease as Aegon, as Aemond.

The corruption had spread further than she had feared.

She turned her gaze toward you, standing in the center of the great hall, still dancing with Aegon, your laughter like a melody sweeter than the music itself.

You were a vision of temptation, the candlelight kissing the emerald silk of your gown, the bodice sculpted to perfection, your beauty effortless, intoxicating. The necklace from Viserys—the symbol of his claim, of your Targaryen blood—rested against your skin, stark against the deep green of your dress.

She had raised you to be a Hightower.

She had dressed you in the colors of her house, had spoken of duty and virtue, had ensured you were set apart from the fire that ran rampant through the veins of the Targaryens.

And yet—

She saw it now.

In the way Aegon’s hand lingered at your waist, fingers flexing ever so slightly as if resisting the urge to pull you closer.

In the way Aemond’s eye never left you, dark and calculating, as if he were already plotting his next move.

In the way Daeron stood beside her, unconcerned, unbothered, as if he had already accepted what she could not.

And worst of all, in the way the rest of the hall had taken notice, silent witnesses to the unspoken battle unfolding before them.

Daemon watched from the high table, sipping his wine lazily, amusement flickering in his eyes. Jacaerys and Lucerys sat stiffly beside their mother, jaws tight, eyes dark with something unspoken. Even Cregan Stark, noble and honorable as he was, had not torn his gaze away from you all evening.

Alicent’s lips parted slightly, but no words came.

Because for all her prayers, for all her efforts to shield you, she knew— You were not merely a Hightower. You were a Targaryen. And the men in this room would burn the world for you.

As the music swelled to its final notes, Aegon dipped you low, his grip firm yet effortless, his golden hair falling forward slightly as he held you there for a breath too long. Your heart pounded against your ribs as his face hovered close to yours, the scent of wine and something distinctly Aegon filling your senses. His lips curled into a knowing smirk, eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned in—not to claim your lips, but to press a lingering kiss against your cheek, just at the corner of your mouth.

Your breath hitched.

Aegon chuckled, the sound deep and sinful, before pulling you upright once more, his hands lingering at your waist. He steadied you as if you had truly lost your balance, though you knew it was merely his way of keeping you close for a few moments longer.

“You should enjoy your feast, little sister,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, a promise wrapped in a command.

Before you could respond—before you could even fully register the heat simmering beneath his words—another figure stepped into your path.

Aemond.

His presence was like ice after fire, a stark contrast to Aegon’s reckless heat. Where Aegon was playful indulgence, Aemond was sharp control, deliberate, focused. His single violet eye burned into yours, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he extended his hand.

“May I have this dance?” His voice was smooth, laced with something unreadable, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

You giggled softly, the sound breaking the tension, though your stomach fluttered at the intensity of his gaze. “Of course, brother.”

Aemond’s fingers curled around yours, his grip cool yet firm as he guided you back to the floor. The moment Aegon released you, you felt the shift—where Aegon had been lighthearted and teasing, Aemond was something else entirely.

Possessive. Calculated.

The music resumed, slower this time, the kind of melody meant for whispered secrets and stolen glances. Aemond’s hand found the small of your back, guiding you effortlessly, his touch a stark contrast to Aegon’s playful teasing.

“Was his dance satisfactory?” Aemond murmured, his tone neutral, yet the way his fingers pressed against your waist told another story.

You tilted your head at him, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Aegon is always entertaining.”

“Hmm.” Aemond’s eye darkened slightly, his jaw tightening for the briefest of moments. “And yet, he lacks restraint.”

You giggled again, twirling as he led you into a graceful spin before pulling you back against him, closer than before. “And you, dear brother? Do you have restraint?”

Aemond’s lips curved into something that was not quite a smile but rather a promise—dark, unreadable, tempting.

“For you?” he murmured, voice dipping lower as his thumb traced the line of your spine through the silk of your gown. “I would find it… difficult.”

Your breath caught, your fingers tightening slightly against his shoulder as his words settled between you, heavy with meaning. You could feel eyes on you—your mother’s sharp gaze, Daeron’s silent amusement, Aegon’s knowing smirk. And further still, others watched too—Daemon, Jacaerys, even Cregan, each man attuned to the unspoken war brewing over you.

And yet, in this moment, none of them existed.

There was only Aemond, the slow, deliberate movement of your bodies, the heat simmering beneath the surface, waiting—aching—to ignite and the knowledge that this dance was only the beginning.

Aemond spun you in his arms, his grip firm yet fluid, guiding you with the kind of precision that came so naturally to him. You giggled, breathless, your laughter ringing through the hall like a melody of its own. For once, something shifted in Aemond. His usual stoicism cracked, and to your delight, a rare, genuine laugh escaped his lips.

The sound was deep, unfamiliar yet mesmerizing, a contrast to the sharp edges that usually defined him. Your eyes widened, and you couldn’t resist teasing him, your fingers grazing his shoulder as he pulled you back into his embrace.

“You laugh?” you gasped, feigning shock. “Seven hells must have frozen over.”

Aemond smirked, his grip tightening at your waist for the briefest of moments, his eye burning into yours with something unreadable. “It seems you’re a rare cause for such things, sweet sister,” he murmured, voice low enough for only you to hear.

Your stomach fluttered at the weight of his words, but before the moment could linger, the music swelled to a close. Aemond reluctantly released you, his fingers trailing down your arm as you stepped away. You turned to see Aegon watching you both with a knowing smirk, Daeron shaking his head slightly, as if amused by the silent war between them.

With a playful grin, you turned to your brothers. “As much as I enjoy being fought over,” you teased, eyes twinkling, “I wish to dance with my dear sister now.”

Before anyone could protest, you stepped away from Aemond’s hold, your hands reaching for Helaena at the high table. She blinked up at you in surprise, but when you tugged at her wrist, she giggled, allowing you to pull her onto the dance floor.

The moment you twirled her into your arms, she let out a soft, delighted laugh, her usual quiet demeanor momentarily forgotten. You beamed at her, holding her hands as you both swayed to the rhythm of the music.

“You look beautiful tonight, sweet sister,” Helaena murmured, her lilac eyes soft as they took you in.

“As do you,” you whispered back, twirling her once more, watching as the candlelight caught the silken embroidery of her gown.

For a brief moment, there were no heavy gazes watching your every move, no silent battles waged between men staking their unspoken claim. It was just you and Helaena, two sisters lost in laughter and movement, the weight of the world lifting—if only for a dance.

But even then, in the periphery, you could feel them.

Aemond’s eye never left you. Aegon’s smirk never wavered. Daeron watched with a contemplative expression. And beyond them, your uncle, your nephews, even Cregan Stark—each man drawn to you, their gazes hungry, possessive, waiting.

And somewhere, in the shadows of the grand hall, your mother watched too, her lips pressed together, her heart warring between pride and unease.

Because tonight, you were not just a daughter of House Hightower. You were a Targaryen. A dream in flesh. A dangerous temptation and every man in this room knew it.

Helaena twirled you with a delighted giggle, her soft hands slipping from yours as you spun. But the moment your feet found the ground again, you stumbled—straight into the warmth of a firm chest. Large hands caught you, steadying you with ease, fingers splaying against your waist like they had every right to be there.

Surprised, you blinked up, your breath hitching as you met the sharp, knowing gaze of your uncle.

Daemon Targaryen smirked down at you, his violet eyes glinting with something wicked, something amused. His grip did not falter, his hands firm on your waist, holding you close.

“Apologies, dear uncle,” you giggled, tilting your head up at him, your voice laced with playful innocence.

Daemon hummed, tilting his head as if considering your words. “If you truly wish for my forgiveness,” he drawled, his thumb grazing ever so slightly along the curve of your waist, “then you must grant me a dance.”

A laugh bubbled from your lips at his audacity, at the ease in which he spun his mischief. You knew what a dance with Daemon meant—it was not just steps upon the floor, not just a mere twirl in the candlelight. A dance with Daemon was a declaration, a game played in full view of those who would rather see you untouched, unclaimed and yet, the challenge in his gaze, the amusement that danced across his lips—it was irresistible.

“Then I suppose I have no choice,” you teased, placing your hand in his.

Daemon chuckled, his grip tightening around yours before he pulled you effortlessly into the dance. He led with confidence, his steps assured, his movements fluid. Unlike your brothers or Cregan, who danced with the stiffness of men too aware of the eyes upon them, Daemon moved like he had nothing to prove—only to enjoy.

His hold on your waist remained firm, guiding you through the dance as if you had always belonged there. His smirk never faded, his gaze never strayed from yours, and the longer you danced, the more you could feel the weight of the room shift.

You knew they were watching.

Rhaenyra’s lips had parted slightly, her brows furrowed as she observed you in the arms of her husband. There was something unreadable in her expression—curiosity? Worry? Perhaps even amusement.

Your brothers, however—Aegon, Aemond, Daeron—they looked ready to set the hall aflame.

Aegon swirled his wine in his cup, but his grip was too tight, his knuckles white. Aemond’s jaw was clenched, his eye burning into Daemon’s every move. Daeron, who had only just danced with you moments ago, looked less amused now, his lips pressing into a thin line.

And yet, you did not stop.

Daemon spun you effortlessly, his hand grazing the bare skin of your back as he pulled you close once more.

“You are quite the temptation, little niece,” he murmured, his lips barely a breath away from your ear. A shiver ran down your spine, though whether from his words or the heat of his touch, you could not say.

“Careful, uncle,” you teased, voice soft but laced with warning. “Some might think you wish to steal me away.”

Daemon only smirked. “Steal you? No, sweet girl.” His hand tightened on your waist, his fingers splaying possessively. “But if I did wish it, tell me—who would dare stop me?”

Your breath caught. The music swelled, the room held its breath, and as Daemon twirled you one final time, you wondered if perhaps he was right.

Just as Daemon’s final twirl sent you back into his arms, your mother’s voice cut through the haze of music and candlelight.

“Sweetling,” Alicent’s tone was firm, though not unkind, a command wrapped in maternal concern. “You should rest. You have danced more than four times tonight.”

For a brief moment, you hesitated, still feeling the lingering warmth of Daemon’s hands at your waist. But you were nothing if not your mother’s obedient daughter. So, with a graceful curtsy, you excused yourself from the dance floor, ignoring the smirk Daemon sent you as he let go of your hand.

Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron all watched you closely as you returned to the high table. Their gazes were unwavering, following your every step, but it was your grandfather’s eyes you met when you finally took your seat.

Otto Hightower sat with his usual composed expression, but there was something softer in the way he looked at you tonight. As you settled into your chair, he reached forward, presenting you with a small, ornate box.

“A gift,” he said simply, his voice steady yet carrying the weight of something deeper. “From our family, to you.”

Curiosity sparked in your chest as you carefully lifted the lid. Inside, nestled within a velvet lining, was a delicate hairpin—an intricate piece of gold filigree, adorned with tiny emeralds that caught the light like captured stars.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as you lifted it gently between your fingers, the weight of history pressing against your palm.

“It belonged to your grandmother,” your mother murmured beside you, her voice quieter now, reverent.

Your gaze snapped back to Otto, your fingers tightening around the pin. He was watching you closely, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—a memory, perhaps, or something he could not quite say.

“My grandmother,” you repeated softly, running your thumb over the cool metal. You had never met her, only heard stories in hushed tones, only seen the way your grandfather’s face grew distant at the mention of her name.

Otto nodded. “She would have wanted you to have it.”

For a moment, there was silence. The hall still bustled with music and laughter, but here, in this space between you and your grandfather, time slowed. Your mother’s hand ghosted over your own, a rare, fleeting touch, before she withdrew.

“This is your heritage,” she said. “Not just Targaryen, not just fire and blood.” Her eyes softened. “But Hightower, through and through.” You swallowed, feeling the weight of the pin in your hands.

And then, as if compelled by some unseen force, you carefully lifted it to your hair, securing it into place.

A declaration. A choice.

When you looked up again, Otto was smiling. And, for the first time tonight, it was not a smile of politics or strategy. It was simply a grandfather’s pride.

For the rest of the evening, you found yourself seated beside your mother, occasionally leaning towards Helaena to whisper and giggle at her soft musings. The tension that had thickened the air earlier, laced with the weight of lingering stares and unsaid words, slowly faded into the background as you let yourself enjoy the warmth of your family’s presence.

Your mother, despite her earlier worries, seemed at ease now, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her goblet as she listened to you recount something amusing about the courtly ladies of Oldtown. Helaena, ever the dreamer, murmured something about spiders weaving threads of fate, her violet eyes unfocused as if she could see beyond the feasting hall itself.

And then—

“Princess.”

The voice was careful, almost hesitant, but it still carried across the table with the weight of someone who had been waiting for the right moment. You turned your head toward it, your expression lighting up when you saw who had spoken.

“Jace,” you greeted warmly, your smile coming easily, as it always did with him. He was standing near the table, his dark curls slightly tousled, his stance uncertain as if he had been debating whether or not to approach.

His shoulders squared under your gaze, and he cleared his throat. “I—uh, I wanted to tell you something. About Joffrey.”

Your brows lifted in curiosity, and you tilted your head, prompting him to continue.

Jacaerys hesitated for only a moment before exhaling sharply, as if bracing himself. “A few months ago, he snuck into the rookery at Dragonstone. Thought he could impress the maesters by learning to read Valyrian better than me.” A small, fond smirk tugged at his lips. “Instead, he ended up getting chased by an entire flock of ravens because he knocked over a tray of meat scraps.”

The image painted itself vividly in your mind—the young prince, all wide-eyed determination, only to be sent fleeing through the stone halls of Dragonstone with a mass of furious birds in pursuit. The thought was so absurd, so unexpectedly humorous, that you couldn’t help yourself.

You laughed.

A bright, genuine sound that bubbled past your lips before you could stop it, shaking your shoulders as you pictured Joffrey running for his life, the maesters shouting after him.

Jace relaxed at your reaction, a slow grin spreading across his face, but— The sound of sharp inhalations came from beside you.

You felt it before you saw it.

Your brothers’ gazes snapping towards you, their postures going rigid at the sound of your laughter—at the sight of you smiling so freely at Jacaerys Velaryon.

Aegon, who had been lazily swirling his goblet of wine, suddenly went still, his fingers tightening around the cup. Aemond’s jaw clenched, his single eye narrowing as he leaned back in his chair, observing the interaction with quiet intensity. Even Daeron, who had been placating your mother only moments ago, straightened, his previously easy demeanor shifting into something unreadable.

For a moment, the air grew thick again.

Jace must have noticed it, because his grin faltered slightly. His hand twitched at his side, as if he wanted to say more, but the weight of the stares around him made him pause.

You, however, ignored them.

Still smiling, you reached forward and lightly tapped his arm. “Jace, I would have given anything to see that.”

The warmth in your voice made him visibly relax, and he chuckled, shaking his head. “If I had known, I would have sent a raven. Maybe even let you see how the maesters struggled to catch him after.”

You laughed again, softer this time, but the damage was done.

Across from you, Aegon drained his goblet in one go, setting it down with an audible clink. Aemond’s fingers tapped once against the hilt of his dagger, slow and deliberate. Daeron simply exhaled through his nose, shaking his head in exasperation.

And from the corner of your eye, you caught your mother pressing her fingers to her temple, as if preparing herself for yet another night of managing the storm that was her sons.

As your laughter softened into a lingering smile, you turned your gaze back to Jacaerys, your eyes glimmering with a playful light. His expression was still caught between amusement and surprise when you extended a hand toward him, the invitation unspoken yet undeniable.

“Dance with me,” you said softly, the lilt of your voice teasing yet sincere.

For a moment, Jace hesitated, his dark brows lifting ever so slightly, as though he hadn’t expected such a request. But then, as if realizing how foolish it would be to deny you, his lips curled into a smirk, and he reached for your hand, clasping it gently before bowing his head in agreement.

“I would be honored,” he murmured.

As he led you onto the dance floor, you could feel the heat of countless eyes tracing your every step, the weight of silent stares pressing against your back. Your brothers. Your uncles. Even your mother, who, despite her earlier warning, watched with an expression that was unreadable.

But you ignored them all.

Because in that moment, as Jacaerys’ fingers settled against your waist, warmth seeping through the fabric of your gown, the world outside of your dance melted away.

The music swelled, a soft yet lively melody, and Jace guided you effortlessly into the rhythm. His grip was firm but not possessive, his movements confident yet careful, as if ensuring that you never once felt uneasy in his arms.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet, meant only for you. Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the directness of his words.

Then you giggled, tilting your head up at him with playful scrutiny. “Just tonight?”

Jace blinked before chuckling, shaking his head as though realizing he had walked straight into your trap. “You always look beautiful,” he amended, his thumb subtly tracing against the curve of your waist, sending a shiver up your spine. “But tonight… you are radiant.”

The compliment sent warmth blooming across your cheeks, and you lowered your gaze briefly, unable to stop the small, pleased smile from tugging at your lips.

“You flatter me, my prince,” you teased lightly, though the sincerity in his words made your heart quicken.

Jace merely smirked, dipping his head slightly so that his breath brushed against your ear. “Only because it is the truth.”

The way he said it, with such quiet conviction, made your stomach flutter.

He kept you engaged throughout the dance, his voice a steady, familiar comfort as he asked about your days, your interests, your thoughts. He laughed when you recounted a humorous tale of courtly gossip, and you blushed when he praised you for your wit, your kindness, your charm.

And then, as the music slowed into a more languid melody, Jace’s grip on you subtly shifted, his hand pressing just a fraction tighter against your waist as he leaned in slightly.

“Tell me,” he murmured, his voice gentle but laced with something deeper, something more curious. “Will you be wed soon?”

The question caught you off guard, though in truth, you should have expected it. You lifted your gaze to meet his, searching his expression. There was no jest in his tone, no teasing smirk on his lips—only a quiet, genuine interest.

For a moment, you considered your answer.

Then, with a slow, knowing smile, you tilted your head at him. “I intend to enjoy my youth a little longer before becoming some lord’s wife.”

Jace exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head as though unsurprised by your response. “That sounds like you,” he admitted, amusement flickering in his brown eyes. “You were always too free-spirited to be tied down so soon.”

Your smile widened. “Would you rather I be married?” you teased, arching a delicate brow at him.

Jacaerys hesitated only for a moment before his fingers curled slightly against your waist.

“No,” he admitted, his voice lower now, more intimate. “Not yet.”

The honesty in his tone sent a thrill through you, a warmth that settled in your chest and spread through your limbs.

But before you could respond, the music swelled into its final note, and Jace—perhaps sensing the moment was slipping away—grinned before spinning you one last time, drawing a surprised laugh from your lips.

When the dance ended, he bowed slightly, his fingers reluctantly slipping from your waist. “Thank you for the dance,” he said, his voice softer now.

You smiled, dipping into a playful curtsy. “Anytime, my prince.”

And as you turned back toward the high table, you could still feel the warmth of his hand lingering against your skin, even as the weight of a dozen burning gazes followed your every step.

The night had stretched long, filled with laughter, whispered confessions, and stolen glances that burned with unspoken meaning. You had danced until your feet ached, until the music blurred into a haze of notes and murmured voices, until exhaustion settled deep into your limbs like a slow, creeping tide.

Now, as the grand feast continued in the throne room, your mother’s hand lay firm yet gentle on your back, guiding you away from the lingering eyes that had followed you all evening. The corridor was quieter, the torchlight flickering against the cold stone walls, and for the first time since the celebration began, you could finally breathe.

Alicent remained silent as she led you to your chambers, though you could feel the weight of her thoughts pressing against the air between you. It was not until your maids opened the heavy wooden doors that she finally spoke.

“You did well tonight,” she murmured, her voice soft yet edged with something unreadable. “You carried yourself with grace.”

You turned to her, exhaustion pulling at your features, but you smiled nonetheless. “It was a celebration, Mother. I merely enjoyed myself.”

She hummed in response, but said nothing more as your maids moved to unfasten the intricate clasps and pins that held your gown together.

As the layers of heavy brocade and embroidered silks slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet in a whisper of fabric, you exhaled a long, relieved sigh. The weight of the dress had been suffocating, the jewels that adorned your neck and wrists had dug into your skin, leaving behind faint imprints of their presence.

Your mother stepped closer, her fingers carefully undoing the last of your necklaces before placing it atop the vanity. She lingered there for a moment, staring at the delicate strand of gold, her expression unreadable.

Then, she finally spoke. “You received many offers tonight.”

You blinked at her reflection in the mirror, tilting your head slightly. “Offers?”

Alicent met your gaze in the glass, her brow lifting ever so slightly. “Marriage proposals,” she clarified. “More than fifty.”

You laughed, the sound light, almost amused. “Fifty? That is… excessive.”

Your mother did not laugh with you. “You are of age now,” she reminded you, smoothing her hands over the thin fabric of your nightgown as one of your maids finished tying the ribbons at your back. “It is only natural.”

Your smile lingered, though it softened with something more thoughtful. You turned to face her fully, your bare feet cool against the stone floor. “I have no intention of marrying so soon after my nameday,” you admitted.

Alicent studied you, and for a moment, something in her eyes—something wary, something uncertain—flickered. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by quiet understanding.

“Good,” she murmured, though her voice held a touch of relief. “It is your choice.,”

Her approval settled warmly in your chest, and you reached for her hand, squeezing it gently.

“Rest now,” she said, brushing a loose curl away from your face. “I will have the maids bring you tea to help you sleep.”

You nodded, exhaustion finally pulling at your limbs as you settled onto the edge of your bed. Your mother watched you for a moment longer before turning to leave, her steps quiet against the stone.

As the door shut softly behind her, you exhaled, tilting your head back slightly. The room was quiet now, save for the soft rustle of your maid arranging your covers.

The weight of the evening still clung to your skin, the echoes of laughter and whispered words lingering like ghosts in the dark. And yet, despite the exhaustion, despite the heaviness in your limbs, you could not shake the way certain gazes had followed you tonight.

Lingering. Burning. Waiting.

With a final sigh, you slipped beneath the silken sheets, your fingers tracing absentmindedly over the faint imprints of jewelry that still marked your skin.

Tomorrow, the world would still be watching. But for now, in the quiet of your chambers, you allowed yourself a moment of peace.

The morning sun filtered through your chamber windows, bathing the room in a soft golden glow. You sat before the vanity, running a fine-toothed comb through the loose waves of your hair, still lost in the haze of the previous night’s events. Your mind replayed the music, the laughter, the whispers that had danced along your skin like a lingering touch.

But then, a firm knock at your door shattered the quiet.

“Enter,” you called, setting the comb down as the door swung open.

Ser Criston Cole stood there, clad in his dark armor, his expression unreadable yet laced with something guarded. He bowed his head slightly. “Princess, your presence has been requested in the throne room.”

You frowned slightly. “By whom?”

“Your mother and father,” he answered. “At once.”

A strange unease coiled in your chest, but you simply nodded, smoothing out the delicate fabric of your gown before rising to your feet. As you stepped toward him, he fell into step beside you, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword as he led you down the long corridors of the Red Keep.

The walk to the throne room felt longer than usual, your mind racing with possibilities. Was this about last night? Had something happened after you left?

The great doors to the throne room were already open when you arrived, and as you stepped inside, the first thing you saw made your breath hitch painfully in your throat.

Your father—King Viserys—sat upon the Iron Throne.

But it was not the image of strength and power that the seat of kings should hold. No, he looked… fragile. Weaker than you had ever seen him before. His form slumped slightly, his skin paler than it had been the previous evening. The weight of the crown seemed almost too much for him to bear.

Your heart shattered.

Still, he managed to lift his head, his weary gaze finding yours as a small, almost wistful smile touched his lips. “My daughter.”

You stepped forward, a lump forming in your throat. “Father.”

The air in the throne room was thick with tension, every noble, every member of court, standing still as though the very walls held their breath. You glanced to the side and saw your mother, her face carefully composed but her hands clasped tightly together—a sign of her unease.

Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron stood nearby, their expressions unreadable, though you could see the way their shoulders had gone rigid. Even Otto Hightower’s gaze was sharp, calculative, as if already measuring the weight of the conversation that was about to unfold.

And then, your father spoke.

“The Prince of Dorne spoke to me this morning.”

The words echoed in the vast chamber, bouncing off the stone walls, settling like a heavy weight upon your chest.

Your brows furrowed slightly. “The Prince of Dorne?”

Viserys inhaled slowly, as if gathering his strength. “He has come with a proposal,” he said, voice rasping with age and illness. “He seeks your hand in marriage.”

The throne room fell into utter silence.

Frozen. Unmoving.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Marriage.

The word rang in your mind like a tolling bell.

You felt the shift in the air immediately—your brothers standing even straighter, their gazes darkening, the tension rolling off them like an approaching storm. Your mother’s lips parted slightly, her grip on her own wrists tightening just the slightest bit. Even Otto, always composed, blinked in what might have been the faintest trace of surprise.

And yet, it was Daemon’s reaction that struck you the most.

The Rogue Prince sat upon the steps of the throne, one arm draped lazily over his knee, his expression unreadable. But there was something sharp in his violet gaze as he looked at you—something assessing, something dangerous.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to speak, though your voice was softer than you intended. “The Prince of Dorne…” You trailed off, tilting your head slightly. “Why me?”

Your father’s gaze softened. “Because you are the only daughter of House Targaryen and House Hightower,” he murmured. “You are a union of fire and faith, and Dorne seeks peace through marriage.”

You pressed your lips together, mind racing.

A political marriage.

A way to secure peace.

A cage wrapped in golden silk.

You glanced at your mother, searching her face for anything—approval, dismay, reluctance—but Alicent’s expression was unreadable, her brown eyes flickering with something only she understood.

And then, a new voice broke the silence.

“They would send their prince here for her?”

The voice was low, edged with something dangerous. You turned slightly and met Aemond’s gaze. He stood tall, arms crossed over his chest, his single eye burning with something close to fury.

“How interesting,” Aegon mused beside him, though his smirk did little to mask the tension radiating from him. “Dorne must be truly desperate.”

Your father’s gaze flickered toward your brothers, but it was Daeron who spoke next, voice calmer but no less sharp. “Has my sister given her thoughts on the matter?”

Silence.

And then, all eyes turned back to you.

You inhaled deeply, gathering your composure before meeting your father’s gaze once more. “I am honored by the proposal,” you said carefully, choosing your words like a blade poised at your throat. “But marriage is not something I have considered so soon after my nameday.”

Viserys let out a slow breath, exhaustion weighing him down. “I do not wish to force you into anything you do not want,” he murmured. “But this is an offer worth considering.”

You nodded, though your mind was still reeling.

Alicent finally stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “You do not need to decide today,” she reassured, though her voice was firmer than usual. “We will speak more of this later.”

You exhaled, allowing her touch to ground you. “Thank you, Mother.”

Still, as you turned to leave the throne room, you could feel the weight of their gazes upon your back—your brothers, your uncle, the entire court. And you knew, without a doubt, that this proposal had stirred something dangerous in them. Something possessive. Something that would not be easily tamed.

The gardens of the Red Keep were bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun, the scent of blooming jasmine and citrus trees heavy in the warm air. The whispers of rustling leaves and the gentle trickling of the fountains did little to ease the tension coiled in your chest.

Your mind was still reeling from this morning’s announcement. Marriage. To a Dornish prince. The words felt foreign on your tongue, the idea of it unsettling despite your carefully composed response in the throne room.

As you wandered the winding paths of the gardens, trailing your fingers along the soft petals of a blood-red rose, a strange sensation crept over you. The unmistakable feeling of being watched.

You halted mid-step, your gaze flickering to the side. And there, leaning against the stone archway that framed the garden, stood Prince Qyle of Dorne.

He was watching you.

A knowing smile played at his lips, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable, something amused. The wind tugged at his sun-kissed curls, and his silk garments—deep shades of gold and burnt orange—clung to his form, a stark contrast to the blacks and reds of your own house.

The moment your eyes met his, he pushed off the wall, walking toward you with the easy grace of a man who knew his own charm.

“Princess,” he greeted smoothly, his voice carrying the distinct accent of Dorne, lilting and warm, like honey dripped over fire.

You inhaled deeply before offering a polite smile. “Prince Qyle.”

He extended a hand toward you, palm up, fingers long and elegant. “Might I have the honor of accompanying you through the gardens?”

You hesitated only a breath before slipping your hand into his, ever the proper princess. His fingers curled around yours, warm and firm, as he led you along the cobblestone path.

“You are even lovelier beneath the sun,” Qyle murmured after a moment, his gaze drifting from your face to the curve of your bare shoulders. “Though I imagine your beauty does not fade under moonlight either.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, tilting your head slightly. “You flatter me, my prince.”

“I only speak the truth,” he countered smoothly, glancing down at you with dark eyes that gleamed with mischief. “Is it wrong to admire the woman who might one day be my wife?”

Your steps faltered slightly, but Qyle’s grip on your hand remained steady.

“You assume much,” you mused, recovering quickly. “I have yet to accept any proposal.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Of course. But in Dorne, we are taught to go after what we want.” His thumb brushed lazily against the back of your hand, an innocent gesture yet intimate enough to stir something unfamiliar in your stomach. “And I find that I want you, Princess.”

Your breath hitched, and for the first time, you truly looked at him. Not as the political pawn your father wished to wed you to, but as a man. A man who was undeniably attractive, undeniably confident. His presence was unlike that of your brothers, your uncles. He did not look at you with possession, with a claim already placed upon you. No, he looked at you like a conquest he intended to win.

“You are bold,” you murmured, arching a delicate brow.

“And you are captivating,” he returned. “Tell me, do your Targaryen princes court you so openly? Or do they whisper their desires behind closed doors?”

You hesitated, unsure of what to say. Because the truth was, your brothers—Aegon, Aemond, Daeron—held their affections in a way that was more dangerous than mere words. They hovered, they watched, they claimed you in ways unspoken, ways that made your mother’s wary glances linger longer than they should.

Qyle studied your silence, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “Ah,” he mused, “so they do not speak it aloud, but it is there.”

You gave him a pointed look. “Are all Dornishmen this presumptuous?”

“We prefer to think of it as honesty,” he replied easily, before tugging you to a halt beneath the shade of a towering orange tree. His free hand reached up, plucking a ripe fruit from the branch. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled a small dagger from the sheath at his waist, slicing the fruit open in one smooth motion.

The scent of citrus filled the air as he lifted one of the slices to your lips.

“Try it,” he murmured.

You hesitated, your lips parting slightly as he brushed the fruit against them. The juice dripped down your chin as you took a bite, the burst of sweet and tangy flavor flooding your senses. Before you could react, Qyle reached forward, his thumb sweeping over your chin to catch the stray droplet of juice. His eyes flickered to your lips. Your breath stilled.

And then—

“Step away from my sister.”

The voice was low, edged with warning, and it sent a shiver down your spine. Qyle did not move immediately. Instead, he smirked as he turned his head, meeting Aemond’s gaze with the air of a man who enjoyed pressing his luck.

Aemond stood at the edge of the garden path, his single eye gleaming with barely restrained fury. His hand was resting on the hilt of his sword, fingers tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

And behind him, Aegon was watching, arms crossed over his chest, his usual smirk absent from his face. Daeron lingered slightly behind them, his mouth set in a tight line, his violet eyes flickering between you and Qyle.

Qyle exhaled a quiet chuckle, releasing your hand with a deliberate slowness. “I see that your brothers do speak, after all.” He turned his gaze back to you, his smirk softening. “A pity. I was enjoying our time together.”

You swallowed hard, glancing toward your brothers, whose expressions burned with something dangerously close to possession.

“I should return,” you murmured, your voice softer now. Qyle gave you a slow, lingering look before stepping back. “Until we meet again, Princess.”

And with that, he turned and strolled away, leaving behind nothing but the scent of oranges and the smoldering gazes of your brothers.

The moment Qyle disappeared from sight, a firm hand clamped around your wrist.

“Aemond—” you gasped, your voice barely above a breath as you felt yourself being yanked forward, the warmth of the Dornish sun replaced by the cool shadows of the Red Keep’s stone corridors.

His grip was unrelenting, his pace unyielding. His fingers dug into your delicate skin, as if determined to brand himself upon you, to remind you that you were not meant to slip through his grasp.

“Aemond, stop!” you pleaded, your free hand grasping at his wrist, nails digging into his sleeve in desperation.

Behind you, the hurried steps of your other brothers echoed through the hallway, a silent pack following the scent of their own fury. Aegon and Daeron trailed close, their own breaths heavy with something dark, something possessive.

But Aemond did not stop.

His pace quickened, his long strides forcing you to stumble slightly, your slippers barely catching the stone beneath you. The sudden jolt of nearly losing your footing sent a sharp pang of fear through you.

“Aemond, please—!”

Your words were cut short as your foot slipped on the edge of the stairway leading to another corridor, the world tilting as your body lurched forward. A gasp tore from your lips. But before you could fall, strong arms encircled you, halting your descent.

“Enough!”

The voice rang through the hallway, sharp and commanding, cutting through the tension like a blade through flesh.

Aemond froze.

You barely had time to register the warmth surrounding you before you were enveloped in the soft, familiar scent of lavender and myrrh.

Your mother.

Alicent held you close, her grip tight as if she could shield you from the fury that lingered in the air. Her hands trembled slightly as she ran them over your arms, her eyes scanning you for any sign of harm.

“Have you lost your minds?” Alicent’s voice was sharp, laced with an emotion you couldn’t quite place—fear, anger, desperation. “Dragging her through the Keep like a common prisoner?”

Aemond’s jaw tensed, his fingers flexing at his sides. He said nothing, his eye burning with something dangerous, something unresolved.

“She was with him,” Aegon muttered, his voice laced with something bitter, something possessive. He took a step closer, his gaze flickering to yours. “She let him touch her.”

You stiffened.

Alicent turned her gaze to you, her brown eyes searching yours with an urgency that made your heart pound. “Is this true?” she asked, her voice softer now, pleading.

You hesitated.

Because what could you say? That a man simply held your hand? That his fingers had brushed your lips? That for the first time, someone outside of your own blood had looked at you as a woman, not a sister?

Before you could answer, Aemond scoffed. “She let him,” he repeated, his voice bitter, sharp as Valyrian steel. “She stood there and let him feed her fruit like some Dornish whore.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Aemond—”

“You should be grateful it was only her wrist I grabbed,” he continued, his voice low, venomous. “He touched her. He dared put his hands on something that does not belong to him.” Something. Not someone.

Your stomach twisted at his words.

“I do not belong to you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but the force behind it made all three of your brothers still.

Aemond’s eye darkened. Aegon clenched his jaw. Daeron, who had been silent until now, inhaled deeply, his eyes clouded with conflict. Alicent’s grip on you tightened, her own breath shuddering.

“You are my daughter,” she whispered, her voice thick with something pained, something exhausted. “Not some prize to be fought over.”

Aegon chuckled darkly. “Tell that to them,” he muttered, motioning toward his brothers before glancing at you. “Or better yet, tell it to yourself, sweet sister.”

Your breath hitched.

Alicent turned sharply to her eldest son, fire flashing in her eyes. “Aegon, enough.”

Aegon only smirked, tilting his head slightly as his gaze flickered over you, lingering. Alicent exhaled shakily before turning back to you, cupping your face between her trembling hands. “You will not see him again,” she said, her tone firm but laced with desperation.

You opened your mouth to protest, but she shook her head.

“No.” Her voice cracked slightly. “I will not allow this. You are to be married to a nobleman, not to be some Dornish prince’s plaything.”

You swallowed hard.

Married.

You knew it was inevitable. Knew your duty was to be bound to some lord, some prince for the sake of your family. But you had not expected it to happen so soon. Had not expected it to be dictated so harshly. Alicent turned to Ser Criston, who had been standing near the corridor in silence, watching the scene unfold with a clenched jaw.

“Take her to her chambers,” she ordered.

You wanted to argue. To protest. To remind her that you were not a child to be locked away. But the moment you met Aemond’s gaze—the storm raging behind his eye, the quiet fury simmering in Aegon’s smirk, the way Daeron simply looked away, as if he could not bear to meet your stare—you knew there was no winning.

Not this time.

So you swallowed your pride, inhaled deeply, and turned toward Ser Criston.

“Come, Princess,” he murmured, his voice softer than you expected. You followed him without another word. and behind you, you could feel their eyes watching. Burning. Waiting.

The door shut behind you with a quiet but final thud, sealing you inside the familiar sanctuary of your chambers. Your heart pounded in your chest, a wild, desperate rhythm that echoed the chaos inside you.

Your maids hesitated by the door, their hands clasped together, glancing at each other with uncertainty.

“My lady, are you certain—”

“Lock the door,” you interrupted, your voice sharp, unwavering.

Their eyes widened slightly at the demand, their hands twitching at their skirts. The weight of their silence was almost suffocating, thick with unsaid protests.

“Now.” Your tone left no room for argument. With hurried movements, they obeyed, the sound of the key turning in the lock cutting through the stillness of the room. You exhaled, your breath unsteady as you watched the small metal object slide beneath the heavy wooden door, glinting faintly in the dim candlelight.

And then, with the sharp tip of your slipper, you kicked it. The tiny key skidded across the floor, disappearing beneath the folds of the heavy curtains by the window.

Lost.

Just like that, you were alone.

Isolated.

Your body trembled—not from fear, but from something deeper, something raw that clawed at your insides. Frustration. Desperation. The realization that no matter how high the walls of this keep stood, you would never truly be safe.

Not from them.

Not from yourself.

With slow, measured steps, you moved to the center of your chambers, the silence pressing against your skin like a suffocating shroud. The air was thick with the remnants of the night, of heated glances and possessive touches, of whispered claims disguised as protection.

You pressed a hand to your temple, trying to will away the storm raging in your mind. Aemond’s grip, unrelenting around your wrist. Aegon’s smirk, knowing, taunting. Daeron’s quiet acceptance, his silence louder than any words. Your mother’s desperation, the exhaustion lining her face as she clung to you like she was trying to keep you from slipping away.

And then there was him.

Prince Qyle.

A man who had done nothing more than offer his hand, his voice soft with admiration, his presence unfamiliar in a way that was almost… freeing. But freedom was an illusion.

You had seen it in the way Aemond’s eye burned with quiet fury. Felt it in the way Aegon’s voice curled around the word belong. Heard it in the way Alicent had whispered, you will not see him again.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips.

This was your fate. Not as a daughter. Not as a princess. But as a prize. A thing to be possessed, claimed, stolen before another could reach out and take you first.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your gown, nails digging into your palms as you closed your eyes. The weight of your brothers’ stares still lingered on your skin, seared into the very marrow of your bones.

Would they come for you?

Would they be the ones to break through the locked door, to take what they had already deemed theirs? Or would you be left alone in this gilded cage of your own making, waiting, waiting— Always waiting.

The soft murmurs of the court faded into a distant hum as Alicent excused herself from the King’s solar, her movements hurried, her heart heavy with unease. The absence of your presence at supper gnawed at her, twisting something deep inside her chest. You had never missed a meal before—never isolated yourself like this.

Not until tonight.

Behind her, the hurried steps of her sons followed, their presence a silent defiance of her attempt to dismiss them. Aegon, his smirk long gone, walked with a tension that rarely graced his usually careless demeanor. Daeron, quieter, but no less persistent, exchanged glances with Aemond—whose face was unreadable, his one violet eye dark with something she could not name. When Alicent reached your chambers, she twisted the doorknob.

Locked.

A tight, sinking feeling settled in her stomach as she knocked, her voice firm yet laced with motherly concern. “Open the door, darling.”

Silence.

She knocked again, this time more urgently. “It’s me. Please, open the door.” Then, finally, your voice came—muffled by the thick wood separating you from them.

“Go away.”

Alicent stiffened.

“My love,” she tried again, her palm pressing against the door as if she could reach you through sheer will alone. “Please, don’t do this. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Your laugh was sharp, bitter—so unlike the melodic giggles she had cherished for years. “You already know.”

Her lips parted, but before she could utter another word, Aemond’s voice cut through the dimly lit corridor, low and tainted with something dangerously close to regret.

“Sister—”

“Do not call me that.”

A beat of silence.

Then, your voice again—shaking, but no less sharp.

“Is that what you see me as, Aemond? A Dornish whore?”

The words hit like a blade to the gut. Alicent’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes snapped to Aemond, whose entire body went rigid, jaw locking as he stared at the door as if he could will it to open. His fingers twitched at his sides, the leather of his tunic creaking under the pressure of his clenched fists.

Aegon let out a slow, exhaled curse under his breath. Daeron—sweet, quiet Daeron—simply stared, his expression one of quiet horror. The weight of what Aemond had done, of what he had said, settled upon them all.

“Aemond,” Alicent whispered, her voice barely audible, laced with a disbelief she rarely allowed herself to feel.

He said nothing. But he didn’t have to, because the damage was already done. She turned back to the door, pressing her palm against the wood once more, desperate, pleading. “My love, he didn’t mean it.”

A humorless chuckle. “Didn’t he?”

Alicent’s throat tightened, her nails digging into the door as she shook her head. “You know your brother. You know how he is when—”

“When he feels threatened?” Your voice was mocking now, brittle as shattered glass. “That is what I am to you all, isn’t it?”

Alicent felt her heartbeat in her ears, a sickening pulse that echoed your words. Aemond’s breaths grew heavier beside her, and when she turned to him, she saw something in his face that almost looked like fear.

“I never meant—”

“You all meant it.” Your voice wavered now, and that was what shattered her the most. She could hear it—barely contained, restrained but present nonetheless. The hurt. The betrayal.

A mother knows.

“Sweet girl,” Alicent whispered, pressing her forehead against the door as if the cool wood could ease the burning ache inside her. “Please, let me in. Let me see you.”

Nothing.

And then— “I don’t want to see any of you.”

The finality in your tone was the last dagger to her heart. Alicent took a step back, her vision blurring as her fingers trembled at her sides. Her sons stood behind her, silent, unmoving—each lost in the weight of what had transpired.

Aegon sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Well, Aemond, you’ve really fucked this one up.” Aemond said nothing. Because for the first time in his life— He had no way to fix it.

The days bled together like ink seeping into parchment, each moment stretching into the next, void of meaning, void of color. The once-vibrant world beyond your chamber door had dulled to nothing but distant echoes—pleas, whispers, the muffled arguments of those who had betrayed you.

You did not respond.

You did not move.

You only existed, trapped in this fragile shell of silence, your body curled atop your bed, clutching the porcelain doll that had once been your childhood comfort. Its glassy eyes stared at you, unblinking, soulless—a perfect reflection of the emptiness festering inside you.

Your lips were dry, chapped from disuse. The only thing that passed them was the occasional sip of water, just enough to keep you breathing, but never enough to make you feel alive. You had not eaten in days. The hunger clawed at your ribs, a dull ache that never quite left, but you welcomed it.

It was a distraction from the deeper, more unbearable pain. Outside your door, the world did not stop. It never did.

“Please, my love,” your mother’s voice trembled as she knocked softly against the wood, as she had done every morning, every night, every moment she could. “Just open the door. Just let me see you. Let me help.”

Nothing.

A pause. A shuddering breath.

“Your father asks for you,” she whispered. “He is growing weaker. He… he misses you.” Your fingers clenched around the doll. Your throat tightened. But you did not move. Another knock—louder, more insistent. This time, it was Aegon.

“Alright, this is ridiculous,” he huffed, frustration laced through the forced casualness of his tone. “You can’t just lock yourself away forever, little sister. You’re being dramatic.”

Still, you did not answer.

A sigh.

Then, Aemond’s voice—lower, restrained, guilty.

“Sister.”

It was not the word that made your stomach twist. It was the way he said it. Soft. Measured. Uncharacteristically vulnerable. Like he knew the damage he had done. Like he hated himself for it. A beat of silence passed.

Then another.

Then—

“I should not have said those words.” Aemond’s voice was quiet now, stripped of the sharp arrogance it usually carried. “I do not expect you to forgive me.” A pause. A swallow. “But please… come out.”

For a fleeting second, your grip on the doll loosened. But then you remembered. The way they had dragged you from the gardens. The way Aemond’s fingers had tightened around your wrist. The way he had spat those words at you, branding them into your skin like a searing blade.

Dornish whore.

And suddenly, the ache in your stomach was nothing compared to the one in your chest. You turned onto your side, pressing your cheek into the pillow, curling further into yourself.

From outside, the silence stretched.

Then, a sharp thud. Aemond’s fist against the door. “Aegon’s right,” he muttered, his voice colder now, tinged with something unreadable. “This is childish.”

A deep breath.

“And you are stronger than this.”

A single tear burned its way down your cheek. Not because of his words. But because a small, treacherous part of you wanted to believe him. That night, as the voices faded, as the knocking stopped, as the world quieted once more— You lay there, unblinking, the doll still clutched to your chest. And you realized— It was easier to feel nothing at all.

The door creaked as it swung open.

For the first time in days, you stood there—frail, silent, hollow. The dim candlelight flickered across your pale skin, casting shadows beneath your lifeless eyes. You did not look at them, the ones who had begged for your presence, who had knocked upon your door until their knuckles bruised.

Your mother inhaled sharply, her hands trembling at the sight of you. Aegon straightened from where he had been slouched against the wall, his usual arrogance replaced with something unreadable. Aemond’s eye flickered with a mixture of relief and something else—something sharp, something laced with regret. Daeron, the most innocent of them, simply stared, his lips parting as if to say something—only to stop when he saw the emptiness in your gaze.

You said nothing, You did not smile. You simply turned, your feet carrying you through the halls of the Red Keep, your brothers and mother trailing behind you like shadows.

No one dared to speak.

Not as you made your way through the winding corridors, past the looming figures of guards, past the lingering scent of burning candles and incense, past the hushed whispers of servants who had all but given up on ever seeing you again.

Not as you stepped into the threshold of your father’s chambers.

The air was thick with the scent of decay, of sickness. The once-mighty Viserys the Peaceful lay upon his grand bed, his body withered, his skin ashen, his breath shallow. His crown—your birthright, your family’s legacy—lay abandoned beside him, untouched, a symbol of a kingdom that was slipping through his fingers.

Your throat tightened. You had prepared yourself for this or so you had thought.

But nothing could have prepared you for the sight of him like this—so weak, so small, so far removed from the father you once knew, the father who had doted on you, who had once held you upon his knee and told you tales of Old Valyria, of dragons, of kings and queens long past.

Your lips parted—only for nothing to come out.

You could not speak.

The words—the grief—lodged itself in your throat, suffocating you. So you simply stepped forward, your trembling hands reaching for his. His skin was cold, far too cold, and yet, when your fingers brushed against his, his eyelids fluttered open.

For a moment, he looked confused.

Then—recognition.

“…Daughter,” he rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. Your lips trembled. You tried to answer him, to let him know you were here, that you had returned.

But no sound came.

Your voice—your strength—was gone.

A broken breath escaped you as you simply sat there, your fingers curling around his frail hand. Your silence spoke louder than any words ever could.

Behind you, you heard movement. Your mother and brothers had followed you inside, standing just beyond the threshold, hesitant, watching. Alicent’s hand covered her mouth, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Aegon looked away, his fingers flexing at his sides as if struggling to remain composed. Aemond’s jaw tightened. Daeron’s lips pressed into a thin line.

They were seeing you now—truly seeing you. The shell of the sister they had broken. The princess who had locked herself away and emerged without a voice, without the light that once resided in her eyes. And for the first time— They understood the weight of what they had done.

The warmth of your father’s skin lingered against your lips as you pressed a trembling kiss to his forehead. His breathing was shallow—so faint it was barely there at all. You lingered for a moment, fingers ghosting over his fragile hand before you pulled away.

The room was suffocating. The scent of burning incense, the dim candlelight flickering against the stone walls, the sound of your mother’s quiet weeping—it was too much.

You needed to leave.

Your feet felt like lead as you turned toward the door. Each step was a battle, the weight of exhaustion pressing against your limbs. Days without eating, without truly living, had stolen the strength from your body, but you pushed forward.

One step. Another.

Then—nothing.

Your knees buckled.

A choked gasp escaped you as the world tilted, the stone floor rushing up to meet you. The sound of your mother’s frantic cry rang in your ears, distant, as if she were calling to you from the other side of the world.

“No—no, my love—!”

Hands grasped at you—familiar hands, desperate hands. Your mother’s arms wrapped around you, cradling your body against her as if she could keep you tethered to this world, as if her love alone could rewrite fate.

Your brothers were there—Aegon cursing under his breath, his usual arrogance replaced by something raw and broken. Aemond’s face was unreadable, but his fingers clenched into fists so tightly they trembled. Daeron’s lips parted as if to speak, but no words came.

You tried to breathe.

Tried to hold on.

But it was too late.

A smile ghosted your lips as your blurred vision settled on your mother’s face, her emerald-green eyes wide with terror. You reached for her, brushing your fingertips against her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin one last time.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Then—nothing.

The world faded.

A great darkness enveloped you, pulling you under like a tide, deeper and deeper until there was no pain, no sorrow, no weight upon your chest. The exhaustion that had plagued you for so long melted away, replaced by something light, something free.

And then—

“Daughter.”

Your eyes fluttered open.

The room was gone. The heavy stone walls, the flickering candles, the throne that had cast a shadow over your entire life—none of it remained.

Instead, you stood in a grand hall bathed in golden light, the scent of dragonfire lingering in the air. The warmth of the sun kissed your skin, and the wind tousled your hair as if it were welcoming you home. And there—by the great arched window—he stood.

Your father.

Not the frail, dying man you had left behind, but the King he had once been—the man who had lifted you onto his knee and told you stories of Balerion the Black Dread, the father who had placed a crown of flowers atop your head and called you his brightest star.

Tears welled in your eyes, but they did not fall.

You were a child again.

A little girl with wild laughter, with bare feet against the cool stone floor, with a heart that had never known sorrow. With a soft giggle, you ran to him—your small hands reaching, your father’s arms opening wide to catch you. And as he lifted you into the air, spinning you as he had done long ago, you knew— You were finally home.

The great hall was silent.

Not the silence of peace, nor of reverence, but of grief—a silence so thick it suffocated, pressing upon the lungs of those gathered like a heavy fog. No one spoke, no one dared to. Even the torches along the walls burned lower, as if mourning alongside the kingdom.

At the center of the throne room, upon a bed of silken drapery, lay two bodies.

Viserys, King of the Seven Kingdoms, Ruler of the Realm—lifeless, his once-golden crown now set beside him. His frail body, no longer suffering, no longer withering away under the weight of his reign.

And beside him—you.

Draped in a gown of the purest white, the very color meant for a bride, not a corpse. A cruel trick of the gods, a mockery of fate itself.

Your hands were folded delicately upon your chest, as if in sleep. Your golden lashes rested against your cheeks, your lips curved into the faintest of smiles. A bride for no one. A daughter lost. A sister stolen.

Your mother knelt beside you, her trembling fingers brushing against your cheek. Alicent Hightower—Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the unshakable force behind the throne—wept. She did not care for who bore witness. She did not care for propriety or for the expectations of a court that demanded strength from her.

“This is not how it was meant to be,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, broken. “Not like this.”

Aegon stood at the foot of the bier, his face unreadable. His lips parted as if he wished to speak, to say something, but what words could undo what had been done? What jest, what arrogance, what careless remark could shield him from the agony of losing the only sister who had never seen him as a failure?

Aemond did not move.

He stood still as a statue, his lone eye locked upon your face. He had mocked you, taunted you, called you a Dornish whore in a moment of bitter rage—he had hurt you, and now you were gone. His fingers twitched at his side, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. He would have given anything to take back those words, to undo that night, to fix what had been shattered.

Daeron, the youngest of your brothers, let his tears fall freely. His hand clutched at yours, gripping your cold fingers as if he could will life back into them. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, wake up.” But there was no answer, no warmth in your touch.

Helaena sat beside your mother, her sobs soft but unrelenting. She had dreamed of this. She had seen it before it happened, and yet she had been powerless to stop it. Her delicate fingers traced idle patterns upon the silk of your gown, as if trying to etch your presence into her memory before it faded forever.

The court stood at a distance, their faces a mix of sorrow and unease. Lords and ladies, knights and advisors—all gathered to bear witness not to a joyous union, but to a tragedy that would haunt the realm for years to come.

It was supposed to be your wedding.

You were meant to stand before them as a bride, draped in finery, adorned in jewels, a crown upon your head as you took your place beside a husband of your choosing. Your mother was supposed to smile as she placed a veil upon you. Your brothers were supposed to drink in your honor, to fight over who would have the first dance.

Instead, you lay cold and still, untouched by time, wrapped in the shroud of death. Your mother’s fingers curled into your gown, clutching at the fabric like a lifeline.

“My love,” she murmured. “My sweetest girl.”

She had lost her youth.

She had lost her husband.

And now—she had lost you.

Aegon turned away first, unable to look any longer. He stormed out of the hall, his shoulders trembling, his grief masked by frustration. Aemond lingered, his fingers twitching at his side as if he wanted to reach for you but couldn’t bear to touch something so fragile. Daeron did not let go.

Your mother did not move.

The bells of the Red Keep tolled in the distance, their solemn chimes echoing through the castle, announcing to the realm what they had lost.

A King.

A Princess.

And with them, the last remnants of innocence in a world that had always been far too cruel.

Tag List : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @hayleythecannibal @ceoofglytchell l @ashblooddragons @laedeviour @venusbyline

[vaelry]

HOTD Characters Reaction When You Mad Cause They Cheated On You In Your Dream.

Pairing : Aegon Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Jacaerys Velaryon, Daemon Targaryen, Lucerys Velaryon And Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Thanks to @zaldritzosrose for letting me using your beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

Aegon.

Aegon leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you pace around the room with a mix of confusion and amusement. His brows were furrowed, but his lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh.

“So let me get this straight,” he drawled, pushing off the door and walking toward you. “You woke up mad at me… because I cheated on you in a dream?”

You shot him a glare. “Yes.”

He blinked, running a hand through his messy blonde hair. “Baby. That’s insane.”

“What’s insane is that you didn’t even seem sorry!” you snapped, arms crossed. “You just—just stood there looking smug, like you didn’t even care that I saw you!”

Aegon sighed heavily, rubbing his face before stepping closer, his voice dropping into that low, authoritative tone that always made you weak.

“First of all,” he muttered, tilting his head, “I didn’t do anything. Dream-me did. And I don’t control that cocky bastard.”

You scoffed, but Aegon’s hands were already on your waist, firm, possessive, pulling you against him.

“Second,” he continued, his voice huskier now, “you really think I’d ever want someone else? Hm?”

You tried to hold onto your anger, but he was so close, his warmth seeping into you, his grip unrelenting. His fingers slid down your hips, tightening just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You’re being a brat,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours, his smirk returning. “Getting all worked up over a dream… maybe you just needed an excuse to get my attention.”

You huffed, but the way his rough palms moved against your skin made your stomach flip.

“Tell me, baby,” Aegon whispered, lips grazing your ear, “do I need to punish you for doubting me? Or should I spend all night proving you’re the only one I’d ever fucking touch?”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and suddenly, you weren’t quite so mad anymore.

Aemond.

Aemond sat at the edge of the bed, his jaw clenched, fingers pressed to his temple like he was trying to find patience he didn’t have. His stormy eye locked onto you as you stood there, arms crossed, fuming.

“So let me get this straight,” he said slowly, his voice low and sharp. “You’re mad at me… because I cheated on you. In a dream.”

You huffed, refusing to look at him. “Yes.”

Aemond exhaled through his nose, annoyed but trying to keep his composure. He tilted his head, watching you like you were something he needed to tame.

“You’re being ridiculous, but fine,” he muttered, rising to his feet in one smooth, controlled movement. “You want me to apologize for something I never did?”

You glared at him. “You didn’t even look sorry in the dream. You just stood there, all smug and—and arrogant, like you didn’t even care.”

Aemond’s eye twitched, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You do realize how insane this is, don’t you?”

You didn’t respond, and that was his last bit of patience gone.

Before you could react, Aemond closed the distance in two strides, his strong hands gripping your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. His eye burned into you, his touch rough, possessive.

“You think I’d ever betray you?” he murmured, his voice like a low growl, sending a shiver down your spine. “You think I’d ever let anyone else touch what’s mine?”

Your breath hitched as his fingers tightened, his grip firm but not painful. His dominance was suffocating, in the way that made your heart race.

“Say it,” he ordered, his voice dark. “Say you know you belong to me.”

You swallowed, your anger slipping into something else entirely.

Aemond smirked, watching the shift in your expression. “That’s what I thought.” He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours but not quite touching. Teasing. Taunting.

“I think,” he whispered, his tone laced with authority, “you’re just begging for my attention. Throwing a tantrum because you want me to remind you exactly who you belong to.”

His hand slid down your waist, gripping your hip, and his eye darkened with intent.

“You’re going to regret waking up mad at me, sweet girl,” he purred. “Because now? Now I have all night to make sure you never even dream of another man again.”

Jacaerys.

Jace sat back on the couch, running a hand through his curls, his jaw clenched in frustration. “So let me get this straight,” he said, voice low and edged with disbelief. “You’re mad at me—actually mad—because of something I did in your dream?”

You stood there, arms crossed, glaring at him. “Yes.”

Jace exhaled sharply, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Baby,” he started, trying to reason with you, but the look in your eyes told him you weren’t ready to let it go.

“You cheated on me,” you accused. “Right in front of me. And you didn’t even look guilty. You just—just smirked, like it didn’t even matter.”

Jace’s dark eyes flashed, frustration warring with amusement. “Because it wasn’t real,” he said, standing up slowly. The way he moved—controlled, deliberate—sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned your head away, still fuming, but Jace wasn’t having it.

Before you could step back, he closed the space between you, his hand gripping your chin, firm, possessive. His fingers tilted your face back up to meet his gaze.

“You think I’d ever betray you?” His voice dropped, dangerous now, low enough to send heat pooling in your stomach.

You swallowed hard but stayed stubbornly silent.

Jace’s grip tightened just slightly, his lips curling into a mocking smirk. “No answer?” he mused. “That’s cute. You know what I think?” His voice was silky smooth, but his eyes burned with something darker.

“I think you wanted an excuse,” he whispered, his free hand sliding down your waist, gripping you tight. “An excuse to push me. To see how far I’ll go to remind you that no one else could ever touch you.”

You tried to glare at him, but the heat in his gaze was overwhelming.

Jace’s lips brushed against your ear, teasing, taunting. “You want me to prove it, don’t you?”

His breath was hot against your skin as he murmured, his tone dripping with dominance, “You wanna throw a fit like a spoiled little thing? Fine. But now, I get to decide exactly how I’m gonna make it up to you.”

His grip tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him. “And trust me, baby, by the time I’m done with you, the only thing you’ll be dreaming about is me.”

Daemon.

Daemon sat at the edge of the bed, arms resting on his thighs, watching you pace the room with an exasperated look. His silver hair was a mess, like he’d just run his hands through it in frustration—because he had.

“So let me see if I understand this correctly,” he said, voice low, edged with irritation. “You woke up—from a dream—where I cheated on you, and now you’re actually mad at me?”

You crossed your arms, refusing to look at him. “You didn’t even look guilty, Daemon,” you snapped. “You just—just smirked like you didn’t care.”

Daemon’s brow twitched, and he exhaled slowly, his patience wearing thin. He stood up, the weight of his presence commanding, suffocating, as he closed the space between you in just a few strides.

His fingers curled under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. His grip was firm but careful, his thumb grazing your lower lip, mocking, testing.

“You’re upset over something that never happened,” he said, his voice dangerously smooth, but his eyes burned with intensity. “Something that only existed in that pretty little head of yours.”

You huffed, trying to pull away, but Daemon’s grip tightened slightly, keeping you in place. His smirk was pure arrogance, a slow, deliberate tilt of his lips.

“But let’s entertain this for a moment,” he murmured, his tone turning silky, lethal. His free hand trailed down your waist, possessive, claiming. “Say I did betray you… how would you punish me, hmm?”

Your breath hitched as his grip on you became unrelenting, his body pressing you against the nearest wall.

Daemon chuckled, dark, amused. “Would you make me suffer, darling?” His lips barely brushed your ear. “Would you make me beg?” His tone dropped even lower, a whisper of heat against your skin.

His fingers slid to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, a silent threat, a promise. “Or would you rather I remind you exactly who you belong to?”

Your resolve wavered, your frustration shifting into something else entirely. Daemon saw it instantly, and his smirk deepened.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured. “Now, let me make something very clear to you.” His grip on your waist tightened, pressing you even harder against the wall. His lips brushed over yours, but he didn’t kiss you—he made you wait, made you ache for it.

“No dream, no illusion, no fantasy could ever compare to what I do to you in reality.” His voice was a dangerous purr, his thumb trailing over your pulse.

“And if you ever wake up angry again,” Daemon smirked, taunting, “I’ll just have to make sure you’re too exhausted to dream at all.”

Lucerys.

Luke blinked at you, completely baffled, his mouth slightly open as he struggled to process what was happening. He looked like a puppy who had just been scolded for something he didn’t do.

“You’re mad at me… because I cheated on you… in a dream?” he asked, voice filled with pure confusion.

“Yes, Lucerys!” you huffed, arms crossed, glaring at him. “You cheated on me right in front of me, and you didn’t even look sorry!”

Luke ran a hand through his curls, still looking at you like he was trying to solve an impossible puzzle. “But… that wasn’t me? That was—dream me? I didn’t actually do anything!”

“But it felt real!” you argued.

Luke let out a soft, frustrated sigh, stepping closer to you, his eyes pleading. “But it wasn’t! I would never do that to you. Why would I ever want someone else when I have you?”

You glared at him, trying to hold onto your anger, but his earnest expression was making it difficult.

Luke hesitated, then reached out, gently grabbing your hands. “Okay,” he said seriously, “I’ll make it up to you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“I don’t know! Should I buy you chocolates? Flowers? Do you want me to write a letter swearing my loyalty to you against all dream-women?”

You tried to stay mad, but his desperation to fix something he didn’t even do was making you soft.

“You should suffer for this, Luke.”

His wide brown eyes blinked at you, mouth twitching. “How much suffering are we talking? Like, ‘let you pick the movie tonight’ suffering or ‘carry you everywhere for the rest of the day’ suffering?”

You squinted. “Both.”

Luke sighed dramatically before smiling and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close. “Fine. But next time, please don’t be mad at me for something I didn’t even do?”

“We’ll see,” you muttered, finally leaning into him.

Luke let out a defeated laugh, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re ridiculous,” he whispered.

“And you’re lucky I love you,” you shot back.

Luke grinned. “I really, really am.”

Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra sat back, arms crossed, her sharp eyes studying you with pure amusement despite the clear frustration in her expression. “So, let me get this straight,” she said slowly, voice low and commanding. “You’re furious with me because I cheated on you… in your dream?”

“Yes!” you snapped, glaring at her. “You didn’t even look guilty! You just stood there and—”

“And what?” she cut in, tilting her head, her tone teasing but edged with authority. “Enjoyed myself?”

You clenched your jaw, trying not to explode, but her smirk—that damned smirk—only made your anger worse.

“That’s not funny, Rhaenyra.”

“Oh, but it is,” she mused, standing up and slowly walking toward you, each step deliberate. Her presence alone made your breath hitch, but you refused to back down.

She reached you, hands trailing up your arms, her touch firm, possessive. “Tell me,” she murmured, “what did I do in this little dream of yours that has you so jealous and needy?”

You scoffed, looking away. “I am not needy—”

Rhaenyra gripped your jaw, forcing your gaze back to her. “Lying doesn’t suit you,” she murmured, dangerously close, her breath warm against your lips. “You woke up angry because even in your dreams, you can’t bear the thought of me touching someone else. Isn’t that right?”

You swallowed hard, refusing to give her the satisfaction. “You’re insufferable.”

She chuckled, pressing a slow, possessive kiss to your jaw before whispering, “And yet, you belong to me.”

Your breath hitched, your body betraying your frustration, and she knew it.

“Now,” she continued, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, “do you need more convincing that I’d never want anyone but you? Or should I remind you properly?”

Her tone sent a shiver down your spine, and suddenly, your anger didn’t feel so important anymore.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

[vaelry]

this should be get more attention!

Can you make a scene when aegon is crying in his room after b&c and the reader is his twins?? like angst but also comforting??

Silent Grief - King!Aegon Targaryen x TwinSister!Reader.

Summary : Jaehaerys—your precious boy—was stolen from you too soon. Taken from the world in a brutal twist of fate that left your family fractured, broken in ways you never thought possible. He was a promise of a future, a new beginning after the turmoil that had once gripped your bloodline. But now, that future is gone, lost in the cruel grasp of tragedy.

Aegon Masterlist.

You pause outside the door to your husband’s chambers, the soft murmur of his voice filtering through the crack in the door. It isn’t just the faint sound of a man grieving—it is the raw, broken sobs of a man whose heart has been shattered. Aegon’s cries hit you like a wave, crashing over the walls you’ve spent so long building to protect yourself from the pain. His sorrow is thick with the weight of a loss you both share, a loss that feels impossible to bear.

Jaehaerys. Your son. The child who had brought so much joy into your life, now gone. His laughter, his tiny hands reaching for you, gone in an instant. And now, it is Aegon’s sorrow that fills the room, the pain that has consumed him for days.

You’ve watched him retreat into himself, isolating himself from you, from the world. He has avoided you—his wife, his twin sister. He doesn’t want you to see him like this. He doesn’t want you to witness the vulnerability and despair that have overtaken him, the weight of grief that he can no longer hide.

But you are his wife. You are his twin sister. The bond between you is too strong, too deep for him to shut you out completely. You know him better than anyone. You know that behind the closed doors and the silence, he is breaking.

With a steady breath, you push the door open.

The room is dim, lit only by the flickering light of a candle that seems as fragile as the moment itself. Aegon sits at the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking with the force of his grief. You’ve never seen him like this before—not even during the darkest days of their war for the throne. The powerful, often indomitable king, now reduced to a man wracked with sorrow.

He doesn’t look up when you enter. His voice is barely a whisper, lost in the rawness of his emotion.

“Please, don’t… don’t look at me like this,” Aegon’s voice cracks, and his words hang heavy in the air, as if the very act of speaking them causes him more pain. “I couldn’t protect him. I couldn’t save him.”

You feel your heart tighten, the weight of his grief pulling at you. You know this pain all too well—this unbearable ache of loss that consumes you from the inside out. But you refuse to let him suffer alone, even if he tries to push you away.

Slowly, you walk towards him, your presence a silent comfort in the midst of his storm. You sit beside him on the bed, your hands gently resting on his back. He stiffens at first, then gradually relaxes as he feels your touch. Your connection is undeniable, a bond forged from years of shared experiences, of love and loss. You were born together, lived through the chaos of the world together, and now, even in this moment of unbearable grief, you would face it together.

“Aegon,” you whisper, your voice soothing, “I’m here. I’m right here with you. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

He turns to you then, his tear-streaked face contorted with sorrow. His eyes are dark with exhaustion, haunted by the death of their son, and in that moment, he looks so fragile that it nearly breaks you. The strong, proud king you once knew, now just a broken man, clinging to the remains of his shattered heart.

“I couldn’t protect him,” he repeats, his voice barely audible. “I couldn’t save Jaehaerys.”

You take his face in your hands, gently forcing him to meet your gaze. “You didn’t fail him,” you say softly. “There was nothing more you could have done. We both loved him. We both did everything we could, Aegon. But some things… they’re beyond our control.”

The silence that follows feels heavier than any words could express. The weight of the grief, the loss of their son, hangs between you, binding you in shared sorrow. And yet, as you sit there with him, holding him close, you realize that despite the pain, there is still something stronger than it all: your bond. Your love for him.

The sound of Aegon’s sobs pierces through the heavy silence of the room, each cry a reminder of the grief you both carry. The sorrow in his voice is raw, unfiltered, and it cuts through you like a blade. You had lost your son, your beloved Jaehaerys, to a brutal fate, but hearing Aegon, the man you had once looked up to as a rock, crumble before you, makes the ache in your heart swell with a new, unbearable pain.

His cries are not just for Jaehaerys. They are the cries of a father who feels like he failed, a king who couldn’t protect his own flesh and blood. And though you, too, are lost in your own grief, there’s a part of you that can’t help but feel the weight of his sorrow, the burden he’s placed on himself. He has always been your pillar—strong, unyielding. Yet now, in the wake of their son’s brutal death, you see him as you never have before: broken, fragile, and lost.

You want to hold him, comfort him, but you are equally as lost. You, too, are drowning in the loss of your child. Your son, your Jaehaerys, was taken from you in a way so cruel, so violent, it feels like the world itself has torn you apart. You wanted to protect him, to keep him safe in a world that has only ever been ruthless. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

Your heart aching, and without a word, you pull him into your arms. His body is trembling with grief, his face hidden in the crook of your neck, and it feels as if your tears have no end. The dam breaks, and you cry, not just for Jaehaerys, but for the man who has always stood beside you. You mourn for him, too. For the Aegon you once knew—so proud, so certain of everything—and now, reduced to a shell of himself, lost in the same pain you feel.

You both weep together, your cries a mirror of each other. You weep for the child stolen from you, for the cruel brutality that claimed him. You weep for the dreams of a future that will never be. You weep for the man you loved, who now is slipping away from you, consumed by guilt and sorrow.

His arms tighten around you, as though trying to hold onto something—anything—to anchor him in this world that has suddenly become too much to bear. Your fingers run through his hair, your hands trembling as you hold him close, wishing that somehow, in this moment, you could ease his suffering. But you can’t. Neither of you can escape the truth of what has happened.

“Jaehaerys,” you whisper, your voice barely audible through the tears. “Our son… he was taken so brutally. So violently.”

The words choke you, the reality of it too much to speak aloud. But you know Aegon hears it, feels it, because he clutches you tighter, as if your embrace is the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

“He was everything,” Aegon mutters, his voice broken. “He was everything. And I couldn’t protect him. I failed him. I failed you.”

“No,” you say, your voice trembling with the effort to make him understand. “You didn’t fail us. You didn’t fail him. We both did everything we could. The world… the world is just cruel, Aegon. There was nothing we could do to stop it.”

But even as you say the words, you know they don’t bring comfort. Nothing can fix this. Nothing can heal the wound in your heart, nor his. You are both drowning in a grief that feels too heavy to bear, yet somehow, you hold onto each other as if your lives depend on it.

And in the midst of it all, as your bodies shake with sorrow, you both know that, for now, the only thing that can get you through this pain is the shared weight of your loss. Together, you mourn the life stolen from you both, sharing in the quiet understanding that while you have lost your son, you have not lost each other—at least not yet.

The night stretches on, and as the hours pass, the tears begin to subside, leaving behind a quiet, fragile silence. You and Aegon remain locked in each other’s arms, not saying a word, but knowing that the grief will never truly leave. It will live within you both, forever. But in this moment, as you hold him close, you find solace in the shared sorrow, in the unspoken promise that, together, you will face the darkness ahead.

The quiet sorrow in the room is almost suffocating as you and Aegon remain locked in each other’s embrace. Your tears have slowed, but the ache remains—a heavy, unyielding weight that neither of you can escape. In this moment, the world outside seems so distant, so far removed from the grief that binds you both together. It’s just the two of you, sharing in a silence that speaks more than words ever could.

And yet, unbeknownst to you, another presence lingers in the doorway.

Alicent stands there, her figure silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway, watching her children in a way that is both loving and helpless. She stands frozen, unsure of how to act, torn between the instinct to rush to you both and the fear that her comfort will fall flat, that her words will be hollow against the rawness of your pain. She’s always been the Queen, the figure of authority, the protector of the family. But in this moment, all that seems to have failed her. She doesn’t know how to fix what is broken—how to fix you both.

Her heart aches as she watches you and Aegon, the children she has raised, the ones she has tried so hard to hold together. She wants to walk over, to wrap her arms around both of you and tell you everything will be alright. That the pain will fade, and time will heal the wounds. But she knows—deep down—that it isn’t true. Time will not heal this, not this wound, not this loss. The emptiness left by Jaehaerys’s death is something none of you will ever fully escape.

For a long moment, she stands there, unsure whether to enter or retreat. She hesitates, caught between her love for her children and her inability to bridge the growing gap between them. Alicent doesn’t know what to say, or if anything she says will even be heard. She has tried so hard to be the mother you both needed, to mend the fractures that have always been present in your family, but now, more than ever, she feels like a stranger to both of you.

Aegon shifts slightly, his face still buried in your shoulder, and you let out a shaky breath, holding him tighter, as though the very act of holding him could somehow stop the world from crumbling. You don’t notice Alicent’s presence at first. But after a few moments, she realizes that her hesitation has already caused the distance to grow.

With a quiet sigh, Alicent turns away from the door, her footsteps soft as she retreats into the shadows of the hallway. She doesn’t look back, afraid that if she does, it will break something that is already too fragile. The silence between you three is deafening, and though she’s tried for years to hold your family together, in this moment, she feels more distant than ever.

Alicent doesn’t know how to make you feel better. She doesn’t know how to ease the sorrow of losing a child. She doesn’t understand how to fix the bond between her children and herself, a bond that has been fraying for so long, so silently.

As she walks away, her own heart aches, not just for Jaehaerys, but for the two of you—the children she cannot seem to reach, no matter how hard she tries. She doesn’t realize that, in her silence, she has only deepened the divide, pushing you both further away without ever meaning to.

Alicent knows nothing of the quiet, unspoken resentment that has grown in the wake of everything that has happened. She doesn’t understand that, while she watches from the outside, you and Aegon have begun to forge your own bond, one that excludes her. A bond born not from love, but from shared pain and the deep understanding that only you two can truly know the weight of this loss.

And as she disappears down the hall, a quiet, invisible rift stretches between the three of you, one that will not easily be mended.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @zaldritzosrose @yazzzmints @giirlinblack

[vaelry]

Aemond Targaryen As Your Soulmate.

Thanks to @zaldritzosrose for letting me use your beautiful dividers 🫶🏻

When He Propose To You.

The sun is setting over the Grand Canyon, painting the sky in breathtaking hues of orange, pink, and gold. The air is crisp, the view endless, and as you stand near the edge, taking in the beauty of it all, you suddenly feel Aemond’s presence shift behind you.

You turn—and he’s kneeling.

For a moment, your breath catches in your throat as you take in the sight of him—Aemond Targaryen, always composed, always in control, now looking up at you with something raw, vulnerable, and impossibly intense in his eye. The small velvet box in his hand is open, revealing a ring so perfect, so undeniably you, that your heart stutters.

“From the moment I saw you, I knew you were meant to be mine,” Aemond says, his voice steady but thick with meaning. “I don’t want a life without you. I don’t want a world where I wake up and you’re not there. You are my beginning and my end. Marry me.”

Your hands fly to your mouth, tears welling up instantly. It’s overwhelming—the view, the moment, the way his voice carries so much devotion it nearly breaks you.

“Aemond…” your voice shakes as a teary laugh escapes. You’re nodding before you can even get the words out, dropping to your knees in front of him, throwing your arms around his neck. “Yes! Yes, of course, yes!”

The relief in his expression is palpable, but it lasts only a second before he crushes his lips against yours, his hands tangling in your hair, gripping you close like he never intends to let go. The Grand Canyon stretches infinitely behind you, but all you feel is him.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, a rare smile playing on his lips. “You’re mine,” he murmurs, slipping the ring onto your finger.

And as the wind rushes past, carrying your laughter and the echoes of your kiss into the canyon below, you know you’ll never forget this moment for as long as you live.

When You And Aemond Posted The Announcement Of Your Engagement.

The moment you and Aemond posted the engagement photo—a breathtaking shot of you two standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon, the sun setting behind you, his lips pressed against yours while your hand is held up, showing off the massive engagement ring—the internet exploded.

“NOOOOOOOO THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING”

“SHE SAID YES?!? AEMOND YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO WAIT FOR ME 😭”

“I just dropped to my knees in Target.”

“The way he’s kissing her and holding her like she’s the most precious thing in the world… yeah, I lost.”

“HER RING IS BIGGER THAN MY FUTURE. WTF.”

“This is the worst day of my life.”

Aemond’s fan girls are in shambles.

Some are coping through edits, posting sad TikToks with captions like “POV: You just found out your delulu era is officially over” while playing heartbreak songs in the background. Others are full-on denial, claiming the ring is fake, that the post is a PR stunt, or that Aemond must have been forced into this.

Meanwhile, your fanboys are equally devastated.

“Nah, bro. Aemond really fumbled the bag by making her unavailable to the rest of us.”

“Congrats, I guess… but I’m never recovering from this.”

“I just saw the engagement post, and now I’m drinking straight from the bottle.”

“Aemond won. We lost. Simple.”

Some take it personally, posting dramatic black-and-white selfies captioned: “She was my last hope.” Others are already making peace with their fate, commenting:

“I will respectfully be seated at the wedding, but I’m crying inside.”

“Alright. I’ll admit it. They’re perfect together. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

And then there’s the absolute chaos in the quote tweets:

“THEY REALLY GOT ENGAGED IN THE MOST DRAMATIC WAY POSSIBLE. GRAND CANYON? ARE YOU KIDDING??”

“Aemond proposed on the edge of a literal canyon to remind us all that we are in the trenches while he is winning.”

As for Aemond?

He reads through some of the comments with a smug smirk, casually scrolling while resting his chin on your shoulder. When he sees a particularly dramatic tweet—“Aemond, you were supposed to be MINE. This is my villain origin story.”—he just chuckles, leans in, and murmurs against your skin:

“Let them cry. You’re mine.” 😏

Aemond Family Reaction To Your Engagement Announcement.

FAMILY GROUP CHAT

Alicent: Aemond. Call me. Now.

Helaena: Oh my gods!! Congratulations!! 🥹💜💍 I knew it!!!

Aegon: LMAO bro finally locked her down. About time, you possessive little shit.

Alicent: Aemond. Call. Me. NOW.

Otto: Did you at least think before making this public? Do you understand what this means?

Daeron: Damn, I was NOT expecting this today.

Helaena: You guys are so beautiful together 🥰 I want to start planning the wedding!!!

Alicent: WHY AM I FINDING OUT THROUGH INSTAGRAM, AEMOND?!!

Aemond: Relax, mother.

Alicent: RELAX?! You just announced your engagement to the entire world without telling your own family first!

Aegon: Let him cook, Mom. He’s been obsessed with her for YEARS. This was inevitable.

Aemond: Exactly.

Otto: Aemond, marriage is a strategic decision. We need to discuss this properly.

Aemond: I made my decision. She’s mine. That’s all that matters.

Alicent: YOU ARE IMPOSSIBLE!!

Aegon: LMAO this is so funny. Mom is losing her mind, Otto is strategizing, and Aemond is just out here marking his territory.

Helaena: I think it’s romantic 🥹

IN PERSON REACTIONS

Alicent – Stressed. Disbelieving. But secretly relieved.

Pacing the floor, rubbing her temples. “Why didn’t he tell me? Why does he do this?” But deep down, she knows Aemond has never looked at anyone else the way he looks at you.

Otto – Already planning.

“Fine. If this is happening, we need to ensure everything is handled properly. The wedding must be perfect. We will discuss negotiations.”

Aegon – Living for the drama.

“Damn, I never thought I’d see the day. You really got my little brother down on one knee, huh?” Smirking as he claps Aemond on the back. “Congrats, bro. Hope you know she owns you now.”

Helaena – The happiest one.

Practically jumping with excitement, already brainstorming wedding ideas, sending Pinterest boards. “Ohhh, you’ll make the most beautiful bride!”

Daeron – Just vibing.

“Cool. When’s the wedding?”

Aemond? Just smirking, holding your hand even tighter, and not caring about anyone else’s reaction. Because in his mind, he’s already won.

When You And Aemond Posted Your Wedding Video On Internet.

The moment the wedding video dropped, Aemond walking out of the church, hand in hand with you, smiling—yes, actually smiling—the internet collapsed.

It was cinematic perfection. The camera captured every moment: the way Aemond’s usually cold expression melted into pure devotion, the way he gazed at you like you were the only thing in the world, and the way he held you so possessively, as if daring anyone to even breathe wrong in your direction.

The caption?

“Bound to you, in this life and the next. 🖤🔥”

And just like that, Aemond’s fanbase was in full mourning.

Instagram Comments Section: The Breakdown Begins

“I refuse to accept this reality. He was supposed to be MINE.” 💔😭

“Not me staring at this video like a delulu ex-girlfriend.”

“THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER. I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY.” 😭

“Aemond smiling? Holding hands? Being openly affectionate?? This HURTS.”

“I bet she doesn’t even appreciate the way he loves her. That should have been ME.”

Twitter/X Reactions: Fangirl Mourning Period

“I just watched Aemond’s wedding video, and I’m officially dead inside.”

“His smile? His HAND on her waist? The way he kissed her forehead? Yeah, I’m logging off.”

“Someone check on the Aemond girlies. We’re NOT okay.”

“How do you cope when your fictional boyfriend gets married to someone who isn’t you?”

“Y’all see the way he looks at her? That’s not just love. That’s devotion. And I hate it here.”

TikTok Reaction Videos: Collective Breakdown

One girl crying into a pillow: “I just saw Aemond’s wedding video, and my life is over.”

Another girl dramatically drinking wine: “So this is what heartbreak feels like, huh?”

A group of fangirls holding a framed photo of Aemond while playing sad music: “We lost, ladies. It’s over.”

Someone stitching the video, whispering: “The way he smiles when he looks at her. I need to lie down.”

The Ultimate Betrayal: Aemond’s Wedding Reception Photos

If the video wasn’t bad enough, the reception photos sent the fanbase into full devastation mode.

• Aemond pulling you against him as he whispered something in your ear, smirking.

• Aemond with his hand on your thigh, looking at you like he wanted to devour you right then and there.

• Aemond lifting you up effortlessly as you laughed, his gaze dark with desire.

• Aemond kissing your knuckles, his silver hair falling over his face.

• Aemond dancing with you, his hands never straying from your waist.

At this point, some fangirls deactivated their accounts, some cried into their bedsheets, and some just stared at their phones in silence.

The Final Nail in the Coffin: Aemond’s Response to the Meltdown

Just when the internet was drowning in heartbreak, Aemond himself responded:

@AemondTargaryen: “She’s my wife. The rest of you don’t matter.” 😏💍

And with that, the delulu era officially ended.

When You And Aemond Posted About Your Pregnancy

Aemond’s fangirls were NOT prepared.

The second the post went up, all hell broke loose.

Aemond’s Instagram—usually filled with elegant aesthetics and cryptic captions—was now a battlefield of heartbreak, denial, and unhinged reactions.

The photo? Absolutely lethal.

Aemond stood behind you, his hand firmly cradling your noticeable baby bump, his lips pressed to the top of your head. His expression? Smug. Possessive. Triumphant. The next slide? An ultrasound.

The caption? Cold. Merciless. Pure Aemond.

“Blood of the dragon. Our legacy continues.”

And then—chaos.

“I’m not surviving this.”

“EXCUSE ME??? SHE’S PREGNANT??? WITH AEMOND’S CHILD??? THIS IS A NIGHTMARE.”

“This has to be fake. PLEASE tell me this is fake.”

“No. No. NO. He was supposed to marry me and name our son Vhagar II.”

“I can’t breathe. Someone send help.”

Some fangirls entered full denial mode:

“This is AI. Deepfake. Photoshop. CGI. I refuse to accept reality.”

“Maybe it’s for a role? A PR stunt? RIGHT? RIGHT???”

“Aemond Targaryen would never betray us like this.” (He absolutely would.)

Others… went completely off the rails:

“If I manifest hard enough, maybe the baby will have my DNA.”

“What if she lets me babysit? Just once? PLEASE?”

“I’m setting my phone on fire. I can’t do this.”

“I hope the baby knows their father was mine first.”

And the final, most heart-wrenching phase: acceptance.

“We lost, ladies. We fought hard, but we lost.”

“She won. She actually won.”

“We were delusional to think we had a chance. This is our downfall.”

Within minutes, #AemondBabyReveal was trending worldwide. The fan edits? Insane. The meltdowns? Unmatched. You had just broken the internet.

When You And Aemond Posted About Your Son Arrival.

The moment Aemond posted the photo—you lying in the hospital bed, exhausted but glowing, cradling your newborn son in your arms while Aemond kissed you with tears in his eye—social media shattered into chaos.

The Caption That Ended Them:

“My greatest battle, my greatest victory. He is here. And his mother… gods, his mother. My heart belongs to you, always.”

And just like that, Aemond’s fangirls and your fanboys collectively lost their will to live.

Instagram Comments Section: A Tragic Event

“Aemond… CRYING? Over HIS WIFE AND SON? No, I can’t handle this.” 😭💔

“Not him calling her ‘his greatest victory’ like she’s his whole world. Someone sedate me.”

“I JUST KNOW HE WORSHIPS HER. LOOK AT THE WAY HE’S KISSING HER.”

“My man is gone forever. Aemond has ascended to devoted husband & dad. We lost, ladies.”

“I should’ve left when they got engaged. Now they have a son?! Aemond Targaryen is someone’s actual husband and father? I AM UNWELL.”

Twitter/X Meltdown: A Digital Funeral

“Aemond Targaryen, the cold and ruthless prince, is now a loving husband and father? I need a minute.”

“HIM. CRYING. KISSING HER. HOLDING HIS SON. THIS IS TOO MUCH.”

“I thought the wedding was painful, but this baby announcement? I’m in ruins.”

“We are watching Aemond become the most obsessed husband and father in history. And we are powerless to stop it.”

“Aemond’s ‘battle and victory’ caption? That man is GONE. He belongs to his wife and son now.”

TikTok Reaction Videos: Fans Mourning Like It’s a Global Tragedy

One girl dramatically throwing her phone across the room: “I AM NOT OKAY.”

A fanboy in a hoodie, staring blankly at the screen: “First, she took him. Now, she gave him an heir. It’s over for us.”

A group of fangirls holding hands, fake crying: “We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of Aemond Targaryen to the world of marriage and fatherhood.”

Someone drinking straight from a wine bottle: “Not only did she win the war, she got a crown. She is the queen now.”

A TikTok edit of Aemond’s bad boy days transforming into husband & dad Aemond with the caption: “HIS PRIORITIES HAVE CHANGED. WE ARE NOTHING TO HIM NOW.”

The Final Blow: Aemond’s Response to the Fan Breakdown

As the internet spiraled into devastation, Aemond posted a short video clip—a black-and-white shot of him shirtless in the hospital chair, holding his newborn son against his chest, his silver hair slightly disheveled, his eye soft and full of awe. The camera then panned to you, resting with a tired smile, and Aemond reaching over to kiss your forehead.

@AemondTargaryen: “I never needed a kingdom. I only needed them.”

And just like that, his fangirls & your fanboys took their final breath.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

[vaelry]

HOTD Characters Reaction First Time They Saw You Walking On Victoria Secret Fashion Show.

Pairing : Aegon Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Jacaerys Velaryon.

Thanks To @zaldritzosrose For Letting Me Use Your Beautiful Dividers.

Aegon.

Aegon had seen beautiful women before. He’d had his fair share of late nights, stolen glances, and flirty encounters. But this? This was something else entirely.

The second you stepped onto the Victoria’s Secret runway, the air shifted.

The lights hit you just right, illuminating every curve, every confident stride, every teasing flick of your hair. The delicate lingerie hugged your body like it had been made for you, and the towering wings on your back made you look almost ethereal—like something not of this world.

Aegon sat frozen in his seat, drink halfway to his lips, his usual cocky smirk completely wiped off his face.

What the fuck.

He had expected to see hot models walk the runway tonight. He had not expected to have his entire existence rocked by you.

The way you moved? Playful. Untouchable. A woman who knew exactly how powerful she was.

And then—you did it.

Right at the end of the runway, you looked straight at him.

Not at the cameras. Not at the crowd. At him.

Your lips curled into the slightest, most dangerous smirk, like you could see right through him, see the way his brain was short-circuiting. And then, as if to ruin him completely, you gave him the smallest wink before turning and walking away.

Aegon exhaled sharply, slumping back into his seat. His chest was tight. His pulse was racing. His grip on his drink was white-knuckled.

Jace, sitting next to him, nudged his shoulder. “You good?”

Aegon blinked, still staring at the spot where you had just been. “No,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, “I think I just saw my future wife.”

Aemond.

Aemond had always been composed. Always controlled. He prided himself on it.

But the moment you stepped onto the Victoria’s Secret runway, he felt his grip on that control slip.

The lights bathed you in gold, casting an almost celestial glow around your figure. The delicate lingerie, the towering wings, the effortless confidence in your stride—it was unreal. You weren’t just walking. You were commanding the room, owning every set of eyes that followed you.

Including his.

Aemond sat up straighter, jaw clenched, his singular gaze locked onto you. His drink sat forgotten in his hand. The usual background noise—the bass-heavy music, the murmured conversations—faded into nothing.

And then—you looked at him.

It was brief, calculated. A sharp flick of your eyes in his direction, just enough to let him know you saw him watching. The corner of your mouth curled, teasing. And then, as if to truly unravel him, you dragged your fingers through your hair, flipping it over your shoulder before turning away.

Aemond’s fingers tightened around the glass in his hand, his jaw clenching so hard it ached.

Fuck.

He had never cared for these events. He found them trivial, just another display of vanity. But now? Now he was sitting there, feeling possessive over a woman he didn’t even know.

Jace, seated beside him, let out a low whistle. “Damn. She’s something, huh?”

Aemond exhaled through his nose, forcing his features into neutrality, but the burn in his chest remained. His fingers tapped against the table, the only sign of his restless energy.

“She’s mine.” The words left his mouth before he even realized he’d spoken them.

Jace raised a brow. “Yeah? I don’t think she got the memo.”

Aemond’s eye never left you as you disappeared behind the curtains.

She will.

Jacaerys.

Jace had never been speechless before.

He was charming, always ready with a grin, always quick with a smooth remark. But the moment you stepped onto that runway, he forgot how to breathe.

The lights hit you just right, your skin glowing under their warmth. The delicate lace, the towering wings, the sheer confidence in the way you walked—you were a vision.

His lips parted slightly, his drink halting halfway to his mouth as his eyes tracked your every move. The music, the chatter around him, the cameras flashing—it all faded into a distant blur.

You weren’t just beautiful. You were unreal.

And then—you looked at him.

A deliberate glance, fleeting but powerful, like a spark catching fire. And then, with an almost mischievous glint in your eyes, you smirked.

Jace’s heart slammed against his ribs.

“Whoa.” He exhaled the word like he’d just been knocked out.

Beside him, Luke snorted. “You good?”

Jace blinked, snapping back to reality, but his pulse was still racing. He let out a low, stunned laugh, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I think I just fell in love.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “You don’t even know her.”

Jace leaned forward, his gaze locked on the spot where you had just disappeared behind the curtain. A slow, determined grin curled on his lips.

“Not yet.”

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

[vaelry]

Jacaerys Velaryon As Your Soulmate.

Thanks to @zaldritzosrose for letting me use your beautiful dividers 🫶🏻

When He Propose To You.

The moment was so perfect it felt unreal. The Santorini sunset painted the sky in hues of gold, pink, and deep orange, casting a glow over the endless blue of the Aegean Sea. The soft breeze carried the scent of salt and summer, and the sound of the waves crashing below only made everything more surreal.

Jace had been acting a little off all day—nervous, fidgety, but still smiling like he always did when he looked at you. And then, as you stood together on the private balcony of your villa, overlooking the breathtaking view, he suddenly dropped to one knee.

Your heart stopped.

For a second, it felt like the entire world went silent.

Jace was staring up at you, his eyes filled with so much love it almost knocked the air out of your lungs.

“I love you. I’ve loved you for so damn long, I don’t even remember what life was like before you. And I don’t want to. I want you forever. Will you marry me?”

Your hands flew to your mouth, eyes already burning with tears. Your heart was pounding, your breath caught in your throat, and the moment felt so overwhelmingly perfect that for a split second, you couldn’t even speak.

Then you nodded frantically, laughing through your tears.

“Yes! Jace, yes!”

The second the words left your lips, he slipped the ring onto your finger—a stunning diamond that sparkled like the damn Santorini sky—before pulling you into his arms, spinning you around as you laughed and cried at the same time.

“You’re stuck with me now,” he murmured against your lips, grinning like a lovesick fool.

“I’ve always been stuck with you,” you whispered back, kissing him like there was no tomorrow.

And just like that, under the Santorini sunset, with the waves and the wind as your witnesses, you said yes to forever.

When You And Jace Posted The Announcement Of Your Engagement.

The internet broke.

The moment you and Jace posted the engagement photo—a breathtaking shot of you two in the crystal-clear waters of Santorini—the reactions were instantaneous.

The image was perfectly intimate: Jace, half-submerged in the water, his toned arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you close, pressing a deep, possessive kiss to your lips. The sunlight reflected off the ocean, making the stunning diamond ring on your finger gleam as you lifted your hand, subtly flexing your fingers in a way that made it impossible to miss.

The caption?

“Forever with him. ☀️💍”

Jace’s post?

“She said yes. My girl, my future, my forever. 💙”

And just like that, chaos erupted.

Jace’s fangirls:

"NOOOOOOOO THIS ISN’T HAPPENING"

"I WAS LITERALLY MANIFESTING MY TURN WTF"

"DOES ANYONE KNOW IF THE SANTORINI OCEAN IS ACCEPTING DROWNED TEARS?"

"HE WAS SUPPOSED TO MARRY ME??"

"DELETE THIS I CAN’T BREATHE"

"'My girl, my future, my forever' YEAH JUST KILL ME THEN"

Your fanboys:

"BRO SHE’S GONE. IT’S OVER FOR US."

"This is pain. Real pain."

"Jace, let’s talk. I just wanna chat. loads shotgun"

"Do y’all think we still have a chance if she loses the ring in the ocean???"

"SHE WAS OUR QUEEN, NOW SHE’S HIS WIFE. WE HAVE NOTHING LEFT."

"Fellas, we lost a soldier today."

Random internet reactions:

"The way she’s flexing that ring while kissing him, she WANTED us to suffer."

"Jace bagged the baddest and made sure we all KNEW it. Respect."

"This is the equivalent of a public execution."

"Santorini tourism just skyrocketed bc everyone’s gonna go cry in the ocean now."

"The way he’s holding her? That man is NEVER letting go."

"This is some movie-level romance, wtf I’m so jealous."

Meanwhile, Jace? Smug as hell. The second the internet started melting down, he was in the comments, liking the most dramatic ones and posting another photo of him holding your hand, the ring on full display, with the caption:

“No refunds, no exchanges. She’s mine now. 💍😎”

And if that wasn’t enough? He posted a story of you two laughing in the Santorini sunset, him kissing your neck before murmuring:

“Sorry, guys. She picked me.”

The internet never recovered.

Jace Family Reaction To Your Engagement Announcement.

The Velaryons and Targaryens had very different reactions, but one thing was clear—they did not see this coming.

Rhaenyra (His Mother):

💬 “My son… engaged? I blinked and he was just a boy. Now he’s posting thirst traps and proposing in Santorini? Time flies…”

—Cue her immediately calling Jace, demanding details, and planning an extravagant wedding before you even had a chance to process everything.

Daemon (His Step-Father):

💬 “Took you long enough, boy. Thought I’d have to lock you two in a room until you figured it out.”

—He acts casual, but he’s secretly proud and already threatening Jace to never mess this up.

Baela & Rhaena (His Step-Sisters):

💬 Baela: “JACE. YOU DIDN’T TELL US YOU WERE PROPOSING?!”

💬 Rhaena: “Omg, she said yes?? Of course she did, but still!!”

—Both of them are spamming your phone demanding pictures of the ring, the moment, and every single detail.

Lucerys (His Younger Brother):

💬 “Wait… does this mean I have to call you my sister now?”

—He’s genuinely confused but happy, liking the post and commenting “Congrats, I guess.”

Aegon (His Uncle & Frenemy):

💬 “Bro, what the actual fuck? You got engaged before me? Oh, this is WAR.”

—Petty. Bitter. Fake mad but lowkey proud. He’ll NEVER admit it, though.

Aemond (His Other Uncle & Rival):

💬 “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

—Says this like he isn’t internally SHOCKED that Jace actually locked it down. He liked the post, but only because Helaena forced him.

Helaena (His Sweet Aunt):

💬 “This is wonderful! You both look so happy! 💙”

—Genuinely happy for you two, immediately asking if she can help plan anything.

Corlys & Rhaenys (His Grandparents):

💬 Corlys: “She’s family now. Make sure you treat her like a Velaryon.”

💬 Rhaenys: “It’s about time. I’ve been waiting for this.”

—They’re quietly pleased, but already discussing wedding venues and guest lists behind your backs.

Meanwhile, Jace?

He’s just grinning at his phone, watching the chaos unfold while pulling you into his lap, whispering:

“Guess there’s no turning back now, huh?” 😏

When You And Jace Posted Your Wedding Video On Internet.

The second the wedding video dropped—Jace walking out of the church, hand in hand with you, his smile so bright it could blind the sun—his fangirls lost their minds.

Jace Velaryon, the golden boy, the sweetheart, the man who had fangirls swooning over his every move, was officially off the market. And not just off the market—completely, hopelessly, obsessively in love with you.

The caption?

“Forever wasn’t long enough, so I married her. 💙”

And with that, Jace’s fanbase entered a collective meltdown.

Instagram Comments Section: A Fangirl Massacre

“This is the worst day of my life.” 😭💔

“WHY DID I EVEN WAKE UP TODAY?!”

“Not Jace grinning like he just won the world. What about US?!?”

“How am I supposed to recover from this betrayal?” 💔

“The way he’s holding her. The way he’s looking at her. The way he KISSES HER. I CAN’T DO THIS.”

Twitter/X Reactions: A Global Crisis

“Jace Velaryon getting married feels like my boyfriend just left me for another woman.”

“His smile. HIS SMILE. HE WAS SUPPOSED TO SMILE LIKE THAT FOR ME.”

“I feel like I’ve been personally victimized by this wedding video.”

“Not only did he marry her, but he looks like he’s thriving while doing it. This is actual pain.”

“Y’all saw the way he lifted her off the ground in that kiss? We lost, girls. We lost.”

TikTok Reaction Videos: Fangirls in Mourning

One girl dramatically closing her laptop: “This is my villain origin story.”

Another girl wrapped in a blanket, chugging wine: “How do you cope when the love of your life marries someone else?”

A group of fangirls watching the video in stunned silence before screaming: “NOOOOOO!”

Someone crying into a Jace Velaryon fan poster: “He was supposed to be OUR husband!”

💔 The Ultimate Heartbreak: Jace’s Wedding Reception Photos

If the wedding video wasn’t enough, the reception photos sent fangirls straight into their graves.

• Jace pulling you into his lap during dinner, his nose nuzzling into your neck.

• Jace kissing your hand with a lovesick expression, completely mesmerized by you.

• Jace dipping you low on the dance floor, his forehead pressed against yours.

• Jace grinning like a fool as you fed him a piece of wedding cake.

• Jace whispering something in your ear that had you laughing, his hand possessively gripping your thigh.

At this point, some fangirls uninstalled social media, some sobbed into their pillows, and some stared at their screens in mute devastation.

The Final Blow: Jace’s Response to the Fangirl Meltdown

Just when the internet was suffocating in despair, Jace himself responded:

@JacaerysVelaryon: “She’s my everything. Hope you all find someone who makes you feel this way someday. 💙”

And just like that, he destroyed whatever hope his fangirls had left.

When You And Jace Posted About Your Pregnancy.

Jace’s fangirls were NOT okay.

The second the post dropped, absolute hysteria erupted across the internet.

The photo? Devastating.

Jace stood behind you, both hands wrapped around your very prominent baby bump, his head tucked against your neck. His smile? Radiant. Proud. Smug. But the next slide? That was the real fatal blow.

An ultrasound.

Three. Embryoss

The caption? Gentle, but absolutely lethal.

“A family of five… and we couldn’t be happier.”

And then—the chaos began.

“THREE??? NOT ONE. NOT TWO. BUT THREE BABIES????”

“I just dropped to my knees in the middle of a grocery store.”

“Oh my god, we lost. Not only is she pregnant, but she’s having THREE of his kids. This is a massacre.”

“I need a support group immediately.”

Some fangirls went into pure denial mode:

“No. This isn’t real. It’s a prank. HAHA, right? Right?”

“I refuse to accept this. The ultrasound is AI-generated. FAKE NEWS.”

“Maybe it’s for a movie? A promotional stunt? PLEASE, SOMEONE, TELL ME THIS IS FAKE.”

Others…? Full breakdowns.

“I JUST KNOW THOSE BABIES ARE GOING TO BE BEAUTIFUL AND IT HURTS.”

“She really secured the bloodline… Three kids… She made sure she was LOCKED IN.”

“I can’t even be mad, she did what needed to be done.”

“This is the equivalent of getting blown off the battlefield. We fought hard, ladies, but we were defeated.”

The fan edits? Exploding. The hashtags? Trending worldwide.

Within minutes, #JaceTripletBombshell was dominating social media. People were analyzing the ultrasound, dissecting Jace’s body language in the photo, and crying over the fact that he had officially left the fangirl market… forever.

Jace Velaryon had just ended his fangirls in one post.

When You And Jace Posted About Your Triplets Arrival.

📸: Jace Velaryon Instagram Post

— A photo of you in a hospital bed, looking absolutely exhausted but glowing, cradling three tiny newborns. Jace is beside you, full-on crying, his face buried in your shoulder while holding one of the babies.

The Caption?

“Our greatest adventure yet. Welcome to the world, my little dragons. ❤️🔥”

And with that, the internet broke.

Jace’s Fangirls:

“I woke up thinking it was going to be a good day… and now I find out HE HAS THREE CHILDREN?!”

“FIRST, THE ENGAGEMENT. THEN, THE WEDDING. AND NOW TRIPLETS? JACE, GIVE US TIME TO HEAL.”

“WHY DOES HE LOOK SO CUTE CRYING??? I SHOULD BE THE ONE CRYING.”

“Do you guys think there’s still a chance? Like maybe in another life?”

“His SPERM WORKS FAST, WTF.”

“My man didn’t just get stolen… HE WAS MULTIPLIED.”

“I just know he sings lullabies to those babies. I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY.”

Your Fanboys:

“BRO I WAS STILL GETTING OVER THE WEDDING, WHAT IS THIS?”

“I’m so happy for her but also so deeply in pain.”

“Not only did she marry Jace, but she gave him THREE CHILDREN?? I AM SHATTERED.”

“Triplets. She really said, ‘Here’s a family in one go.’”

“Jace is crying, I’m crying, we’re all crying.”

“She’s really in her MILF era now… I can’t keep up.”

The General Public Watching the Chaos Unfold:

“This is the biggest internet heartbreak since Zayn left One Direction.”

“We lost him, y’all. Jace Velaryon is officially a father of THREE.”

“WHO LET THIS HAPPEN?!”

“Triple the babies, triple the heartbreak for the fandom.”

Meanwhile, Jace? He’s still sniffling, rocking one of the babies in his arms, looking at his phone and shaking his head at the absolute meltdown in his comment section.

“Damn… they’re really taking this hard, huh?” he murmurs, wiping his tears while kissing your forehead.

You glance at his screen, seeing thousands of devastated comments. Smirking, you whisper:

“Told you they weren’t ready.”

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

[vaelry]

Endless Battle Of Love - Modern!Jacaerys Velaryon x Female.

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6.

Word Count : 5.4k

Jacaerys Velaryon Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

The office smelled like lavender and old books, a mixture that had become strangely familiar over the past month. The soft ticking of a clock on the wall was the only thing filling the silence as you sat on the couch, knees pulled close to your chest. Jace sat beside you, his hand resting protectively on your thigh, his thumb drawing soothing circles over the fabric of your jeans.

"How have you been sleeping?" your therapist, Dr. Elara, asked gently, her pen poised over her notepad.

You hesitated.

Jace’s grip on your thigh tightened slightly in encouragement.

"Better," you said finally. "The nightmares aren’t as bad anymore. Some nights, I sleep all the way through."

Dr. Elara nodded, offering you a small smile. "That’s progress. And the panic attacks?"

Jace answered for you before you could. "Less frequent," he said, his voice firm. "But they still happen."

You glanced at him, watching as his jaw tensed, his other hand curled into a fist on his lap. Even after all this time, he still carried the weight of what had happened to you. He had seen the worst of you—the screaming, the shaking, the nights when you woke up clawing at your own skin as if you could rid yourself of the ghosts Cregan had left behind.

But he never left.

"Would you like to talk about them?" Dr. Elara asked.

You swallowed hard.

"It’s always the same," you murmured. "I dream about being in that jet again. About being trapped."

You closed your eyes, and for a moment, you were there again. The dim lights. The suffocating silence. The weight of Cregan’s hands on you.

Jace must have sensed your distress because he immediately shifted closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth.

"You’re not there anymore," he whispered. "You’re safe. I’m here."

Safe.

You clung to that word.

Dr. Elara tapped her pen lightly against the notepad. "Have you been using the grounding techniques we discussed?"

You nodded. "The breathing exercises help. And…" You glanced at Jace. "So does having him with me."

Jace looked down at you, something unreadable in his expression. He had given up so much for you—his company, his peaceful life—stepping into the darkness without hesitation just to protect you.

Dr. Elara sighed softly. "That’s good. But you need to be careful. Depending too much on one person for stability can be dangerous. You need to find strength in yourself, too."

"She is strong," Jace said immediately, his voice quiet but firm. "Stronger than she thinks."

You turned to him, startled.

Dr. Elara smiled knowingly. "And do you believe that?" she asked you.

Did you?

For months, you had felt like a victim. Like a shattered version of the person you used to be. But now… you weren’t so sure.

You had survived.

You had fought back.

You had walked into the darkness—and come out the other side. You inhaled slowly, then exhaled.

"I think I’m learning to."

The sun streamed through the windows of the therapist’s office, casting golden rays onto the wooden floors. You shifted slightly on the couch, feeling the warmth seep into your skin, but it did nothing to ease the unease creeping through your chest.

"You’re making progress," Dr. Elara said, her voice calm and reassuring. "You’ve been able to get into cars without panicking. That’s a big step."

You nodded, biting your lip. "I know, but… the plane was different."

Jace’s hand found yours, fingers intertwining as he gave a gentle squeeze.

"Tell me about it," Dr. Elara encouraged.

You took a slow breath, trying to steady your thoughts before speaking. "Jace’s family planned a trip last week. I—I wanted to go. I didn’t want to be left behind."

You swallowed hard, recalling the way your hands had started trembling the second you stepped into the airport.

"She started shaking before we even got to security," Jace murmured, his grip on your hand tightening. "And when we got to the gate…" He trailed off, jaw clenching.

You glanced at him, watching the way his thumb brushed absentmindedly over your knuckles. He still carried every moment of your pain like it was his own.

"I froze," you admitted softly. "I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was back there again."

The memory came rushing back—your heart pounding against your ribs, the feeling of walls closing in, the sheer terror that gripped you as you stared at the cabin door of the private jet.

"I told her we didn’t have to go," Jace said, voice edged with frustration—though not at you, never at you. "But she wanted to try."

Dr. Elara nodded. "So what happened?"

You exhaled shakily. "I couldn’t do it. I wanted to, but my body just—just shut down. I started crying and—"

"And she almost passed out," Jace finished, his voice tight.

You flinched at the reminder, your free hand curling into a fist against your lap.

"So we had to sedate her," Jace muttered bitterly. "She slept through the entire flight."

Dr. Elara regarded you carefully. "How did that make you feel?"

You swallowed, looking down.

"Weak."

"You’re not weak," Jace said immediately, his voice a low growl. "You went through hell, and you’re still standing. That doesn’t make you weak."

Your throat tightened.

"It felt like I was back there," you whispered. "Like the moment I stepped into that plane, I wasn’t safe anymore."

Dr. Elara leaned forward slightly. "That’s a trauma response," she explained gently. "Your brain associates the plane with danger because of what happened. It’s not something you can just ‘get over.’ It takes time."

Jace exhaled through his nose, clearly struggling to keep his frustration in check. "How do we fix it?"

Dr. Elara smiled slightly. "We don’t ‘fix’ it. We work through it. Gradually." She turned to you. "Would you be willing to try exposure therapy?"

Your stomach twisted at the thought.

"It doesn’t have to be all at once," Dr. Elara assured you. "Maybe just stepping onto an empty plane while it’s still grounded. Sitting in a cabin for a few minutes. Small steps."

You hesitated.

Jace’s thumb stroked over your knuckles again. "You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for," he murmured.

You bit your lip, glancing between him and Dr. Elara.

"I… I want to try."

Jace tensed beside you, but he didn’t argue.

Dr. Elara smiled. "That’s a good first step."

And deep down, you knew she was right. You couldn’t keep running from this forever. If you wanted to take back your life—to stop feeling like a prisoner in your own mind—you had to start somewhere.

Even if it scared you.

The ride home was silent, the weight of the session still lingering between you. Jace's fingers traced slow, comforting patterns over your knuckles, but neither of you spoke.

Your mind was spinning. Next session. That was when you’d have to face it. The thought alone made your stomach twist, but you had agreed. You wanted to try. You needed to try.

Jace glanced at you again, his grip tightening around your hand for a brief moment before loosening. "Are you okay?" he finally asked, his voice soft.

You hesitated, staring out the window at the passing city lights. "I don’t know," you admitted.

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t push. Jace had learned not to pressure you—not after everything. Instead, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles. "We’ll take it slow," he murmured. "You don’t have to do this alone."

You turned to look at him then, meeting his gaze. The concern in his eyes, the quiet determination—it made your chest ache. "I know."

The car pulled up to his mansion, and Jace stepped out first, walking around to open your door. His hand was already reaching for you before you had even moved. You took it, letting him help you out, his warmth grounding you as he pulled you closer.

Inside, the atmosphere was just as quiet. Jace set down his keys and immediately turned to you, hands finding your waist. "Come here."

You let him guide you toward the couch, where he sat down and pulled you into his lap. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his head resting against yours.

"I hate seeing you like this," he murmured after a while.

You sighed, curling into him. "I’ll get better."

"I know," he said, but there was something else in his tone. Something unspoken.

You pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes. "What?"

Jace hesitated, then exhaled sharply. "I just—" His grip on you tightened. "I wish I could make it all go away."

Your heart clenched. You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. "You being here helps."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes dark with something unreadable. "I’ll always be here."

You nodded, believing him. Jace had never once left your side. For now, that was enough.

Jace stiffened at first, caught off guard by the way you leaned in. Your lips brushed against his—gentle, testing—and for a moment, he didn't move.

You felt his hesitation, the way his hands stilled on your back. Jace had always been careful with you, sometimes too careful. He never wanted to push, never wanted to risk hurting you. But this time, you were the one reaching for him.

So you kissed him again, a little firmer.

A quiet sound escaped him, something between a sigh and a groan, and then he was kissing you back. Slowly, deliberately, his hands sliding up your spine as if mapping every inch of you. His lips moved with restrained hunger, as if he was still holding himself back.

But you didn’t want restraint. Not tonight.

You deepened the kiss, shifting in his lap so that your arms wrapped around his neck. He pulled you closer instinctively, one hand pressing against your lower back, the other coming up to cradle your jaw. His thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch unbearably soft.

When you finally broke apart for air, Jace rested his forehead against yours, his breath uneven.

"Are you sure?" he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded, your fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt. "Jace… I want this. I want you."

His grip on you tightened for a fraction of a second before he exhaled sharply. "I don’t want to hurt you," he admitted, his brows furrowing. "I don’t want you to feel like you have to—"

"I know." You cut him off gently, brushing your fingers against his jaw. "But I’m not afraid right now. With you, I’m safe."

Jace swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours. Whatever he saw there seemed to undo him.

"God, I love you," he murmured, and then he was kissing you again, deeper this time. Less hesitant, more sure. His hands roamed your back, his lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw, then lower.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were reclaiming a part of yourself—one kiss at a time.

You felt Jace’s arms tighten around you as Aegon’s amused voice filled the room.

“Well, well, well… don’t stop on my account.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you turned away, but Jace only exhaled sharply, his grip on you firm. “Get out, Aegon.”

Aegon merely laughed, strolling into the room with that insufferable grin on his face. “Relax, lover boy. I’m just here for my laptop. Unless…” He smirked, looking at you. “You two need some pointers?”

Jace growled low in his throat, his jaw ticking. “Aegon.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going.” Aegon held up his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk didn’t waver. He grabbed his laptop from the desk, but before he left, he paused at the door, casting one last glance at the two of you.

“You know,” he drawled, “it’s about time. Poor Jace has been suffering for months.”

Jace didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed a pillow and threw it straight at Aegon’s head.

Aegon ducked, laughing as he stepped out of the room. “Just saying!” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t be too loud. The walls are thin.”

The door shut behind him, leaving the room in silence.

You could feel Jace’s frustration radiating off him, his hold on you still possessive. When you looked up, his face was buried in your shoulder, his breaths slow and controlled.

“You’re tense,” you murmured, running your fingers through his hair.

“Because he’s an ass.” Jace huffed against your skin.

You giggled, the sound soft. “He’s not wrong, though.”

Jace lifted his head to look at you, his expression softening. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, your fingers tracing slow circles on his shoulder. “More than okay.”

His lips quirked up slightly before he leaned down, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because I’m not letting Aegon ruin this moment.”

You smiled as he pulled you closer again, pressing another lingering kiss to your lips—one that Aegon, thankfully, wasn’t there to interrupt.

Jace pulled away first, and you let out a small noise of protest, making him chuckle.

“Patience, love,” he murmured, his fingers tracing your jaw before cupping your cheek.

You pouted. “You started it.”

His grin widened as he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. “I know. And I plan to finish it—later.”

Before you could complain again, he took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “But first, I’m taking you out tonight. Dinner. Just the two of us.”

You blinked in surprise. “Dinner?”

“Yes. A proper one.” Jace’s thumb brushed over your knuckles. “And I won’t take no for an answer.”

You smiled, your heart warming at the idea. “Okay.”

He smirked. “Good. But first, I’m taking you to a salon.”

You raised a brow. “A salon?”

“Yes.” Jace tilted his head slightly. “I want you to relax and feel good. I’ve already made an appointment.”

You laughed softly. “You planned all of this?”

“Of course.” His fingers toyed with a strand of your hair. “You deserve to be pampered.”

You sighed, leaning into his touch. “You’re spoiling me.”

“And?” He grinned. “Isn’t that my job?”

You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t hide your smile. “Fine. I’ll get ready.”

Jace’s smirk grew. “Good girl.”

Your cheeks burned, but before you could say anything, he was already guiding you toward the closet. “Now, go. I want you looking like the most beautiful woman in the city tonight.”

“I already am,” you teased.

Jace hummed, his eyes darkening slightly as he pulled you close once more. “That you are.”

Then, with one last kiss, he let you go. “Now hurry up. The salon is waiting.”

You chose a simple dress, something elegant yet understated—just the way you liked it. Even though you now lived with Jace and his family, you had never been the type to indulge in excessive luxury.

As you descended the stairs, you felt Jace’s gaze lock onto you. He had been leaning casually against the railing, scrolling through his phone, but the moment he looked up, he froze. His expression shifted—his eyes darkened, his lips parted slightly, and for a moment, he looked as if he had forgotten how to breathe.

“You’re staring,” you murmured, stopping a few steps above him.

He blinked, inhaling sharply before smirking. “Can you blame me?”

Your lips curled into a small smile. “It’s just a dress, Jace.”

He stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hands found your waist as he looked up at you from where he stood a step below. “No. It’s you in that dress. That’s the difference.”

Heat crept up your neck, but before you could respond, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Come on, love. We have a salon to get to.”

You let him take your hand, allowing him to lead you outside. The drive to the salon was peaceful, the city lights passing by as Jace rested one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns.

“Are you nervous?” he asked suddenly.

You glanced at him. “About what?”

“Tonight.” His grip on your thigh tightened just slightly. “It’s our first proper date.”

You considered his words. In a way, he was right. The two of you had been tangled in each other’s lives for so long—through obsession, trauma, and chaos—but you had never had something as simple as a normal date.

“Not nervous,” you admitted softly. “Just… I don’t know. It feels different.”

Jace smiled, his thumb stroking your skin. “Different is good.”

You met his gaze, warmth blooming in your chest. “Yeah. It is.”

The rest of the drive was quiet, filled only with the soft hum of the radio. When you arrived at the salon, Jace was already out of the car before you could move, opening your door for you.

“My lady,” he teased, offering his hand.

You rolled your eyes but took it, letting him guide you inside. The staff greeted you warmly, already expecting your arrival, and Jace made sure you were comfortably seated before pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Enjoy yourself,” he murmured. “I’ll be waiting.”

You smiled as he stepped back, watching him settle onto one of the couches near the entrance, his eyes never leaving you. Even now, he couldn’t take his attention off you.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You hummed softly as the hairstylist ran their fingers through your hair, carefully working on the final touches. The salon smelled of lavender and vanilla, the air warm and calming.

“You’re a lucky woman,” the stylist commented with a smile as they adjusted a curl. “Jacaerys Velaryon isn’t just rich—he adores you. I can see it in his eyes.”

You met their gaze through the mirror, a small smile forming on your lips. “I know.”

Jace was many things—obsessive, overprotective, sometimes reckless—but his love for you had never wavered. He was always there, watching over you, making sure you were safe. Even when you had been at your lowest, drowning in trauma, he never left.

Just as you were about to turn and look at him, you noticed he was gone. His seat near the entrance was empty.

Your eyes scanned the room until you caught sight of him through the reflection of the mirror. He was standing near the back of the salon, phone pressed to his ear, his expression dark. His jaw was tight, shoulders stiff, fingers gripping his phone with more force than necessary.

Something was wrong.

Your fingers curled into your lap. You wanted to ask, to get up and walk over, but before you could, the stylist gently tilted your head. “Almost done, sweetheart. Just a few more minutes.”

You swallowed your concern and nodded, letting them finish. Jace was still on the phone, his voice low, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck.

By the time you stood up, he had disappeared completely.

Your stomach twisted slightly as you stepped away from the chair, smoothing down your dress. Where did he go?

You made your way toward the back of the salon, slipping past the employees. You pushed open the door leading to a quieter hallway, and there he was—standing near the exit, his back turned to you.

”—if he’s still alive, I want to know where the fuck he is.”

Your breath hitched.

“No mistakes this time. Handle it.”

Silence.

Then, Jace let out a slow breath, his shoulders visibly relaxing before he ended the call.

You took another step forward. “Jace?”

He turned sharply, his eyes meeting yours. The storm in them softened almost immediately.

“You’re done?” he asked, his voice lighter now, as if nothing had happened.

You nodded slowly. “Who was that?”

“Just business.” He stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You look beautiful.”

Your heart clenched. He was trying to distract you.

“Jace,” you murmured, your fingers brushing against his. “That call—who were you talking about?”

For a moment, he hesitated. Then, instead of answering, he sighed and cupped your cheek. “I told you, love,” he whispered, his thumb tracing your skin. “I’ll do anything to keep you safe. Even if it means making sure ghosts stay buried.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

Ghosts.

Cregan was dead.

Or at least… he was supposed to be.

You froze for a moment when you saw the dress draped over the chair—a stunning white gown, its fabric smooth and flowing like liquid silk. It was elegant yet simple, not overly extravagant, but enough to make anyone feel like royalty.

Slowly, you turned to face Jace. He was leaning casually against the counter, hands in his pockets, watching you with a small smile.

“You got this for me?” you asked softly, fingers grazing the fabric.

His smile widened. “I did. Thought you might like it.”

You swallowed. The idea that he had taken the time to choose something like this, something so perfect, made warmth bloom in your chest.

Before you could say anything else, one of the salon attendants approached, bowing her head slightly. “Would you like to change now, miss?”

You hesitated, glancing back at Jace. He didn’t say anything, only giving you an encouraging nod.

So you took the dress and followed the attendant into the fitting room.

The moment you slipped into it, you felt… different. The way the fabric hugged your body, the way it shimmered under the soft salon lights—it was breathtaking. You barely recognized yourself as you stared into the mirror.

The attendant helped adjust a few details before stepping back. “Perfect,” she murmured.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of the fitting room.

Jace was waiting just outside.

The moment he saw you, his entire body seemed to go still. His usual confidence faltered, his lips parting slightly as his gaze traveled over you. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stared.

You had seen him look at you many times before—with adoration, with amusement, with that possessive hunger that never seemed to fade. But this?

This was something else.

“Jace?” you murmured.

He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, then exhaled a soft laugh. “You’re…” He shook his head, running a hand through his curls. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

You smiled, stepping closer. “You really think so?”

His hand reached for yours, fingers curling around your wrist gently. “I know so.”

There was something about the way he was looking at you—like you were the most precious thing he had ever laid eyes on. Like he would burn the entire world down just to keep you safe.

And in that moment, you realized—no matter how dark things got, no matter what ghosts from your past tried to haunt you—Jace would always be there.

"Jace, what are you doing?" you grumbled, your hands reaching up to pry his away from your eyes.

He only chuckled, his breath warm against your ear. "Patience, love. Just a little longer."

You could hear the waves crashing gently in the distance, the salty scent of the ocean filling your lungs. The breeze was cool against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"Jace—"

"Alright, alright." He finally let go, stepping back. "Open your eyes."

The moment you did, your breath caught in your throat.

The beach stretched out before you, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns carefully placed in the sand. A small dining table sat in the center of it all, draped in white linen, adorned with flickering candles and a delicate arrangement of roses. The ocean reflected the moonlight, casting silver ripples across the waves. It was… perfect.

You turned to Jace, speechless.

"You did all this?" your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curled into a smirk. "Do you like it?"

You exhaled a shaky laugh. "Jace, this is—" You shook your head, eyes glistening. "It’s beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you," he murmured, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

Your heart fluttered.

"Come," he said, guiding you toward the table. He pulled out your chair, waiting for you to sit before taking his place across from you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just stared at each other, the sound of the waves filling the silence between you.

"You didn’t have to do all this," you said softly.

"I wanted to." His voice was firm, unwavering. "You deserve this. You deserve everything."

You looked down, swallowing hard.

Jace reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "You’ve been through hell, love. But you’re still here. Still fighting." His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "I want you to know that no matter what, I’ll always be by your side. Always."

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes.

"Jace…"

"No more looking back," he whispered. "Only forward. With me."

You nodded, squeezing his hand.

"With you."

You couldn't help but chuckle as you watched Aegon and Aemond pour champagne into your glass with exaggerated grace, as if they were trained butlers.

"What is this?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Aegon smirked. "A royal service, my lady. Enjoy it while it lasts."

Aemond rolled his eye, setting the bottle down with practiced ease. "Jace insisted we do this. I still don’t know why I agreed."

"Because I made you," Jace interjected smoothly, amusement flickering in his eyes as he took a sip of his drink.

You shook your head, still chuckling, before a sound caught your attention—the soft, elegant melody of a violin drifting through the night air. Your laughter faded as you turned, eyes widening.

A musician stood a few feet away, playing a slow, enchanting tune that mingled perfectly with the sound of the waves. The scene felt like something out of a dream.

When you looked back at Jace, he was already watching you. His gaze was intense, filled with something deep, something unspoken. The flickering candlelight reflected in his dark eyes, making them look almost golden.

"Dance with me," he murmured, standing up and holding out his hand.

You hesitated for a second, your heart pounding, but then you placed your hand in his.

Jace pulled you to your feet gently, his grip firm yet careful. With Aegon and Aemond smirking behind you, you stepped onto the soft sand, where the melody continued to play.

"Ignore them," Jace whispered, pulling you closer. "It's just us."

And so, with the moonlight shining above, the waves singing their lullaby, and the violin playing just for you, you danced.

Jace’s arms tightened around you as you swayed gently to the rhythm of the violin, the soft sound of the waves harmonizing with the melody. His warmth enveloped you, grounding you in the moment, in him.

Then, his voice—low, rough with emotion—whispered against your ear.

"I love you."

You stiffened slightly, your breath catching in your throat.

"I love you more than anything in this world," he continued, his voice steady, unwavering. "And I will protect you, no matter what it takes. No one will ever hurt you again."

You swallowed hard, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as your heart pounded.

"Jace... I—"

"Shh," he cut you off softly, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His hand cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin with infinite tenderness. "I don’t need you to say anything. I just need you to know that I will never leave you. Never."

Your eyes stung with unshed tears, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his words, of his presence.

Jace leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. "You are everything to me," he whispered. "And I will walk through fire, through hell itself, if it means keeping you safe."

The night felt still around you, as if the universe itself had paused to witness this moment.

Slowly, you lifted your hand to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. A silent promise. A vow.

And when you finally spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper.

"I believe you."

Jace exhaled shakily, his lips curling into a small, relieved smile. And then, without another word, he leaned in and kissed you—soft and slow, as if pouring all of his love into that single moment beneath the moonlit sky.

The world around you seemed to blur, the sound of the waves fading into the background as Jace knelt before you. The small velvet box in his hands was open, revealing a stunning ring that sparkled under the soft glow of the moon.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"Jace..."

His gaze never wavered as he looked up at you, his eyes filled with nothing but love, devotion, and something deeper—an unbreakable promise.

"I know you’ve been through hell," he began, his voice steady yet thick with emotion. "I know you think you're broken, that there are pieces of you that can't be put back together. But I don’t care how many scars you carry, how many nightmares still haunt you—I love you."

Your hands trembled, your mind racing, but he reached out, gently taking one of your hands in his.

"You don’t have to be perfect," he whispered. "You don’t have to heal overnight. I just want to be the one standing beside you, through every high, every low, through every dark night and every bright morning. I want you, always."

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him—the man who had fought for you, who had held you through your worst nights, who had never once turned away even when you tried to push him away.

"Marry me," Jace said, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your skin. "Let me be the one to love you for the rest of my life."

Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping as emotions swirled inside you—fear, hope, love.

You had never thought this moment would come. Not after everything. Not after the nightmares and the broken pieces you thought no one would ever want.

And yet, here he was.

Still choosing you.

Still loving you.

Your voice wavered as you finally found the strength to speak.

"Yes."

The moment the word left your lips, Jace let out a breath he had been holding, his expression breaking into one of pure, unfiltered joy. He slipped the ring onto your finger, his hands shaking slightly, before standing up and cupping your face.

Then, without hesitation, he kissed you—slow and deep, as if trying to tell you everything words couldn’t.

The cheers of Aegon and Aemond broke through the quiet night, but you barely heard them.

Because, for the first time in so long, you felt something you thought you had lost forever.

Hope.

Your tears fell freely, but for the first time in a long while, they weren’t from pain or fear. They were from joy—overwhelming, heart-crushing joy. Jace was still kissing you, his lips moving softly against yours, pouring all his love into that one moment.

Then, the sound of clapping grew louder.

You pulled away slightly, your breath hitching as you turned to see a group of familiar figures standing nearby. Rhaenyra, Alicent, Luke, Daemon—his usual smirk present—Helaena. They were all there, watching, smiling, celebrating.

Jace chuckled, pressing his forehead against your temple. "I should’ve known they wouldn’t let us have this moment alone."

Rhaenyra stepped forward first, a teasing smile on her lips as she looked between the two of you. "Took you long enough," she mused, her voice warm. "I was starting to think my son didn’t have the courage."

Jace groaned, shaking his head. "Not you too, Mother."

Alicent laughed softly, stepping beside Rhaenyra. "Oh, she’s not the only one. We’ve been waiting for this moment for a while." Her eyes softened as they met yours. "And I can’t think of anyone better to stand beside him."

Luke practically tackled you in a hug before Jace pulled him away, shaking his head. "Careful with my fiancée, Luke."

Hearing that word—fiancée—sent a shiver through you. It was real. You were engaged.

"Fiancée, huh?" Aegon smirked, holding up a glass of champagne. "So does this mean we can start planning the wedding? Because I have some… let’s just say, unique ideas."

Aemond rolled his eye. "Don’t let him anywhere near the planning, unless you want a bachelor party that ends in absolute chaos."

Jace shook his head, wrapping an arm around you protectively. "Aegon is not planning anything."

You laughed softly, leaning into Jace as he held you close. The moonlit beach, the sound of waves crashing, the warmth of Jace’s body beside you, the presence of family—it was more than you ever thought you could have.

And for the first time in forever, you didn’t feel like a broken woman trying to survive.

You felt like a woman who was finally, truly living.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @callsignwidow @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @ashblooddragons

[vaelry]

Jacaerys Velaryon Clavin Klein Campaign.

Your eyes narrowed as you stared at the screen, heart pounding in your chest.

Jace had just posted his Calvin Klein campaign, and it was everywhere. Black-and-white shots, his toned abs, the way his jeans hung way too low on his hips—and worst of all, the damn smirk on his face like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

The comments were blowing up.

“OMG Jace is actually unreal.”

“This man has NO business looking this good.”

“I need a moment. Or ten.”

“I’m on my knees, literally.”

Your jaw clenched.

“Oh, so this is what we’re doing now?” you muttered under your breath, fuming.

Jace was in the kitchen, casually scrolling through his phone, completely unbothered.

You stormed in, phone in hand, and slammed it down on the counter.

“Really, Jace? Really?”

He looked up, blinking innocently. “What?”

You gestured aggressively at your phone. “This. This thirst trap you just posted for the entire world to drool over.”

Jace’s lips twitched like he was trying not to smirk. “Babe, it’s just a campaign—”

“Just a campaign?” you scoffed. “You’re half-naked, Jace! Everyone and their mother is in your comments talking about how they wanna climb you like a tree!”

Jace chuckled, leaning on the counter. “You jealous, baby?”

Your eyes flashed. “Oh, so now you’re enjoying this?”

Jace just grinned, all cocky and infuriating. “Kinda hot seeing you all worked up over me.”

You grabbed a dish towel and threw it at his face, but he was too quick, catching it midair.

“Fine. Two can play this game,” you huffed, unlocking your phone.

Jace’s eyes darkened immediately as he watched you open Instagram. “What are you doing?”

“Posting my own thirst trap.” You smirked, scrolling through your hottest pictures, about to make a statement.

Jace snatched the phone from your hands so fast you barely saw him move.

“Oh, hell no.”

You glared. “Oh, now you have a problem?”

Jace caged you against the counter, his arms on either side of you, his smirk gone.

“You don’t need to post anything, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low, possessive. “The only attention I need is yours.”

His hands slid to your waist, pulling you against him, his eyes locked on yours.

“But if you really need a reminder that you’re the only one I want…” His lips brushed your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“I can show you exactly who I belong to.”

The internet lost its mind the moment the video dropped.

Within seconds, Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok were in complete chaos.

The Video:

You were straddling Jace’s lap, one hand wrapped around his throat, the other tangled in his hair. Your body rocked against him, and his hands gripped your waist, effortlessly guiding your movements. He had that damn smirk, his eyes dark and full of amusement.

Then, just as if to ruin everyone’s lives, you leaned in, lips brushing against his ear, whispering something only he could hear. Jace’s smirk widened, his fingers digging into your hips, and then he bit his lip, looking way too pleased with himself.

And just like that, the internet exploded.

Twitter Reactions:

“I just watched this video 46 times and I still can’t breathe.”

“THIS is revenge??? She just ended all of us.”

“Jace in the CK campaign had me weak, but THIS??? I am deceased. RIP me.”

“THE HAND AROUND HIS THROAT. THE WHISPERING. THE WAY HE’S SMIRKING. I CANNOT.”

“Y’all, I think we just witnessed softcore porn and I’m not complaining.”

Instagram Comments (Under Jace’s Post):

“Bro, did you even SURVIVE that??”

“You just made every couple on this planet feel boring.”

“Not him looking like he’d let her do absolutely ANYTHING to him.”

“I need to know what she whispered IMMEDIATELY.”

“Jace blink twice if you need help—oh wait, you’re into this.”

TikTok Chaos:

🔗 Edits flooded the app—slow-motion replays of your fingers gripping Jace’s throat, the way his eyes darkened, the way your body moved together, all set to the most sinful R&B songs.

📈 Trending Hashtags:

#JaceIsGone #PowerCoupleGoals #ThroatGrabber #SheOwnsHimNow

Meanwhile, Jace’s Reaction:

He reposted the video on his Instagram story with just one caption:

“Revenge never looked this good.” 😏🔥

And just like that, he won again.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

Thank to @zaldritzosrose gor letting me use your beautiful dividers ❤️‍🩹

[vaelry]

Hey girl, I love your HOTD reactions sm! What about like how they would react if you did a VS or Skims collab for a Valentine’s day set or something??

HOTD Characters Reaction To Your Campaign With Skims

Aegon was in the middle of scrolling through his phone, lazily lounging on the couch when his screen suddenly froze.

The SKIMS Valentine’s Day campaign.

Your face. Your body. Draped in lingerie so sheer it might as well be a second skin. Red silk, lace, curves accentuated perfectly—a vision of absolute sin. The shot that made his blood boil the most?

You, on a plush pink bed, biting your lip, fingers tangled in your hair—wearing nothing but a dangerously tiny bra and lace garters. The caption?

“Indulge yourself this Valentine’s Day. ❤️ #SKIMSLove”

The likes and comments were flooding in, men thirsting over you in real-time:

“THIS is what I want for Valentine’s Day.”

“Bro, she’s actually unreal.”

“Forget flowers, I’m sending divorce papers to my wife.”

“I just know her man is LOSING HIS MIND.”

Yeah. He was.

Aegon shot up, phone clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. His jaw? Tight. His eyes? Dark. His entire body radiated possessiveness, his breath coming out in ragged bursts.

His first instinct? Call you. Right. Now. But then he thought—No. No, you fucking knew what you were doing. Posting this without telling him? Letting the entire world drool over you while he was just supposed to sit there and take it?

His next move? Damage control.

The internet absolutely lost its mind.

The moment Aegon dropped the video on his Instagram story, everything went insane.

The clip was short but devastating—you, bent over his bed, skin flushed, your bare back marked with his claim, trembling, moaning his name like a prayer, wrecked beyond comprehension. Aegon’s hand came into view, gripping your waist, his voice low and smug, whispering,

“Didn’t think I’d let that SKIMS stunt slide, did you, baby?”

The internet? BROKE.

Twitter/X Exploded:

“THIS MAN JUST ENDED THE ENTIRE MALE POPULATION WTF”

“Aegon Targaryen is the pettiest, most unhinged man alive and I respect it.”

“She posted SKIMS, he posted HER. This is WAR.”

“HOW is this allowed on Instagram? WHO reported it? WHOEVER YOU ARE, WE FIGHT AT DAWN.”

“Bro turned Valentine’s Day into a public execution.”

Instagram Comments on His Last Post:

“Sir. Some of us are SINGLE.”

“That’s it. I’m deleting my boyfriend.”

“Y’all seeing her LEGS SHAKING??? Nah this man is different.”

“I’m not okay. I will never be okay.”

“We were thirsting over her SKIMS shoot and Aegon said ‘bet.’”

TikTok Reactions:

POV edits of Aegon with captions like “When your man reminds the world who you belong to 😵‍💫🔥”

Audio clips of “I want what they have” over slow-mo replays of the video

Girls fake crying into the camera with captions like “Me realizing I’ll never be this girl”

Reddit Threads:

r/popculturegossip

“Aegon Targaryen just HARD LAUNCHED his revenge arc, and I’ve never felt so single.”

“This is the most unhinged flex of all time, and I need therapy.”

“So we all agree he’s the pettiest man alive, right?"

Instagram eventually took the video down—but it was too late. Screenshots, edits, and memes had already flooded the internet. Aegon had won the war, and the internet was never recovering.

The second Aemond saw the photos—you, draped in delicate lace, barely covered, staring into the camera with that knowing, sultry look—his jaw clenched so tight it could snap.

His phone nearly cracked in his grip as he scrolled through the thousands of comments under the post:

“Mother is mothering.”

“Aemond is officially the luckiest man alive.”

“The male species has been defeated. We are but peasants.”

“You’re telling me this woman goes home to HIM??? Jail.”

A deep, dark chuckle left his lips—but it wasn’t amusement. It was pure, seething possession.

His eye twitched, his breathing heavy as he saw the likes flooding in—from men. From verified blue checks. From random nobodies who had no business looking at you like that.

“The fuck is this, darling?” His voice was deadly calm, but the way he stalked toward you, phone in hand, told you everything.

“A campaign.” You blinked at him, innocent. “For SKIMS.”

“A fucking campaign?” He scoffed, throwing his phone onto the table as he cornered you. “So that’s what we’re doing now? Letting every goddamn man on the internet see what’s MINE?”

He was pissed. Jealous. Possessive. His fingers traced up your arm, then gripped your jaw, tilting your face up to him.

“Tell me, did you enjoy it?” His voice dropped lower, dangerously soft. “Did you like having them all drooling over you?”

His eye burned into you, jaw tight as he leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“Because now you’re going to remind them who you belong to.”

Aemond never lost control—but tonight? You were in for it.

The second Aemond posted the video, the internet broke.

It wasn’t just a thirst trap. It was a declaration. A warning. A final nail in the coffin for every man who thought they had a chance.

The clip was grainy, filmed through the dim light of his bedroom—his signature aesthetic. You were wrecked on his bed, wrists bound, body shaking, barely able to form a word except his name—moaned like a prayer, like a confession.

And Aemond? His signature smirk could be heard in his voice when he murmured:

“This is what happens when you forget who you belong to.”

Instagram Exploded :

“IS THIS EVEN ALLOWED???”

“So we’re just posting full-course MEALS now????”

“The way she’s literally trembling… yeah, I lost.”

"‘This is what happens when you forget who you belong to’ BRO CAN WE BREATHE???”

“The SKIMS campaign was for US. This? This was for HIM.”

“Aemond said, ‘You wanna model lingerie? Fine. Now model MY BED.’”

“The way she’s just a mess for him… If my man doesn’t love me like this, I DON’T WANT IT.”

Within minutes, Twitter (X) was on fire.

#AemondTargaryen

#SheBelongsToHim

#TiedUpForAemond

#OneEyedKing

Trending. Everywhere.

TWITTER/X MELTDOWN:

“I HAVEN’T EVEN RECOVERED FROM HER SKIMS SHOOT AND NOW THIS????”

“This man really said ‘revenge’ and ENDED US ALL.”

"Aemond Targaryen is a MENACE. I hate him. (I’m lying. I love him.)”

“THIS IS THE MOST POSSESSIVE, FILTHY, UNHINGED, HOTTEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN. HELP ME.”

TIKTOK COMMENTS UNDER THE VIDEO:

Pinned by Aemond Targaryen : “Revenge is sweet, baby."

“My FBI agent just logged out. This is TOO MUCH.”

“This is NOT just a revenge post—THIS IS A WARNING.”

“Imagine posting a SKIMS campaign and your man drops THIS as a response… She WINS.”

“Her Skims photos were for US. Aemond’s revenge was for HIM.”

Meanwhile, Aemond? He just sat back, smirking at his phone as he watched the world come to terms with what they already knew.

You were his. And there was no escaping it.

Jace never had an issue with you modeling. Until now.

He was in a meeting when his phone started blowing up. At first, he ignored it—until Aegon sent him a link with nothing but:

“LMAO. You good, bro?”

Frowning, Jace clicked.

And there you were.

Draped in red lace. Skin glowing. Eyes hooded. Posing in a way that had every man on the planet foaming at the mouth. The SKIMS Valentine’s campaign had dropped, and you were the star.

The moment he saw the lingerie—saw the way your body looked in it—his jaw locked so tight it could crack.

And then he saw the comments.

“I just KNOW Jace is punching the air rn.”

“She’s too fine. If he won’t wife her, I WILL.”

“Jace, be so serious… How does it feel to lose?”

“Why does she look single in these photos???”

“Jace, if you fumble, I’m RIGHT HERE.”

The moment the meeting ended, Jace stormed out of the office, grabbing his phone and calling you immediately.

You picked up, cheerful—which only pissed him off more.

“You having fun?” His voice was low, dangerous.

You giggled. “Jacey, baby, did you see the campaign?”

“Oh, I saw it. So did the rest of the fucking world.”

You hummed, unbothered. “And?”

Jace ran a hand through his curls, breathing hard. He could see the photos in his mind—how every man was lusting over you.

His girl.

And the worst part?

You knew exactly what you were doing.

“And,” he growled, “you better be home when I get there.”

“Why?” you teased, voice all sweetness and sin.

Jace let out a dark chuckle. “So I can remind you who the fuck you belong to.”

One minute, people were thirsting over your SKIMS campaign, and the next?

Jace dropped a bomb.

A video.

A very explicit video.

You, bare, ruined, trembling on his bed. Voice completely gone. Every breath ragged. Body shaking violently. Jace’s hand on your ass, smacking every time you tried to move away. His voice? Dark. Dangerous. Possessive.

“Was it worth it, baby? Hm? Letting the whole world see you like that? Look at you now—can’t even talk, can’t even move. Next time you wanna tease me, remember who the fuck you belong to.”

And his caption? Head Shot.

“Since y’all were so thirsty for her SKIMS campaign, here’s what happened after. Enjoy.”

Instagram Comments :

“JACE, WTF IS THIS? I CAN’T BREATHE.”

“He saw the SKIMS campaign and said ‘bet.’”

“NAH, THIS IS BIBLICAL. HER VOICE? GONE. BODY? FINISHED. JACE?? LAUGHING IN HER EAR?”

“This man took it PERSONAL LMFAO.”

“I ain’t never seen a man HUMBLED this fast 😭”

“THE WAY HE’S WHISPERING TO HER AND HIS HAND?? Y’ALL. I NEED HOLY WATER.”

“Her body shaking and his palm smacking down… Yeah. Yeah. That’s a man.”

“Jace saw the SKIMS campaign and said ‘MY GIRL. MINE.’”

“You just KNOW he was PISSED when he saw those lingerie pics 😭.”

“She went from SKIMS model to Jace’s favorite meal real fast.”

“THE WHOLE VIDEO IS JUST HIM RUINING HER LIFE AND HER LETTING HIM 😭.”

“I need everyone involved in this video ARRESTED.”

“Bro uploaded this like a warning. Like, ‘you thought you were single in those photos? Here’s your reminder.’”

“HE REALLY POSTED THIS AS REVENGE FOR SKIMS. THIS IS A POWER MOVE.”



TWITTER REACTIONS : Trending Topics:

#JaceVelaryon

#JusticeForHerVoice

#SKIMSRevenge

#IsSheAlive??

Comments :

“Jace is actually insane for posting this. HER BODY IS SHAKING. HER VOICE IS GONE. AND HE’S JUST THERE, WHISPERING AND LAUGHING??? HELLO???”

“You KNOW he was mad about SKIMS cause why is this video a whole RESPONSE??? 😭”

“If my man doesn’t ruin me like this after I piss him off, I don’t want him.”

“Jace: ‘You wanna do a lingerie campaign and let men thirst over you? Cool. But they’re gonna watch you break for ME.’”

“Jace really saw those SKIMS pics, picked up his phone, and said: ‘hold my beer.’”

“THAT MAN POSTED A WHOLE MOVIE. AMAZON PRIME COULD NEVER."

TIKTOK REACTIONS: Viral TikTok Caption

“POV: Jace Velaryon took his SKIMS revenge to another level and now we’re all screaming, crying, throwing up.”

Sound: Cardi B screaming “WHAT WAS THE REASON?!”

“Y’all, Jace didn’t just claim his girl. He PLANTED HIS FLAG.”

“Her legs shaking and him laughing about it…? Yeah. I need therapy.”

“Jace’s hand on her ass, the way she arched, the way he smacked down??? I HAVE NEVER KNOWN PEACE.”

FINAL VERDICT:

The internet is absolutely UNWELL. Jace won. You? Finished. The SKIMS campaign? Irrelevant.

The moment Daemon sees the SKIMS campaign, his entire demeanor shifts. He had been lounging in his office, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone—until your face, your body, wrapped in delicate lace, fills his screen. His jaw clenches, his grip on the phone tightening as he watches you pose effortlessly, seductive and stunning, every inch of you made to be worshipped.

And so were the thousands of comments under the post.

“She’s an angel AND a sin. How is that fair?”

“I need her. No, actually, I’ll die without her.”

“Whoever her man is, I hope he knows he lost her to the world today.”

Daemon lets out a dark chuckle, but there’s nothing amused about it. His blood is boiling, his possessiveness clawing at his insides. Lost you to the world? They had no idea who they were talking about.

With a sharp inhale, he slams his phone down on the desk and gets up, pacing the room. His mind races. He knows you love teasing him, knows you like pushing boundaries—but this? This was a direct challenge. A test. And Daemon Targaryen does not lose.

Grabbing his car keys, he heads straight for you. No calls. No texts. You knew what you had done. Now? Now, you’d deal with the consequences.

The internet exploded within minutes of Daemon’s post.

No caption. No explanation. Just you, completely wrecked—your expression dazed, mouth parted as soft whimpers left your lips. His hand cradled your face, slapping your cheek with a teasing, mocking rhythm. And though his other hand wasn’t in frame, the wetness sounds that filled the video left no room for imagination.

Twitter/X:

“WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST WATCH???”

“Daemon just said ‘she’s MINE’ without saying a single damn word.”

“This man saw the SKIMS shoot and said ‘bet’ 😭”

“HELP ME I CAN’T BREATHE WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THE SOUNDS???”

Instagram Comments:

“Okay but the way she looks at him?? That’s not just lust, that’s ruin.”

“He posted this just to remind everyone he owns her and honestly? It worked.”

“WHO ALLOWED THIS TO BE ON MY FEED??? I have work in the morning.”

“I feel like I just saw something I shouldn’t have… and yet I can’t stop watching.”

TikTok Reactions:

Edits of the SKIMS shoot transitioning to Daemon’s video with captions like:

“She teased him, and he answered.”

“SKIMS said ‘sexy’—Daemon said ‘MINE’.”

Compilation of reactions to the sound alone, with people throwing their phones across the room or covering their faces in shock.

Reddit Threads:

“Daemon Targaryen just changed the internet forever.”

“The SKIMS campaign was a declaration. Daemon’s video? A WAR CRIME.”

“How do we recover from this? WE DON’T.”

While some were losing their minds over the intensity, others were spiraling at the undeniable claim staked in that video. Daemon wanted the world to know—you were his, and no amount of cameras or campaigns would ever change that.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @ashblooddragons @callsignwidow

Thank you to @zaldritzosrose for letting me using your dividers ❤️‍🩹

[vaelry]

HOTD Characters when you posted something that angered them on instagram.

a/n : with their revenge.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

[vaelry]

I love your HOTD reaction, can you please make their reactions to your sex scene?? like when premier of the movie and you forget to tell them that you have a sex scene with your costar ?

HOTD characters reacted to your sex scene.

Aegon Wasn’t Just Jealous—He Was Seething.

The grand theater was filled with flashing lights, murmuring voices, and the occasional gasp as the film unfolded on the massive screen. Aegon had been relaxed at first, draped in his chair with a drink in hand, his usual smirk firmly in place. He had come to support you, proud as ever—until the scene started.

Then, everything shifted.

The moment your character’s lips met your co-star’s, Aegon’s entire body went rigid.

The soft glow of the screen flickered over his face, illuminating the sharp set of his jaw, the sudden clench of his fist against the armrest. His fingers curled so tightly around the glass in his hand that, for a brief second, it seemed like it might shatter.

But when the scene escalated—when hands grasped, when bodies pressed together, when breathy moans filled the theater—that was when Aegon snapped.

The audience around him was absorbed, but Aegon?

Aegon was fuming.

His breath was heavy, controlled—but his eyes were dark, filled with an unmistakable, dangerous rage. His free hand balled into a tight fist on his thigh, his nails digging into his palm.

He turned his head, just enough to glance at you, sitting beside him. You hadn’t told him about this.

His voice was low, sharp. “You forgot to mention this part, love.”

There was something chilling in his tone—not quite loud enough for others to hear, but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Your eyes flicked to him, reading the storm brewing behind his gaze.

“Aegon, I—”

“Save it.”

His jaw flexed as he tore his gaze back to the screen, forcing himself to watch every second of it, even as rage clawed at his chest. His knee bounced with restless tension, his breathing rougher now, more shallow.

And then your co-star had the audacity to let out a groan, gripping you in the scene as if he had the right to—

The glass in Aegon’s hand shattered.

A few heads turned, whispers rippling through the seats nearby as he let the shards drop to the floor, completely unbothered by the fact that his palm was now bleeding.

Your hand instinctively reached for him, but he snatched his wrist away.

His jaw clenched. His chest rose and fell with slow, measured breaths.

But his eyes—those wild, burning violet eyes—never left the screen.

When the scene finally faded to black, Aegon exhaled through his nose, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek, as if physically restraining himself from getting up and walking out.

Then, he leaned in close to your ear, his voice low, dark, and laced with something almost dangerous.

“We’ll talk about this later, darling.”

A promise.

A warning.

And judging by the way his fingers twitched against his knee—his patience was hanging by a thread.

Aegon Didn’t Give You a Second to Breathe.

The second the front door slammed shut behind you, you barely had time to turn before Aegon was on you.

His hands were on your waist, fingers digging into your hips with possessive force, backing you against the nearest wall. His eyes—dark, burning, and filled with something almost dangerous—locked onto yours.

“You thought you could just walk in there, sit beside me, and let me watch that?” His voice was low, rough, tinged with that dangerous edge you knew all too well. His breath was hot against your skin, his grip tightening. “Did you like that, hm? Having his hands all over you while I was right there?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he didn’t let you.

Aegon’s fingers wrapped around your throat, not too tight, just enough to remind you exactly who you belonged to. His other hand dragged down your waist, nails scraping lightly as he shoved your coat off your shoulders.

“You didn’t even tell me,” he growled, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “Had to find out like everyone else. Watching you moan for someone else—while I was right there.”

Your breath hitched, and his grip tightened slightly.

Aegon chuckled, but there was no humor in it. Just possession. Frustration. Jealousy.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, voice darker now, more feral. “And tonight, I’m going to remind you exactly what that means.”

And with that, he didn’t give you a chance to say another word.

Aemond Wasn’t Just Jealous—He Was Dying.

The premiere had been perfect—until that scene.

Aemond had been sitting beside you, his usual calm and composed demeanor firmly in place as the film played. His fingers rested lightly on his knee, his posture relaxed—until he saw you pressing against another man.

Until he heard the sounds you made.

Until he saw hands on you that weren’t his.

His entire body went rigid. His fingers flexed before clenching into a tight fist, his knuckles turning white. His jaw locked so hard it could have cracked. The muscle there twitched, a telltale sign of the rage simmering beneath the surface.

Then the scene escalated.

The soft gasps. The way your body arched beneath your co-star’s touch. The way he looked at you.

Something dark and dangerous settled in Aemond’s chest—something feral.

The sound of his breath came slow, controlled—but forced. His single eye, sharp as ever, was locked onto the screen, watching every movement with a cold, unblinking intensity.

And then, without taking his gaze away, he spoke—his voice a low, deadly whisper just for you.

“You didn’t tell me about this.”

Your stomach dropped. You knew that voice. That tone.

You turned to him, eyes wide. “Aemond, I—”

“Quiet.”

His eye flicked to you for one second, and that look alone was enough to make your breath catch.

That look said everything.

It said he was angry. Furious. Jealous. But worse than that—it said you would pay for this.

The moment the scene ended, Aemond exhaled slowly, his hands resting on his thighs, fingers twitching with the barely restrained urge to break something.

He said nothing for the rest of the premiere, his rage simmering, burning, waiting.

But the second you got home?

Aemond wasn’t calm anymore.

Aemond Didn’t Give You a Chance to Speak—Or Escape.

The moment the door shut behind you, you barely had time to turn before Aemond grabbed your wrist, yanking you forward. His grip was tight, unyielding, possessive.

“Inside. Now.”

His voice was low, sharp, leaving no room for argument. His single violet eye burned with something dark, something dangerous.

“Aemond—”

You barely got his name out before he spun you around, pressing you against the nearest surface—his body caging you in. His hand gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You think you can just do that?” he hissed, his breath hot against your ear. “Let another man touch you like that—make those sounds—and expect me to sit there and watch?”

His fingers trailed down your throat, slow, intentional.

“You didn’t even tell me.” His voice was low, dark, edged with something almost dangerous.

His grip tightened. Not enough to hurt—just enough to remind you exactly who you belonged to.

“You’re mine,” Aemond murmured, lips brushing against your jaw. “And tonight? You’ll remember that.”

And just like that, he didn’t give you a second to breathe—let alone protest.

Jace Wasn’t Just Jealous—He Was Fuming.

At first, Jace had been relaxed, his arm draped over the back of your seat, his knee bouncing slightly as he watched the film. He was proud of you—so damn proud. He had been waiting for this night, excited to see you on the big screen.

But then the scene started.

And everything changed.

The second he saw someone else’s hands on you, his body tensed.

The second he heard your moans, his breathing grew heavy.

The second he watched you arch beneath another man, his fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms.

He froze, eyes locked onto the screen, his jaw tightening with every passing second. The vein in his temple pulsed, his breaths sharp and controlled—but barely.

His fingers twitched as your co-star gripped you, pulling you closer in the scene.

The moment the other man’s lips brushed against your neck, Jace exhaled sharply—through his nose, through gritted teeth—his entire body burning with rage.

And then—the worst part.

Your character whispered something, a breathy, intimate gasp of pleasure—one that he’d heard before.

Jace’s knuckles turned white. His chest rose and fell with slow, measured rage. He turned to you, his brown eyes now dark, unreadable.

“You forgot to tell me about this part,” he muttered, his voice dangerously calm—but that calm was a warning.

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat of his gaze. “Jace, I—”

“Not here.”

His tone was clipped, final.

He didn’t say another word for the rest of the premiere, but his fingers never stopped twitching, his leg never stopped bouncing, his breathing never fully steadied.

And the moment you got home?

Jace was done being calm.

Jace Didn’t Give You a Second to Breathe.

The door barely shut before he was on you.

Jace’s hands were on your waist, your wrists, your throat—everywhere all at once—as he backed you against the wall. His breath was hot against your skin, his brown eyes now dark, unreadable—but burning.

“You really thought I’d let that slide?” His voice was low, rough, the controlled rage from the premiere now boiling over.

His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you flush against him. “You let another man touch you—like that—and didn’t even tell me?” His tone was almost incredulous, almost mocking.

You gasped as he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You moaned for him.” His lips brushed against your jaw, but there was nothing gentle about it. “Right in front of me. Let me sit there and watch you fall apart for someone else.”

His fingers trailed down your spine, slow, intentional.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” he murmured. “Having me there—watching, knowing I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.”

His grip tightened.

“You think I’m going to let you get away with that?”

Jace chuckled, but there was no humor in it. Just possession. Frustration. Jealousy.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice dark, fierce. “And tonight? I’m going to make sure you don’t forget it.”

And with that, he didn’t give you a chance to say another word.

Daemon Wasn’t Just Jealous—He Was Livid.

At first, he was comfortable. His arm was stretched over the back of your seat, his usual smirk playing at his lips as the film began. He was relaxed, confident—because, of course, he had nothing to worry about.

Until that scene.

The moment your co-star touched you, Daemon’s smirk vanished.

The moment you gasped, his fingers curled into a fist.

The moment you let out that soft, breathy moan, his breathing stopped.

His entire body went rigid. His jaw clenched so tightly it could have cracked, his violet eyes locked onto the screen with a cold, dangerous intensity.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t say a word.

But the air around him? Suffocating.

His chest rose and fell with slow, measured breaths—the only thing keeping him from storming out of the damn theater.

And then—the worst part.

Your character whispered something filthy, something Daemon had heard before. Something meant only for him.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. His grip on the armrest tightened.

And then, in a voice so quiet only you could hear—

“Care to explain why the fuck I’m just now learning about this?”

Your stomach dropped. You turned, eyes wide. “Daemon, I—”

His gaze snapped to you—sharp, unreadable.

“Not. Here.”

The warning was clear.

Daemon didn’t say another word for the rest of the premiere. He didn’t need to.

His silence was louder than anything he could’ve said.

But the second you got home?

Daemon wasn’t silent anymore.

Daemon Didn’t Give You a Chance to Speak—Or Escape.

The door barely shut before you felt it—his presence behind you, suffocating, burning.

And then—his hands.

One at your waist, gripping tightly. The other? Fisting your hair, yanking your head back just enough to force your eyes to meet his.

“You let another man touch you.” His voice was low, controlled—but dripping with something dangerous.

You opened your mouth, but Daemon cut you off before a single word could escape.

“You let him have you, right in front of me.” His grip tightened. “You fucking moaned for him.”

His violet eyes were dark, burning, his chest rising and falling with slow, controlled rage.

“And the worst part?” he murmured, leaning in until his breath was hot against your ear. “You didn’t even tell me.”

His fingers trailed down your spine, slow, possessive, unforgiving.

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” Daemon whispered, his lips brushing against your neck. “You wanted me to watch. To suffer.”

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest—dangerous, amused, cruel.

“You thought you’d get away with that?”

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him.

“You think I’m just going to let that slide?”

Daemon’s lips ghosted over your jaw—a warning. A promise.

“No,” he murmured. “Not tonight.”

“Tonight, you’re going to learn exactly who you belong to."

Maegor Didn’t Just Get Jealous—He Got Furious.

At first, he sat there completely still. Silent. Too silent.

You felt the weight of his presence beside you, the sheer force of his attention fixed on the screen. He hadn’t moved an inch since the moment the scene started, but you could feel it—his anger simmering, growing.

Then your co-star touched you.

Maegor’s jaw locked. His fingers twitched on his knee.

Then you moaned.

His breathing deepened, slowed, but not with calm—with barely controlled rage.

Then you arched beneath another man.

And that’s when Maegor’s hands clenched into fists.

The air around him turned heavy, suffocating. The entire row felt it—the sheer power of his fury, thick and unforgiving.

A muscle in his jaw ticked, his sharp profile frozen in a cold, unreadable mask.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t even look at you.

But the warning was there, clear as day, in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his entire body coiled like a predator about to strike.

Then, finally, in a voice so low, so deadly, it sent a shiver down your spine—

“You let that happen.”

Your stomach dropped. You turned to him, but Maegor was already rising to his feet. Walking out.

The audience turned as the doors slammed behind him, but he didn’t care.

Because you knew one thing for certain—

He wasn’t done with you yet.

And the moment you got home?

You wouldn’t be walking away so easily.

Maegor Didn’t Give You a Chance to Speak—Or Explain.

The second the door shut, you barely had time to turn before—.

Your back hit the nearest wall.

Maegor’s hands were on you instantly—unyielding, punishing, possessive.

His grip was tight, unrelenting, fingers curling around your throat as his burning gaze pinned you in place. His violet eyes were dark with something unforgiving, something lethal.

“You let another man touch you.” His voice was low, dangerous, seething.

You gasped, hands instinctively flying to his wrist, but Maegor didn’t ease up. He only pressed closer, his breath hot against your ear.

“You let him put his hands on you. You let him hear you—moaning, gasping, saying things that belong to me.”

His fingers tightened at your throat, just enough to steal your breath for a second. His other hand trailed down your waist—slow, punishing, possessive.

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” he whispered, voice rough. “And you thought I wouldn’t do anything about it.”

A sharp, cruel chuckle escaped his lips. “Stupid girl.”

His grip suddenly shifted—yanking you away from the wall, spinning you around.

“You want to act like that in front of the world?” His fingers tangled in your hair, forcing you to arch back against him. “Then I’ll remind you who the fuck you belong to.”

Maegor’s lips brushed your ear, his breath heavy, his control hanging by a thread.

“And tonight?” His voice dropped even lower—a warning, a promise.

“You don’t get to say no.”

Aegon I Didn’t Just Get Jealous—He Saw Red.

At first, he was relaxed. His arm rested lazily over the back of your seat, his expression bored as the film played. He wasn’t worried—because why would he be? You were his.

Then the scene started.

The moment your co-star touched you, Aegon tensed.

When you let out a breathy gasp, his jaw locked.

And when you moaned, his fingers—resting so casually on the armrest just seconds ago—curled into a fist so tight his knuckles turned white.

His entire body went rigid. The air around him changed—heavy, suffocating, dangerous.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe.

But you could feel it. The way his rage started to boil, slow at first, then faster—hotter.

And then—the breaking point.

You whispered something filthy—something meant only for him. Words you had said in his bed. Words he had wrung from your lips countless times.

Aegon’s head snapped toward you so fast it sent a shiver down your spine.

His expression? Cold. Unreadable. Seething.

He leaned in, his voice low, almost too calm—and that was what scared you.

“Did you forget to tell me something, love?”

Your stomach dropped. You turned to him, lips parting— “Aegon, I—”

His fingers suddenly gripped your thigh—tight, bruising.

“Not. Here.” His voice was pure warning.

Then, as if nothing had happened, Aegon settled back into his seat, stretching an arm behind you again.

But he didn’t touch you.

Didn’t even look at you.

And that was how you knew—

The moment you got home, you were in trouble.

Aegon I Didn’t Give You a Chance—Or Mercy.

The second the door slammed shut, you knew.

You barely had time to turn before—he was on you.

Aegon’s hand caught your wrist, yanking you forward, forcing you to stumble into his chest. His grip was tight, possessive, unrelenting.

“You must’ve lost your fucking mind,” he growled. His voice was low, dark, trembling with barely contained rage.

His other hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back until your gaze met his. His violet eyes were blazing—furious, betrayed, hungry.

“You let another man touch you,” he hissed, his breath hot against your lips.

You gasped, hands flying up to grab his wrist, but Aegon only tightened his grip.

“You let him hear you moan.” His jaw clenched. “You let him fuck you—right in front of me.”

His fingers trailed down your waist—slow, punishing, claiming every inch of skin that was shown to the world.

“You knew what you were doing.” A sharp, cruel chuckle escaped his lips. “You wanted me to see. You wanted me to suffer.”

Aegon suddenly spun you around, pressing your front against the nearest wall.

“You think you can do whatever you want?” His voice was dangerous, dripping with control he was barely holding onto. “You think I’ll just let that slide?”

His lips brushed against your ear—mocking, threatening, promising.

“You wanted to be watched?” His voice dropped, dark amusement lacing his tone. “Fine.”

Aegon’s fingers dragged down your back, slow, possessive.

“But you’ll only moan for me.”

“And tonight?” He let out a slow exhale, his grip tightening.

“I’ll remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

[vaelry]

Endless Battle Of Love - Modern!Jacaerys Velaryon x Female.

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5.

Word Count : 6.3k

Jacaerys Velaryon Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose ose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the phone as she absorbed her son’s words. Jace stood before her, shoulders squared, jaw set with determination. His gaze, once full of warmth and idealism, was now cold, hardened by what had happened to you.

"Jace," she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "You don’t mean that."

But he didn’t hesitate. "I do." His voice was steady, unshakable. "I’ve spent my whole life trying to do things the right way, trying to be the better man. But look where that got us." He gestured toward the hallway, toward the room where you lay resting after the worst night of your life. "It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough."

Rhaenyra, who had been silent until now, furrowed her brows. "Jace—"

"No," he cut her off, his voice growing firmer. "I’ve already made up my mind. You both know what needs to be done. Cregan and whoever helped him—they won’t stop. And I won’t sit back and watch it happen again."

Alicent shook her head, disbelief written across her face. "You are not that kind of man, Jace."

"Maybe I wasn’t before." His gaze darkened, hands curling into fists at his sides. "But I am now."

A tense silence filled the room.

"And what about the company?" Alicent challenged. "Your father’s legacy? Are you really going to abandon all of it?"

Jace exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. "Luke can handle it. He was never built for this life, but the company? He was born for it."

Alicent scoffed. "And what, you’ll run off to join Daemon, Aegon, and Aemond? You think that’s the answer?"

"It’s the only way to protect her."

That silenced them both.

Jace’s voice softened slightly, but his conviction never wavered. "If I had been more like them from the beginning, if I had their resources, their power—Cregan never would’ve gotten near her." He shook his head, disgusted with himself. "I won’t make that mistake again."

Rhaenyra turned to Alicent , searching her face for any sign of disagreement, but Alicent was staring at Jace with an unreadable expression.

"You approve of this?" Rhaenyra asked, her voice laced with disbelief.

Alicent took a deep breath. "I don’t approve, but I understand."

Jace met her gaze, and for the first time, he saw not just his other mother, but a woman who had once had to make the same choice.

"You can still walk away from this," Rhaenyra tried one last time, her voice laced with desperation. "You don’t have to become like them."

Jace shook his head. "I already am."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Rhaenyra called after him.

He didn’t look back. "To make sure Cregan takes his last breath."

The moment Jace’s fist connected with Cregan’s already bruised face, a sickening crack echoed through the warehouse. The force of the punch sent Cregan’s head snapping to the side, blood spattering onto the cold concrete floor. The men in the room, including Aemond and Aegon, stilled for a brief moment—none of them had seen Jace enter, and none of them expected him to act so brutally right away.

Aegon, still chuckling under his breath, took a swig from his flask and raised an eyebrow. "Well, well, look who's finally embracing the dark side."

Jace ignored him, breathing heavily as he towered over Cregan, who groaned and tried to lift his head. Jace grabbed him by the collar of his torn shirt and yanked him forward, his voice a low, deadly growl. "Did you think I wouldn’t find her?"

Cregan, despite his battered state, let out a weak chuckle, spitting blood onto the floor. "You were too late." His swollen lips twisted into a smirk. "You’ll always be too late."

Jace saw red. He pulled back his fist and landed another brutal punch, this time directly to Cregan’s ribs. The crack that followed told him he had done some serious damage. Cregan coughed, blood trickling down his chin, but that damned smirk never left his face.

Aemond leaned against the wall, watching with an amused expression. "You sure you want to handle this, nephew? You’re getting emotional."

Jace ignored him, seething as he crouched down to meet Cregan’s bloodshot eyes. "You touched her," he whispered, voice trembling with rage. "You made her relive it. You made her beg."

Cregan’s breath hitched slightly, but he quickly masked it with another smirk. "She always begs, doesn’t she?"

Jace didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed the nearest metal pipe and swung it into Cregan’s ribs with full force. The sound of breaking bone filled the warehouse as Cregan screamed, his entire body convulsing from the pain.

"Seven Hells," Aegon muttered, watching with wide eyes.

Jace wasn’t done. He grabbed Cregan’s hair, forcing him to look up. "Where did you get those videos?" His voice was ice. "Who helped you?"

Cregan let out a choked laugh, blood dripping from his lips. "Go to hell."

Jace’s patience snapped. He turned to Aemond, voice deadly calm. "Give me your knife."

Aemond smirked but didn’t hesitate to pull a sleek dagger from his belt and toss it to Jace. Jace caught it effortlessly, twirling it in his fingers before pressing the tip against Cregan’s throat.

"Talk."

Cregan's smirk faltered for the first time. He could see it now—Jace wasn’t just some businessman playing gangster. He wasn’t bluffing.

Aegon clapped his hands, clearly entertained. "Damn, nephew. Maybe I should’ve invited you into the family business sooner."

Jace tightened his grip on the knife, pressing the cold steel against Cregan’s throat.

"Talk."

The word was sharp, cutting through the tense silence of the warehouse. The only sounds were Cregan’s ragged breathing and the faint dripping of blood onto the concrete floor. Jace’s hands were steady, his anger controlled, but barely.

Cregan coughed, a weak chuckle escaping his split lips. "You think this changes anything?" he rasped, his voice hoarse from the beating. "You can break every bone in my body, but it won’t change what happened to her."

Jace saw red.

He slammed the knife into Cregan’s shoulder, burying it deep. Cregan let out a strangled scream, his body jerking against the ropes that held him in place. Blood seeped through his torn shirt, staining the metal chair beneath him.

Aegon whistled lowly. "Damn, Jace. Didn’t think you had it in you."

Aemond, standing in the shadows, smirked but said nothing. His good eye gleamed with interest, watching how Jace handled himself.

Jace leaned in, his voice cold and unforgiving. "You’re going to tell me everything, or I swear to the god, you’ll leave this warehouse in pieces."

Cregan was panting now, sweat mixing with the blood on his face. He swallowed hard, his arrogance faltering for the first time.

"The videos," Jace pressed, twisting the knife slightly, making Cregan groan in pain. "Who helped you get them?"

Cregan let out another broken chuckle. "Does it matter?" His voice was weak, but his smirk returned, even through the pain. "You think she’ll ever be the same after this? You think she won’t flinch every time you touch her?"

Jace’s hand trembled.

Cregan grinned through the pain, his teeth red with blood. "You weren’t there, Jace. You didn’t hear her beg. I did."

The words made something inside Jace snap.

His fist connected with Cregan’s face, then again, and again. Blood splattered onto his knuckles, onto his clothes, onto the floor. Cregan was barely conscious now, his head lolling to the side, but Jace didn’t stop.

"Enough." The voice was calm, but firm.

Aemond.

Jace panted, his chest rising and falling heavily, his bloodied hands still clenched into fists. He turned, glaring at Aemond.

"He hasn’t told us everything," Jace seethed.

Aemond tilted his head, his smirk never fading. "He will. But not if you kill him first."

Jace looked down at Cregan, barely hanging onto consciousness. His body was broken, but he was still breathing.

Aegon sighed, rubbing his temple. "I hate to say it, but Aemond’s right. We need him alive. For now."

Jace clenched his jaw, his breathing still uneven. His entire body was vibrating with rage, but deep down, he knew they were right.

Jace stepped closer, his bloodied hands gripping the arms of Cregan’s chair, his face only inches away.

"You think you broke her?" His voice was steady, low, but laced with quiet fury. "You think you destroyed her just because you put your filthy hands on her?"

Cregan let out a weak chuckle, his swollen lips curling into a smirk. Blood dripped from his nose, but his dark eyes still held amusement. "Oh, Jacaerys," he murmured, voice hoarse. "You still don’t understand, do you?"

Jace’s jaw clenched.

"No matter how many times you beat me, no matter how many threats you make, the damage is done." Cregan's voice was almost gentle, mocking. "She’ll never forget what happened in that jet. She’ll never stop hearing my voice in her ear. And you?" He tilted his head, smirking. "You’ll never stop wondering… wondering if she’ll ever truly be yours again."

Jace’s breathing turned heavy.

Cregan leaned in as much as his restraints allowed, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And if my seed takes root…?" He let the words linger in the air, poison dripping from every syllable.

The world tilted.

Jace’s vision blurred with rage. The ground beneath him felt unsteady, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. The blood in his veins turned to ice.

"What did you just say?" His voice was barely audible, but it was filled with something terrifying, something dark.

Cregan only grinned wider. "You heard me."

For a moment, no one moved. The entire room held its breath.

Then—

Jace lunged.

His fist connected with Cregan’s jaw, a sickening crack echoing through the warehouse. He didn’t stop. He didn’t even hesitate. He struck him again. And again. And again.

"You don't get to say that!" Jace roared, his voice raw with fury. His knuckles were split open, but he didn’t care. He wanted to break every bone in Cregan’s body, make him feel even a fraction of the pain he had caused you.

"Jace—" Aemond stepped forward, but Aegon held up a hand, stopping him.

"Let him have this." Aegon’s voice was calm, detached, but there was an understanding in his eyes.

Jace grabbed Cregan by the collar, lifting his barely conscious face. Blood streamed down from his nose, his cheekbone swollen beyond recognition.

"No matter what you did," Jace hissed, "she is not yours. You didn’t break her. You didn’t win."

Cregan laughed, choked and weak, but it was a laugh nonetheless. "We’ll see, Jacaerys," he whispered. "We’ll see."

Jace pulled back his fist, ready to end it—

"Jace!"

A voice.

Not Aegon. Not Aemond.

You.

Jace froze. His entire body locked up, his blood ran cold. Slowly, he turned and there you were.

Standing at the entrance of the warehouse, still wrapped in the oversized hoodie he had given you, your arms trembling at your sides. Your eyes, wide and glassy, flickered between Jace and the broken, bloodied man tied to the chair.

Jace’s chest ached.

You weren’t supposed to see this.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

"Jace… stop." Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it shattered through him like a blade to the gut.

His fingers twitched. His knuckles throbbed.

His rage had consumed him, swallowed him whole.

But at the sound of your voice—

At the look in your eyes—

It all came crashing down.

You hesitated at the entrance, gripping the sleeves of Jace’s hoodie tightly as if the fabric alone could shield you from the weight of the scene before you.

Jace stood like a statue, his shoulders rising and falling with every deep, unsteady breath. Blood dripped from his knuckles, pooling onto the cold concrete floor. Cregan sat before him, a grotesque smirk painted across his bruised and bloodied face.

And then—

"Little dove."

The words slithered into the air, reaching you like a whisper from your worst nightmare.

Your breath hitched.

That name.

That cursed name.

Your stomach twisted violently, and your legs nearly buckled. You felt your nails dig into your palms, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

Cregan’s swollen lips curled into something sickly, something taunting. Even bound, even beaten, he still had the audacity to look at you like that.

"Why so shy?" His voice was hoarse but laced with amusement. "You weren’t so quiet when you were beneath me, crying my name, were you?"

Jace moved before he could think.

The sharp crack of his fist against Cregan’s jaw echoed through the warehouse. The force of it sent the chair tipping backward, crashing onto the cold floor.

"Shut your fucking mouth!" Jace roared, chest heaving, voice raw. His body trembled with rage, his entire existence consumed by the need to rip Cregan apart, piece by piece.

Aegon and Aemond moved in tandem, each grabbing Jace by the arms, holding him back before he could lunge again.

"Enough!" Aemond snapped, forcing Jace away. "Not here. Not like this., not while she's here"

But Jace barely heard him. His eyes were wild, burning with something untamed, something dangerous.

And then—

"Jace."

Your voice.

Soft. Shaky. But there.

He turned, and his heart clenched. You were still frozen in place, your arms wrapped around yourself as if trying to hold yourself together. Your lips trembled, your eyes glossy with unshed tears.

But you were looking at him. Not Cregan.

Him.

"Come here." Your voice wavered, barely a whisper. "Please."

Jace exhaled shakily, his fists still clenched, his body still taut with barely restrained fury. But at your words, he took a step. Then another.

And then you met him halfway.

The moment his arms wrapped around you, you felt the tension in his body, the unrelenting tremor of his rage. You pressed yourself against him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his bloodstained shirt.

"It’s over," you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest.

But Jace’s grip on you only tightened. His breathing was still erratic, his body still coiled like a predator ready to strike.

"It’s not over," he muttered darkly, his chin resting against your head. "Not until he’s dead."

You flinched.

Jace felt it.

And it broke him.

With a heavy exhale, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands gently cupping your face. His thumbs brushed against your cheekbones, his touch softer than you had expected.

"You’re safe now," he murmured, almost like he was trying to convince himself. "I swear to you, he will never touch you again."

You swallowed hard, nodding.

"But you have to let this go," you whispered back. "Please, Jace. If you do this… if you kill him with your own hands… you’ll never be the same."

Jace’s jaw tightened.

"And I don’t want to lose you too."

His breath hitched.

For a long moment, he just stared at you, as if trying to find the right answer in your eyes. As if trying to pull himself back from the edge of the abyss.

Your fingers trembled as they clutched the front of Jace’s shirt, your knuckles turning white. His hands cupped your face gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that spilled freely down your cheeks.

"Jace…" Your voice cracked, barely a whisper. "You don’t have to do this."

His jaw tightened. His dark eyes, once so warm, were now hardened with an unshakable resolve.

"This is the only way." His voice was low, steady. "The only way to keep you safe."

You shook your head, gripping him tighter as if holding on to the last bit of sanity in this nightmare.

"No. We can run. We can hide—"

"And what then?" he cut you off, his grip on your face tightening just slightly, grounding you. "How long do you think we can run before someone else comes after you? Before another bastard like Cregan thinks he can lay a fucking hand on you?"

You flinched at the name, your breath hitching. Jace cursed under his breath, his forehead pressing against yours.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his tone softening. "I know this is a lot. But I won’t lose you again. I can’t."

Your chest ached at his words. You had seen many sides of Jace before—the calm, the intense, the possessive—but never like this. Never this raw, this desperate.

"I don’t want to lose you either," you whispered, your voice shaking. "But this world—their world—it’s not you, Jace."

His lips twitched, almost a bitter smile.

"Maybe it wasn’t before," he admitted. "But for you, I’ll make it mine."

You let out a shaky breath, tears slipping from your lashes. Jace caught them with his thumb, his touch unbearably gentle compared to the storm raging behind his eyes.

"You’re my world." His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried more weight than anything else in the room. "And I’ll burn everything down before I let anyone take you from me again."

You swallowed hard, searching his face for something—anything—that would tell you he was bluffing. That this was a heat-of-the-moment decision, one he would change his mind about once the adrenaline wore off.

But there was nothing.

Only certainty.

"Jace…" Your voice broke.

He kissed you.

Not rough. Not demanding. Just… there. A slow press of lips, grounding you both in the middle of the chaos. A promise. A devotion.

When he pulled back, his hands still framing your face, he exhaled slowly.

"You don’t have to do anything," he murmured. "You don’t have to change. You don’t have to fight. You don’t even have to accept it. But I will do whatever it takes to make sure no one ever touches you again."

More tears fell, but this time, you didn’t fight them. You simply nodded, because deep down, you knew there was nothing you could say to change his mind.

Jacaerys Velaryon had already made his choice.

And you were at the center of it.

Cregan’s laughter echoed through the dimly lit warehouse, sharp and mocking despite the blood dripping from his split lip. He tilted his head, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

"That was touching," he mused, his voice laced with cruelty. "Truly. I almost felt something."

Before he could say another word, Aegon scoffed and drove his boot into Cregan’s side. The crack of impact echoed in the silence, and a pained grunt escaped Cregan’s lips, but the bastard still had the audacity to smirk.

"Oh, come on, Aegon," he rasped, spitting blood onto the floor. "Is that the best you can do?"

Aemond’s patience snapped. With a swift movement, he delivered a brutal kick to Cregan’s ribs, sending him crashing against the chair he was tied to.

"Shut the fuck up," Aemond hissed, his voice cold as ice. "You don’t get to speak."

You stood frozen, watching the scene unfold. Your heart pounded against your ribs, your fingers twitching at your sides. You weren’t sure what drew you forward, but your feet moved on their own.

Jace was beside you instantly, his presence steady, unwavering. His fingers brushed against yours in silent reassurance, grounding you. He didn’t stop you, but he was ready—ready to pull you back, ready to shield you, ready for anything.

You took another step closer.

Cregan’s eyes flickered to you, and his smirk widened. "There she is," he murmured, his voice almost affectionate. "My sweet girl."

Your breath hitched. Your body tensed.

Jace moved before you could, his fist colliding with Cregan’s face so hard that his head snapped to the side. Blood dripped from his nose now, but still—still—Cregan laughed.

"What’s wrong, Jace?" he taunted, rolling his shoulders as much as his bindings allowed. "Scared I’ll remind her of what we shared?"

Jace lunged for him, but Aegon and Aemond were quicker, holding him back.

"Don’t give him what he wants," Aemond muttered under his breath, his grip ironclad around Jace’s arm.

Jace was seething, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, his jaw clenched so tight you swore his teeth might crack. But he didn’t take his eyes off Cregan—not for a second.

You swallowed, forcing your legs to stop trembling. You weren’t weak. You wouldn’t be weak. Not anymore.

You stepped forward again, closer this time, until you stood right in front of the man who had once made you feel powerless.

"We didn’t share anything," you said, your voice quiet but steady.

Cregan’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment.

"You took," you continued, voice growing stronger. "You forced. You stole. But you never had me."

His lips parted slightly, as if about to say something, but for the first time since this nightmare began, he said nothing.

You inhaled deeply, your eyes burning but your resolve unshaken.

"And you never will."

Cregan chuckled, his voice dripping with amusement as he tilted his bruised face up to look at you. Blood was smeared across his jaw, his lip split open from the relentless beatings he had endured, but his arrogance remained intact.

"Come on, sweetheart," he drawled, eyes dark and challenging. "You liked it."

Your stomach twisted, but you refused to flinch.

"I remember how you held onto me, how you begged," he continued, voice low and taunting. "You didn’t push me away then. You clung to me like you wanted it."

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms, but you wouldn’t give him the reaction he wanted.

"You’re a liar," you said evenly, voice steady despite the storm raging inside you.

Cregan’s grin widened. "Am I?"

You didn’t break eye contact, even as he leaned forward as much as his restraints would allow.

"Admit it," he murmured. "You wanted me, and now you’re too ashamed to face it. That’s why you’re here, why you’re pretending that this was something forced. But you and I both know the truth, don’t we, darling?"

Your stomach churned, but you swallowed back the bile rising in your throat.

Jace stood beside you, completely still. Too still. His body was vibrating with tension, every muscle coiled so tightly it seemed like he might explode. You could feel the rage radiating off him, the way his breathing had deepened, the way his grip on your hand had become crushing.

His knuckles were white.

"Jace—" Aegon started, stepping forward slightly, but Jace didn’t move.

"Say it," Cregan pressed, eyes flickering between you and Jace, clearly enjoying the reaction he was provoking. "Tell him how you moaned for me, how you whispered my name. How you begged me to touch you."

You didn’t blink.

"No."

Cregan’s smirk faltered just slightly.

"No?"

"No," you repeated, your voice unwavering. "I didn’t beg. I didn’t want it. And you didn’t win."

His jaw twitched, his eyes darkening with something deeper, something desperate. You knew what he was trying to do—trying to make you feel small, trying to make you doubt yourself, trying to plant a seed of uncertainty in your mind so he could still hold power over you.

But he didn’t.

And he never would again.

Cregan exhaled sharply, his gaze locked onto you like he was trying to read your mind, trying to find something to latch onto—but there was nothing left for him.

"You can say whatever you want," you added, voice softer now, but no less firm. "It won’t change what happened. It won’t change what you did."

Jace took a slow step forward, his breath brushing against your shoulder.

"And it won’t change what I’m going to do to you," Jace murmured, his voice deathly calm.

Cregan’s grin returned, but this time, it was smaller, weaker.

"I already took everything from you," he sneered.

Jace’s lips twitched. Not into a smile, but into something darker.

"No, you didn’t."

And then, in one swift motion, Jace punched him.

It was brutal. Cregan’s head snapped back, blood splattering from his already broken nose. The sound of bone meeting bone echoed through the warehouse, sharp and unforgiving.

But Jace didn’t stop.

Blow after blow, his fists connected with Cregan’s face, his body, his ribs. It wasn’t wild—it was controlled. Precise. Calculated. Every hit landed exactly where it would hurt the most.

Aegon and Aemond didn’t stop him.

They let him.

And you—

You just watched.

You watched as Cregan’s smirk disappeared, as the confidence drained from his face, as the realization set in that this time, he wasn’t winning.

This time, he was powerless.

Daemon stood in the doorway of the warehouse, his presence commanding as always, yet entirely too casual for the scene in front of him. He twirled a small flash drive between his fingers, the dim light catching on the metal surface. His expression was unreadable, but his tone was laced with amusement.

"Well, well," he drawled, taking a slow step forward. "It seems our dear Cregan wasn’t as untouchable as he thought."

Jace’s knuckles were still bleeding, his chest rising and falling heavily as he stood over Cregan’s barely conscious body. At the sound of Daemon’s voice, he turned his head slightly, but his fists remained clenched.

You, however, were frozen. Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched Daemon lazily wave the flash drive in the air.

"This," Daemon continued, smirking, "is what started all of this, isn't it?"

Cregan let out a low, painful chuckle from the floor, spitting out blood before tilting his head up to look at Daemon.

"Bastard," he rasped.

Daemon arched a brow. "Pot, meet kettle."

Your breath felt thin, like you couldn’t get enough air. You knew what was on that flash drive. You knew what Daemon was about to say, but you weren’t ready to hear it.

"Your ex," Daemon said, his gaze flicking toward you now. "He owed Cregan quite a bit of money. And when the time came to pay up, well... he didn’t have much to offer."

Silence.

Aegon shifted uncomfortably, his amusement from earlier fading. Aemond crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. Jace?

Jace was staring at Daemon like he already knew what he was about to say, but he was begging him not to say it.

Daemon tilted his head. "So, he gave Cregan the only thing he had of value." He tossed the flash drive onto the table beside him, watching it clatter against the surface before spinning to a stop. His eyes found yours again.

"He gave him, you."

The words echoed in your mind.

He gave him .you.

Your stomach twisted violently. You felt sick. You wanted to scream, to break something, to run.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Cregan coughed, his laughter weak but taunting. "I suppose you should be thanking him, sweetheart. If it weren’t for that little deal, we never would’ve had our time together."

Jace moved.

It happened so fast that you barely had time to process it. One second, he was standing beside you, the next, he had grabbed Cregan by the collar and slammed him back against the floor.

"Shut your fucking mouth," Jace growled, his voice shaking with fury.

Cregan only smiled through bloodied teeth.

Daemon sighed dramatically. "As much as I’d love to watch you beat him into the ground again, nephew, I do have other business to attend to."

Jace didn’t let go.

Daemon rolled his eyes. "Jacaerys."

The use of his full name made Jace freeze. Slowly, he loosened his grip before shoving Cregan back down with disgust.

You still hadn’t moved.

Daemon looked at you again, his smirk softening just a fraction. "Don’t worry, darling. He won’t be able to use it against you anymore." He tapped the flash drive. "This is the only copy."

You exhaled shakily, your hands trembling at your sides.

Jace reached for you, hesitating for only a moment before his fingers brushed against yours. You flinched at first, but then you let him take your hand, gripping it like a lifeline.

Daemon sighed, stretching. "Well, now that this little mess is cleaned up, what do you want to do with him?" He nudged Cregan’s leg with his boot.

Everyone looked at Jace.

Jace was still staring at you.

"You decide," Daemon added, his voice almost teasing. "After all, this is your revenge story now."

The warehouse felt suffocating, the dim light casting long shadows over the blood-stained floor. The only sound was your own unsteady breathing, the weight of the pistol in your trembling hands making your arms feel heavier than they should.

Cregan knelt before you, barely able to hold his head up after the beating Jace and the others had given him. His face was swollen, blood trickling from his split lip, but despite the state he was in, he still managed to laugh.

"Go on, sweetheart," he rasped, his voice hoarse but laced with amusement. "Do it."

Your grip on the gun tightened.

"You won’t," he continued, tilting his head just enough to meet your eyes. "You’re weak. Just like you were when you begged me to stop."

Jace took a step forward, but Aegon held him back, shaking his head. This was your moment.

Cregan smirked, his swollen eyes filled with condescension. "You couldn’t stop me then, and you can’t stop me now. You don’t have the fucking guts."

Your breathing hitched.

Jace’s voice was low, almost desperate. "You don’t have to do this—"

"Yes, she does," Daemon interrupted smoothly, watching you with keen interest.

Aemond was silent, his expression unreadable, but his fingers twitched at his side, ready to step in if needed.

Cregan chuckled again, shaking his head. "Pathetic."

And then, as if he wanted to die, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the barrel of the gun.

"Go on, princess. Show me you’re not as weak as I know you are."

The room felt impossibly small. Your pulse roared in your ears.

Your fingers curled around the trigger.

You thought of the way he touched you, how he whispered filth into your ear while you cried. How he made you feel small.

How he took from you.

Your vision blurred with tears.

"You’ll never be free of me," Cregan murmured. "I live inside that pretty little head of yours, don’t I? Go ahead. Pull the trigger. But you’ll never forget me."

The safety was already off.

All it took was one movement. One pull. Your hand was shaking, but your heart was screaming.

And then—

You lowered the gun.

The room was dead silent.

Jace exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. Daemon’s smirk widened, almost proud. Cregan scoffed, laughing. "I fucking knew it. You’ll always be—"

You cut him off by raising the gun again— and pulling the trigger. A gunshot rang out, deafening in the enclosed space.

Not at his head.

At his knee.

Cregan screamed, his body jerking as the bullet tore through him, blood pooling beneath his leg. His laughter turned to a choked sob as he doubled over, his hands trembling as he clutched at his ruined knee.

You stepped closer, your voice steady despite the way your body trembled.

"You don’t deserve to die."

Cregan gritted his teeth, groaning in agony.

"That would be too easy."

Jace stared at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Daemon let out a low whistle. "Well, well. Looks like our girl isn’t as fragile as we thought."

Aegon snorted. "That was kind of hot."

Aemond just smirked.

You let the gun slip from your fingers, the weight of it gone but the gravity of your actions settling deep in your bones.

Jace reached for you instantly, his hands finding your arms, grounding you.

Cregan gasped for breath, his body shaking from the pain. He looked up at you through bleary eyes, his lips curled into a grimace.

"This isn’t over," he rasped.

You tilted your head, eyes void of the fear you once held. "Oh, it is."

Daemon rolled his shoulders. "Guess it’s time to clean up this mess."

Jace pulled you into his arms, whispering against your hair. "It’s over." and this time, you actually believed him.

The warehouse reeked of blood and sweat, the air thick with the sounds of Cregan’s tortured groans. You stood still, watching as Aemond wiped his bloody knuckles on a cloth, his face expressionless. Aegon, on the other hand, was grinning, enjoying the spectacle far too much. Daemon was the only one who seemed utterly unaffected, giving quiet orders to his men as if this were just another day.

But Jace—

Jace stood beside you, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack. His hand hovered near yours, hesitant to touch you, unsure if you wanted to be held after everything.

"Come home with me," he said quietly, his voice thick with exhaustion.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you turned your gaze back to Cregan, who was barely conscious now, his body slumped forward. His once-arrogant smirk was gone, replaced by a grimace of pain.

You should have felt something. Satisfaction. Relief. Maybe even pity.

But all you felt was… empty.

"I’m not leaving," you finally whispered.

Jace tensed beside you. "You don’t need to see this."

You let out a humorless laugh. "I’ve already seen too much, Jace."

He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His white shirt was stained with blood—not his, but Cregan’s.

"This isn’t you," he murmured, searching your face for something, anything, that resembled the woman he fell for.

You turned to him then, meeting his worried gaze with unwavering certainty. "If you have to walk into the dark for me, then I will follow you."

Jace’s breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I never wanted that for you."

"But it’s too late, isn’t it?" you whispered. "This world… it’s already swallowed me whole."

Jace reached for you then, his hands cradling your face gently, like you were something fragile—something that could still break.

"I wanted to keep you safe." His voice cracked.

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment.

"Then don’t push me away."

Aegon whistled from across the room. "This is touching and all, but are we keeping him alive or not?"

Jace ignored him, his eyes never leaving yours.

"If you go down this road with me, there’s no turning back," he warned.

You exhaled slowly, reaching up to cover his hands with yours.

"I know." His lips parted, his expression torn between fear and something deeper—something darker.

And then, finally, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could shield you from the world. But you both knew there was no escaping it now. You had already stepped into the darkness and there was no going back.

The cold metal of the pistol felt heavy in your grip, the weight of it pressing against your palm as you slowly stepped forward. The dim lighting of the warehouse cast long shadows, flickering across the blood-streaked floor where Cregan lay slumped against the chair. His face was barely recognizable—swollen, bruised, blood trickling from his split lip.

Aegon whistled lowly, leaning against a crate with a smirk. "Damn, you’re sexy like this—"

Jace’s fist collided with Aegon’s arm before he could finish, making him curse under his breath.

"Shut the fuck up, Aegon," Jace growled, his tone sharp.

But you barely heard them.

Your focus was on Cregan.

The man who had torn you apart, piece by piece.

His half-lidded eyes lifted to yours, and even through the pain, he smirked. "You’re really going to do this, sweetheart?" he rasped, his voice thick with blood. "I remember when you used to beg me... What was it you said? ‘Please, Cregan, stop—’"

The pistol in your hand swung before you even realized what you were doing. It slammed against his cheekbone with a sickening thud, snapping his head to the side. A splatter of blood hit the floor.

The warehouse fell into stunned silence.

You stood there, chest heaving, your fingers tightening around the gun. You expected someone—Daemon, Aemond, even Jace—to pull you back, to tell you that this wasn’t you, that you weren’t a killer.

But no one moved.

They were waiting.

Cregan’s laugh was weak, but it was there. He coughed, spitting blood onto the floor before turning back to you. "That’s cute," he muttered, his eyes dark with amusement. "But we both know you don’t have it in you."

Your grip tightened.

"Do I?" you whispered.

He smiled, slow and taunting. "You tell me."

Your finger hovered over the trigger. You could end this. Right now.

"You don’t have to do this."

Jace’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper. When you turned slightly, you found him watching you—not with fear, not with anger, but with something worse.

Desperation.

"If you pull that trigger, you’ll never be the same."

Your breath hitched.

You weren’t the same anymore.

You hadn’t been since the moment Cregan stole your control, since he dragged you into his nightmare.

You weren’t afraid anymore.

And that was the scariest part.

Cregan tilted his head. "Come on, princess. Do it. Show me what kind of monster you really are."

Your finger pressed against the trigger—

And again— You lowered the gun.

Cregan blinked. Jace exhaled sharply, his hands trembling.

You took a slow step forward until you were just inches from Cregan. His breath was ragged, his face still twisted with amusement.

"You're right," you murmured.

His smirk widened. "Of course I am—"

"I don’t have to kill you."

And then, without warning, you lifted the pistol again—

You struck him across the face a second time, harder than before. His head snapped to the side, his body slumping forward, completely unconscious.

Silence.

You let the gun fall from your grasp, your breath shuddering as you stepped back.

Aegon let out a low whistle. "Well, shit."

Daemon smirked. "She’s got more balls than you, Jace."

Jace ignored them.

He only had eyes for you.

You turned to face him, searching his gaze, unsure of what you’d find. But there was no fear in his expression.

Only pride.

And something deeper.

Something darker.

Jace stepped forward, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones. "Come home with me," he murmured.

You hesitated, glancing down at Cregan’s unconscious form one last time. Then, you nodded.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

[vaelry]

Aegon Reaction to Your Pole Dancing Video in instgram.

Thanks to @zaldritzosrose for letting me using your beautiful dividers

Aegon Targaryen was not amused.

It started with a notification—his phone buzzing lazily in his hand as he lay sprawled on the couch. He wasn’t expecting anything exciting, maybe some mindless scrolling. And then he saw it.

Your Instagram post.

A video.

Of you.

Pole dancing.

The slow, teasing way your body moved, the way your hands gripped the pole, the way your hips swayed so effortlessly—it was enough to make his mouth go dry. Enough to make his blood fucking boil.

But the worst part? The comments.

“Goddamn.”

“I need a moment.”

“She can ruin me, and I’d thank her.”

“Aegon is the luckiest man alive. If he fumbles, I’m next.”

Aegon saw red.

His jaw clenched as his grip tightened around his phone, nearly cracking it in his hand. His knee bounced aggressively, his body vibrating with jealousy and rage.

He was already dialing your number.

No answer.

His teeth ground together. He didn’t care if you were out. He didn’t care what you were doing. He needed to handle this.

So he sent a text instead.

Aegon: Delete the video. Now.

Seen. No reply.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. Fine. You wanted to play? He’d play.

Less than twenty minutes later, he was storming through your door. You barely had time to react before he was there, grabbing your phone right out of your hand.

“What the hell, Aegon—”

“You think this is funny?” His voice was low, dark, dangerous. His eyes burned into you, stormy with jealousy. “Posting that video? Letting other men drool over you like you’re some—some—”

Your brows furrowed. “I’m some what, Aegon?”

He exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. His fingers raked through his silver-blond hair, his other hand still gripping your phone. “You know exactly what you’re doing,” he growled. “You wanted attention? Congratulations, you got it. And now I get to deal with a bunch of pathetic little fucks thinking they have a chance with my girl.”

Your lips parted slightly at his words.

My girl.

Possessive. Jealous. Fuming. And absolutely turned on.

“Aegon, it was just a video,” you tried, softer now. “It’s not that deep.”

His gaze flicked to yours, intense and unreadable. And then, in a flash, he had you pinned against the wall.

“You think it’s not that deep?” he murmured, voice dropping into something dark and wicked. His hands gripped your waist, firm, demanding. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

You swallowed hard. You knew that look.

“You don’t post shit like that unless it’s for me,” he growled, pressing his forehead against yours. “So tell me, sweetheart—how do you plan on making it up to me?”

The internet lost its mind.

Aegon Targaryen was already known for being bold, cocky, and possessive—but this? This was a declaration.

The video was barely a few seconds long, yet it was utterly devastating.

A perfect mirror shot.

You, on top of him, body arching in pure abandon. moaning his name like a needy girl you're.

His hand gripping your hair, pulling just enough to make you tilt your head back.

And him? Smirking. Lazy, smug, like a man who had just won the ultimate prize.

The caption?

“If she wants attention, she’ll get it—from me.”

The internet exploded.

— “WHAT THE HELL, AEGON?! WE WERE JUST ADMIRING HER POLE DANCING, NOT ASKING FOR THIS ATTACK.”

— “He really said ‘MY GIRL’ in the loudest way possible.”

— “I was happy being delusional until this man reminded me that I’m single as hell.”

— “I’m blocking both of you for my mental health.”

— “Not him marking his territory in 4K.”

— “Aegon just dropped the most toxic, possessive, jealous boyfriend move and we’re all jealous??”

— “This is revenge for the pole dancing vid and we ALL lost.”

— “I need Aegon Targaryen erased from history before I die of envy.”

— “The way she’s arching though… girl, blink twice if you need help.”

The video spread like wildfire. Within minutes, it was on every fan page, every meme account, every thirst edit. People were breaking down in the comments, screaming, crying, throwing their phones.

And Aegon?

He was loving every second of it.

The moment Aegon posted that video, the family group chat turned into absolute chaos.

FAMILY GROUP CHAT: Family Therapy Session.

— Alicent: Aegon. Targaryen. DELETE THAT RIGHT NOW.

— Helaena: …why is this the first thing I see when I open Instagram?

— Aemond: Have you lost your damn mind?

— Daemon: LMAO. This is so embarrassing for the rest of you.

— Rhaenyra: Alicent, come get your son.

— Jace: Bro. You need therapy.

— Luke: I DID NOT NEED TO SEE THAT.

— Baela: I’m blocking both of you.

— Rhaenys: I have never been more ashamed to share blood with any of you.

— Daemon: Weak move. If you really wanted to mark her, you should’ve made sure it wasn’t mirror-friendly.

— Viserys : Even I would’ve taken your phone away for this.

Meanwhile, in the Instagram comments:

— AlicentHightower: I have failed as a mother.

— HelaenaTargaryen: The bugs didn’t warn me about this.

— AemondOneEye: This is why I tell people we aren’t related.

— JacaerysVelaryon: @YourUsername, blink twice if you need rescuing.

— RhaenyraTargaryen: Can someone explain why I’m tagged in this??

— DaemonTargaryen: This is why he’s my favorite nephew.

— CristonCole: Disgraceful.

Aegon, of course, was thriving in the chaos.

He sent one message in the group chat and muted it.

— Aegon: Don’t like it? Unfollow. 😘

The knock on the door was loud—not the casual kind, but the type that promised trouble. Aegon barely had time to pull on a shirt before the door swung open. His mother stormed in first, followed by Aemond, Helaena, and Jace, all wearing various degrees of rage, horror, and exhaustion. Daemon strolled in last, looking amused as hell.

Alicent was seething, her face flushed with pure mortification.

“Aegon. What in the name of the Seven was that?”

He stretched lazily, unfazed. “A video.”

“A video?” Aemond repeated, his voice sharp. “You mean the public video of you and her—IN YOUR BED—posted for the entire world to see?”

Jace looked traumatized, hands on his hips, as if he didn’t know whether to fight Aegon or bleach his eyes.

“Do you have any shame?” Jace nearly shouted. “People sent that to me. I had to see that with my own eyes.”

Helaena, standing in the middle of the chaos, looked genuinely confused as she muttered, “But why through a mirror?”

Daemon? Oh, he was having the time of his life.

“I, for one, think this is hilarious,” he smirked, leaning against the wall. “But even I didn’t go this far.”

Alicent looked like she was two seconds away from throwing something.

“Do you understand how humiliating this is?” she snapped. “Not just for you but for all of us?”

Aegon rolled his eyes, slouching onto the couch.

“Relax, mother,” he drawled. “She looked good, didn’t she?”

Silence.

Then Aemond lunged.

It took Daemon and Jace to hold him back as he snarled, “I should break your jaw for that.”

Aegon grinned, knowing he’d won.

“Too late. Already got what you wish you had.”

That? That’s when the real fight broke out.

The argument was already spiraling into chaos, but Daemon, being Daemon, decided to make things worse.

He clapped Aegon on the back, grinning like the devil himself.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Daemon drawled. “Boy’s just showing off. Frankly, Rhaenyra, maybe we should do the same. What do you think, love?”

Rhaenyra, who had been rubbing her temples in frustration, froze mid-motion. Her expression shifted from exasperated to murderous in seconds.

“Daemon,” she said slowly, “shut. Up.”

But Daemon only laughed, turning to Aegon with mock approval.

“I say well done. If you’re going to ruin the family name, at least do it properly.”

That’s when you appeared.

You walked into the living room, barely able to stand, moving with that telltale weakness that said everything without a single word. Your hair was a mess, your skin marked, and the oversized shirt was clearly Aegon’s.

The room fell silent.

Alicent’s face drained of all color. Aemond looked seconds away from stabbing someone. Jace? He turned around like he physically couldn’t handle this.

But it was Rhaenyra who broke first.

“Oh, for FUCK’S SAKE.”

Daemon? He just smirked harder.

“Now that,” he gestured to you, “is how you make a statement.”

Aegon grinned, absolutely reveling in their reactions, but before he could open his mouth—

Alicent threw a goblet at his head.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

[vaelry]

Aegon Targaryen As Your Soulmate.

a/n : With Reaction.

When He Propose To You.

The night in Paris was breathtaking. The Eiffel Tower shimmered in the distance, its golden lights reflecting off the Seine, casting a dreamy glow over the quiet streets. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of roses from the nearby garden, and the city buzzed softly in the background.

Aegon had been unusually quiet all evening, his fingers laced with yours as he led you down a secluded pathway near the river. You didn’t think much of it—he often got like this when something was on his mind. But when he suddenly stopped under the silver glow of the moonlight, his grip on your hand tightening, your heart began to race.

“What is it?” you whispered, searching his face.

His violet eyes burned with an emotion so raw it made your breath hitch. He exhaled, almost like he was steadying himself, before reaching into his pocket. And then—he got down on one knee.

Your lips parted, a sharp gasp slipping out as your hands flew to your mouth.

“I’ve been trying to find the right words for this,” Aegon started, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “But the truth is, there are no perfect words—only this. Only you.”

Your heart thundered.

“You are the best damn thing that has ever happened to me,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “And I don’t want another day to pass where I don’t call you my wife.”

He opened the small velvet box, revealing a stunning ring that caught the moonlight just right, sparkling like the stars above you.

“Marry me.”

You felt everything all at once. The world around you blurred, your vision swimming with unshed tears as your chest tightened with overwhelming love, shock, joy.

You dropped to your knees, throwing your arms around him, knocking him back onto the pavement with your weight.

“Yes,” you choked out, pressing frantic kisses to his face. “Yes, Aegon—yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!”

He laughed breathlessly, his hands burying in your hair as he pulled you in for a deep, lingering kiss, the kind that made your toes curl and the rest of the world fade away.

Paris had never felt more like a dream.

When You And Aegon Posted The Announcement Of Your Engagement.

When you and Aegon Targaryen dropped your engagement announcement, the world stopped spinning.

The first photo? Utter perfection.

Paris at night. The Eiffel Tower glowing behind you. Aegon’s hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you breathless. And your left hand? Front and center, flashing a massive diamond ring.

The second slide? Even worse for them.

Aegon, smirking against your neck, his arms wrapped possessively around you as if to say, “She’s mine.”

And then the caption? A KILL SHOT.

“Said yes to the love of my life. Forever with my king.”

Then? Mass hysteria.

Aegon’s fangirls:

“I’M GONNA BE SICK. THIS ISN’T HAPPENING.”

“WHY DID HE HAVE TO PROPOSE IN PARIS??? WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE SO ROMANTIC???”

“Not Aegon Targaryen taking my last shred of hope and throwing it into the Seine.”

“SHE REALLY PUT ‘FOREVER’ IN THE CAPTION. I’M UNWELL.”

“The way he’s holding her… the way he’s KISSING her… this is worse than heartbreak.”

Some were in complete denial:

“This is fake. They’re trolling us. RIGHT???”

“The way I am IGNORING this post and going about my day as if I didn’t see it.”

“NO. I REFUSE. I WILL NOT ACCEPT THIS.”

And then, the grief hit.

“It should have been me.”

“I can’t even HATE her because she looks so happy. But I’m still dying inside.”

“How do I explain to my boss that I can’t work today because Aegon Targaryen is officially off the market???”

“I hope Paris was worth the pain you’ve caused me.”

Then? The edits.

Slow-motion clips of Aegon smirking, winking, running his hand through his hair. Montages of his best moments, now labeled: “HE’S GONE, HE’S TAKEN, I’M IN TEARS.”

And the hashtags? Immediate trending topics.

#AegonEngaged

#SheWonWeLost

#ParisTookEverythingFromUs

#HePutARingOnItAndABulletInMyHeart

Your fanboys? Equally destroyed.

“BRO, HOW DID SHE SECURE AEGON TARGARYEN???”

“She’s officially sold out. We lost, boys.”

“The way he’s devouring her in that kiss??? I CAN’T.”

“I respect it… but I’m also sobbing.”

Some had full meltdowns:

“I WAS HOLDING ONTO HOPE. NOW I HAVE NOTHING.”

“Not only did she win, but she won IN PARIS. The disrespect is astronomical.”

“We can’t even say she’s just a fling. SHE HAS A RING. IT’S OVER.”

Meanwhile, the overanalyzing began.

“The way Aegon is holding her like he’s afraid to let go…”

“You can SEE the obsession in his eyes. He’s never letting her go.”

“This isn’t just a proposal. This is a CLAIM.”

At this point, no one could deny it.

This wasn’t just an engagement.

This was a global tragedy. And Aegon’s fangirls & your fanboys?

Never recovering from this heartbreak.

Aegon Family Reaction To Your Engagement Announcement.

When Aegon dropped the engagement bomb on Instagram, his entire family group chat EXPLODED.

Alicent (His Mother) – SHOCKED. EMOTIONAL. PANICKING.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ENGAGED??? AEGON???”

“YOU DIDN’T TELL ME YOU WERE GOING TO PROPOSE???”

“I AM YOUR MOTHER. I SHOULD HAVE BEEN WARNED.”

“DID YOU EVEN PLAN A WEDDING DATE? HAVE YOU TWO TALKED ABOUT THE FUTURE?”

(…then sends a million heart emojis because she loves you and is already planning a royal-level wedding in her head.)

Helaena (His Sister) – SOFT AND SUPPORTIVE.

“Awwww. I love this. You two are perfect together.”

“Mom, let them enjoy their moment.”

“Also, I’m already picking out gifts for the wedding.”

Aemond (His Brother) – ANNOYED BUT SECRETLY AMUSED.

“This is what you’re doing in Paris? Proposing?”

“You couldn’t even warn us first?”

“You know your fangirls are crying themselves to sleep tonight, right?”

(But deep down, he’s actually happy for you both—he just refuses to admit it.)

Daemon (His Uncle) – ABSOLUTELY LOVING THE CHAOS.

“HAHAHAHA. YOU REALLY DID IT, YOU MADMAN.”

“This is hilarious. The internet is in flames.”

“Also, Aegon, if you don’t throw the most INSANE bachelor party, I’m disowning you.”

Rhaenyra (His Half-Sister) – SURPRISED BUT SUPPORTIVE.

“I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d be the first to settle down.”

“But… I’m genuinely happy for you.”

“You found someone who can handle your insanity. That’s true love.”

Otto Hightower (His Grandfather) – PANICKING LIKE A CEO.

“DO YOU KNOW HOW THIS AFFECTS YOUR IMAGE, AEGON?”

“The world is going to talk about this for WEEKS.”

“Did you sign a prenup?”

(Alicent kicks him out of the group chat for ruining the mood.)

Criston Cole (Family Bodyguard) – SILENTLY JUDGING BUT ACCEPTING HIS FATE.

“Guess I’m protecting her now too. Great.”

Meanwhile, Aegon?

Smirking at the chaos he just unleashed.

When You And Aegon Posted Your Wedding Video On Internet.

The internet exploded the moment the wedding video was posted—Aegon walking out of the church, smiling brighter than ever, hand in hand with you, the new Mrs. Targaryen. The video was cinematic, capturing every perfect moment: the way he looked at you with pure adoration, the way he kissed you like you were his entire world, and the way you both laughed, danced, and celebrated at the extravagant reception.

The caption?

“Beyond Happy. Forever my queen.”

And with that, Aegon’s fangirls completely lost their minds.

Instagram Comments Section: A Fan Meltdown

“NOOOOOOOOOO THIS CAN’T BE REAL!!! I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE ONE!!!!” 😭💔

“HOW DARE SHE LOOK THAT BEAUTIFUL?? AEGON, BLINK TWICE IF YOU WERE FORCED INTO THIS!!”

“He looks so happy… I hate this."

“Not me sobbing while watching this in my room at 3AM.”

“I CAN’T EVEN LOOK AT HIM. HE WAS OURS, GIRLS. NOW HE’S HERS.”

“I just know she’s the luckiest woman ALIVE.”

Twitter/X Fangirl Breakdown :

“I am LITERALLY inconsolable. Aegon is MARRIED. To HER. I need therapy.”

“Someone check on the fandom. We’re NOT okay.”

“Why does he look so in love? This HURTS MORE.”

“Watching my man walk out of the church with another woman… worst pain of my life.”

“Aegon’s smile in that wedding video just ended my entire existence.”

TikTok Reaction Videos :

One girl, full mascara streaks down her face: “I just saw the wedding video… I need a moment.”

Another girl, drinking straight from a vodka bottle: “It’s official. I’m entering my villain era.”

A group of fangirls screaming in their car: “WE LOST HIM. HE’S GONE. HE BELONGS TO HER NOW.”

Someone dramatically playing sad music while clutching a framed photo of Aegon: “This could have been me…”

The Ultimate Fangirl Betrayal: Aegon’s Wedding Reception Photos. If the video wasn’t enough, the photos from the wedding reception sent the fangirls into a frenzy.

Aegon twirling you on the dance floor, his eyes only on you.

Aegon kissing you like he was drowning and you were air.

Aegon lifting you up bridal-style, grinning at the camera.

Aegon feeding you cake, licking frosting off your fingers.

At this point, some girls deleted their fan pages, some started crying in their pillows, and some just accepted their fate.

But the real heartbreak? Aegon himself responding to the meltdown:

@AegonTargaryen: “She’s my wife now. Y’all better deal with it.” 😎💍

When You And Aegon Posted About Your Pregnancy

When the post went up, the internet exploded.

Aegon’s Instagram—normally flooded with thirsty comments and heart emojis—was now a war zone of disbelief, heartbreak, and sheer chaos.

The photo? Devastating.

It was a beautiful shot of you and Aegon—his hand resting possessively over your very visible baby bump while he kissed the side of your head. The second slide? An ultrasound.

Two embryos.

Twins.

The caption? Simple, smug, and absolutely soul-crushing:

“Our greatest blessing. Can’t wait to meet our little dragons.”

And then—pure pandemonium.

“TWINS?!! BITCH STOLE BOTH OUR BABIES?!”

“I HAVEN’T EVEN RECOVERED FROM THE ENGAGEMENT ANNOUNCEMENT WTF.”

“I’m gonna be sick. Aegon was supposed to impregnate ME.”

“Not one. BUT TWO. SHE TOOK BOTH. I CAN’T BREATHE.”

“I need a moment. Aegon Targaryen rawdogged this woman twice and now she’s carrying TWINS. I can’t function.”

“We lost, ladies. This is our red wedding.”

“I was delulu, but this… this is the final nail in the coffin.”

Some were in full denial:

“That’s AI. That’s NOT real. I REFUSE.”

“Maybe it’s for a movie role? Right? RIGHT?!”

“The ultrasound is Photoshopped. I checked.” (It was not.)

And then there were the true unhinged ones:

“I’M GONNA PRETEND THOSE ARE MY BABIES.”

“Okay but what if she lets me babysit?”

“I hope the twins grow up knowing their father was mine first.”

Within an hour, your name was #1 trending worldwide. Fan edits, conspiracy theories, and pure devastation flooded every corner of the internet. It was over for them.

You had won.

When You And Aegon Posted About Your Twins Arrival.

The moment Aegon posted the photo—you lying in the hospital bed, exhausted but glowing, holding your newborn twins in your arms, while he kissed you with tears in his eyes—social media imploded.

The Caption That Broke the Internet:

“Welcome to the world, little dragons. Your mother is the strongest woman I know. I love you forever.”

And just like that, Aegon’s fangirls and your fanboys lost their collective minds.

Instagram Comments Section: An Emotional Warzone

“I AM CRYING, THROWING UP, SCREAMING—THIS CAN’T BE REAL.”

“Aegon crying over his wife and babies? Yeah, I’m done for.”

“I should’ve logged out when they got married. Now they have KIDS?!?”

“Not him looking at her like she hung the moon while holding their babies. This is actual pain.”

“You mean to tell me Aegon, the playboy prince, is a devoted husband and crying father now? Yeah, I lost.”

Twitter/X Reactions: A Global Tragedy

“Not only did we lose Aegon, but now he’s a full-time husband AND father? We lost him forever.”

“He cried. HE CRIED WHILE KISSING HER. How do you expect me to survive this?”

“I thought the wedding was bad, but the baby announcement just ended me.”

“Aegon went from heartbreaker to husband of the year and now devoted girl dad?? This is unfair.”

“We are officially extinct. Aegon belongs to HER and their BABIES now.”

TikTok Reaction Videos: Fangirls & Fanboys Mourning

One girl dramatically closing her laptop and walking away: “Nope. Nope. This is my villain origin story.”

A fanboy sobbing into a pillow: “First she took him, now she has his children. I have nothing left.”

A group of fangirls screaming at the screen: “NOT THE TEARFUL KISS. NOT THE BABIES. I CAN’T.”

Someone chugging wine in a dark room: “I need time to process this betrayal.”

A TikTok edit of Aegon’s bad boy days fading into husband & dad Aegon with the caption: “WE LOST HIM FOREVER.”

The Final Blow: Aegon’s Response to the Fangirl Meltdown

Just as the internet was spiraling into despair, Aegon added another post—a short video clip of him holding one of the twins against his chest, murmuring softly while the baby cooed, and then looking at you with the most lovestruck expression.

@AegonTargaryen: “I never knew I could love like this. My world. My family.”

And just like that, his fangirls & your fanboys flatlined.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

Big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for letting me use your beautiful dividers

[vaelry]

Endless Battle Of Love- Modern!Jacaerys Velaryon x Female.

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3.

Word Count : 5.7k

Jacaerys Velaryon Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

Jace’s heart nearly stopped when he heard the sound of glass shattering upstairs. The noise sent ice through his veins. Everyone in the living room froze. Then realization struck.

"Shit," Aemond cursed, already pushing off the couch.

Jace didn’t wait. He was already sprinting up the stairs two at a time, his blood roaring in his ears.

The second he reached his bedroom door, he grabbed the handle and twisted—only to find it locked.

"No, no, no," he muttered, jiggling it harder.

Then he heard you.

Sobs. The sound of things crashing to the floor.

His pulse spiked. "Baby, open the door!" he called out, knocking rapidly. "Baby, it’s me! Open the door, love!"

No answer. Just the sound of more things breaking.

His chest tightened. Fuck this.

Stepping back, he slammed his foot into the door. Once. Twice. The third time, the lock snapped, and the door burst open.

The sight inside made his stomach drop.

You were standing in the middle of the room, barefoot, your whole body trembling violently. Tears streaked your face, your breathing erratic as you clutched your head with both hands. Around you, broken glass littered the floor—shattered picture frames, the remains of a lamp, a drinking glass—your feet were bleeding, red staining the white shards beneath you.

Jace's heart clenched. Oh, god…

But the moment you saw him, your entire expression changed. Your eyes widened, your face contorting with pure terror.

"No!" you shrieked, stumbling back. "Don’t come near me!"

Jace’s breath caught.

You weren’t looking at him.

You were looking at him.

Your past. Your tormentor. The monster who had hurt you.

Jace felt something inside him shatter.

"Love," he said gently, taking the tiniest step forward. "It’s me. It’s Jace."

But you weren’t hearing him.

Your whole body shook as you pressed yourself against the wall, as if trying to disappear into it. "Don’t touch me!" you sobbed. "Don’t fucking touch me!"

Jace lifted his hands, showing you his palms. "I won’t, I swear. I’m staying right here. Just breathe, sweetheart."

You shook your head violently, your whole body trembling. "No, no, no, you—You hurt me! You always hurt me!"

Jace’s heart cracked open. His throat burned as he swallowed the lump forming there. "I would never hurt you, baby. Not now, not ever."

Your breathing only grew more ragged. You clutched your head tighter, pressing your hands to your ears. "Stop—stop, please!"

Jace’s chest ached. He’d seen you break before, seen you cry. But this—this was different.

This was you drowning in the past.

"You're not there anymore," he whispered. "He’s gone, baby. He’s dead. He can’t hurt you anymore."

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears slipping down your cheeks. "No—he’s here—he’s right here!"

Jace exhaled slowly, steadying himself.

"Listen to my voice, love. Just listen to me." His tone was soft, firm, unwavering.

Your body swayed slightly, your knees weak. The blood from your feet trailed onto the floor, red against white.

"You’re safe," Jace murmured. "No one is going to hurt you ever again. Not while I’m breathing."

Your breath hitched.

Jace saw it—the way his words reached you, tugging at the edge of your panic.

"Look at me, sweetheart," he whispered. "It’s Jace. The idiot who makes you coffee every morning, even though I suck at it. The guy who still can’t believe he gets to wake up next to you."

A sharp sob tore from your lips.

Jace stepped forward, slow, careful. "I love you," he murmured. "I love you so fucking much, baby."

Your whole body trembled. Your nails dug into your arms as your breath stuttered.

Then—finally—your glassy eyes flickered to his.

Recognition bloomed in your expression. Jace watched as the fear started to recede, the fog clearing just enough for you to see him.

The moment it did, your legs gave out.

Jace moved instantly, crossing the room in two quick steps and catching you before you hit the floor. You collapsed against him, your fingers fisting into his shirt as if you were afraid he’d disappear.

"J-Jace," you choked out. "I—I can’t—I can’t—"

"Shhh," he hushed you, pulling you close, one hand cradling the back of your head. "I got you. I’ve got you, love. You’re safe."

Your whole body shook violently as you sobbed into his chest. Jace held you tighter, whispering soft reassurances against your hair.

"I’m here," he murmured. "I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere."

You clung to him, as if he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely and Jace? He would hold you as long as it took.

Jace didn’t move.

He didn’t say a word as the others stormed into the room.

Aemond was the first to step inside, his eye scanning the destruction—the broken glass, the overturned furniture, the blood staining the floor. His jaw tightened.

Aegon whistled low, dragging a hand down his face. "Shit."

But it was Alicent and Rhaenyra who reacted first. The moment their eyes landed on you, trembling and clinging to Jace like your life depended on it, they moved.

"Give her to us," Rhaenyra said softly, kneeling beside Jace. "We’ll take care of her."

Jace hesitated. His arms around you tightened slightly, like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

Alicent crouched in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Jace," she murmured, her voice gentle yet firm. "Let us help."

Jace swallowed. He looked down at you—you were barely conscious, your body weak, your breath still uneven.

Slowly, carefully, he loosened his hold. Rhaenyra and Alicent moved instantly, supporting you between them as they guided you to the bathroom.

Jace stayed where he was, frozen. Aemond and Aegon exchanged a glance, but neither of them spoke.

Jace clenched his fists.

He hated this.

Hated that no matter how many people he killed, no matter how many times he swore to protect you, he still couldn’t stop the ghosts of your past from creeping in and tearing you apart.

His jaw tightened as he stared at the blood smeared across the floor. Your blood.

A sharp exhale left his lips.

"Fuck!" he suddenly snapped, slamming his fist against the nearest wall.

Aemond sighed, stepping closer. "Losing your temper won’t fix this."

Jace turned, his eyes blazing. "I should’ve—" He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. "I should’ve been there. I should’ve stopped this before it got this bad."

"You can’t fight something that’s in her mind, Jace," Aemond said evenly. "You can kill every bastard who hurt her, but you can’t erase what they did."

Jace’s fists clenched even tighter.

"Then what the fuck am I supposed to do?" His voice cracked slightly. "Just sit here and watch her suffer?"

Aegon sighed, running a hand through his hair. "No, you stay by her side and remind her that she’s not alone."

Jace exhaled harshly, his chest still rising and falling with barely contained frustration.

"I should’ve stopped this," he muttered again.

Aemond shook his head. "And yet, she’s alive, she’s safe, and she has you." His voice dropped slightly. "That’s what matters."

Jace said nothing. He just stared at the doorway where you had disappeared, his heart still pounding, his body still tense. Because no matter what Aemond said, no matter what logic told him. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

Jace sat beside you, his fingers brushing against your cheek with the lightest touch, as if afraid you would shatter beneath his hand. Your face was peaceful now, the turmoil from earlier momentarily washed away by exhaustion. But he knew the nightmares would come again. They always did.

His chest ached. He should be here when you woke up. He should be the first thing you saw when the panic came rushing back. But instead, he had to leave.

Aemond and Aegon stood by the doorway, waiting.

"We have to go," Aemond reminded him, his voice low.

Jace didn’t move. His jaw clenched as he looked at you, curled beneath the blankets, so small compared to the chaos that surrounded you.

"She just fell asleep," he murmured, voice tight. "I should stay."

"We don’t have time for this," Aegon muttered, rubbing his face. "You know what happens if we wait too long."

Jace did know.

He knew this wouldn’t stop unless they ended it themselves. He knew that every second wasted meant another threat, another risk.

But leaving you now?

It felt wrong.

"She needs you to finish this, Jace." Aemond’s voice was calmer than Aegon’s, more level. "If we do this right, she won’t ever have to wake up to another nightmare again."

Jace exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

"If something happens while I’m gone—"

"Nothing will happen," Aemond cut in firmly. "She’s safe here. Rhaenyra and Alicent won’t let anything happen to her."

Jace’s grip on the sheets tightened. He turned back toward you, hesitating for another long moment. Then, finally, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I’ll be back before you wake up," he whispered against your skin. But even as he said it, he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in his gut. Because he wasn’t sure if that was a promise he could keep.

Jace sat in the passenger seat, his grip tight around his phone, his leg bouncing with restless energy. His eyes flickered between the screen and the club in front of them, a neon-lit building pulsing with music and sin.

Aegon leaned against the hood of the car, rolling his shoulders. "You're gonna break that damn phone if you keep squeezing it like that."

Jace shot him a sharp look but said nothing. The group chat was quiet—too quiet. His mother hadn't texted him back since he left, and the silence was driving him insane.

Aemond, standing beside the car with his arms crossed, exhaled slowly. "Focus, Jace. We get in, we find out who sent those videos, and we end this."

"You don’t understand," Jace muttered under his breath. His hands were shaking. "She had a panic attack earlier. I wasn’t even there when she—"

"She’s safe," Aemond cut in. "Rhaenyra and Alicent are with her. You being distracted helps no one."

Jace clenched his jaw. He knew Aemond was right. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

Aegon checked the time. "Alright, we've wasted enough time. Hellfire’s people are inside, probably thinking they own the place." He smirked darkly. "Let’s show them what happens when they fuck with the wrong family."

One of Aemond’s men approached the car, speaking in a low voice. "We’ve counted at least twenty men inside. Some armed, some just muscle. There's a VIP lounge in the back. That’s where their leader should be."

Jace inhaled sharply. "Good. The sooner we do this, the sooner I can get back."

Aemond nodded. "We move now. No warnings. No survivors."

Jace tucked his phone into his pocket, took a deep breath, and pushed everything else aside.

For now, all that mattered was making sure no one ever had the chance to hurt you again.

The pounding bass of the club’s music was drowned out by the sound of chaos—gunfire, screams, and the shattering of glass as Jace, Aemond, Aegon, and their men stormed inside. Patrons ducked for cover, some scrambling toward the exits, while others froze in shock.

Jace moved with purpose, his eyes scanning the room. The club was lavish—red neon lights reflecting off expensive chandeliers, VIP booths lined with velvet curtains, and a long bar where terrified bartenders crouched behind the counter. But he didn’t care about any of that. He was looking for one person. The bastard responsible for the hell you’d been put through.

"Where the fuck is he?" Jace growled, grabbing the nearest man—a thug with a scar running down his cheek. He yanked him forward and pressed a gun to his temple. "Where’s your boss?"

The man smirked, blood dripping from his lip. "Not here."

Jace’s grip tightened. "Wrong answer." He slammed the man’s head against the table, sending bottles and glasses crashing to the floor.

Aemond, who had been dealing with another group, stepped over bodies and sighed. "This was a fucking waste of time."

Aegon, standing near the bar, took a shot of whiskey before kicking over a chair in frustration. "Either they knew we were coming, or this was a goddamn distraction."

Jace clenched his jaw, his patience running thin. He turned to another man—a lower-level enforcer, trembling as he held up his hands.

"You," Jace hissed, grabbing him by the collar. "Talk."

The man swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the bodies on the floor. "I—I don’t know anything! He doesn’t tell us shit!"

Jace scoffed. "Bullshit." He cocked his gun and aimed it at the man’s kneecap. "Last chance."

"Okay, okay!" The man stammered. "I swear, I don’t know where he is, but I heard something—something about a shipment. A warehouse near the docks."

Aemond’s gaze sharpened. "When?"

"Tonight!" the man sputtered. "That’s all I know, I swear!"

Jace exchanged a look with Aemond and Aegon. If this was true, then they still had a chance.

Aegon ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. "Then we head to the docks."

Jace turned back to the man, his expression cold. "You’re lucky I don’t have time to deal with you." Then, without hesitation, he pulled the trigger—shooting the man in the leg before dropping him to the floor with a scream.

Aemond arched a brow. "That was merciful."

"I'm in a hurry," Jace muttered, already walking toward the exit. He pulled out his phone, still no messages from his mother. His gut twisted.

Aegon slapped a hand on his back. "Relax, lover boy. She’s safe."

Jace didn’t respond. He wouldn’t relax. Not until he was sure and not until the people who did this were dead.

Your head pounded as you slowly opened your eyes, the dim light in the room making your vision blur. Everything felt hazy—like you were stuck in a dream, or rather, a nightmare. Your breaths were shaky as you looked around, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you.

The room was unfamiliar at first, but then you recognized the scent—Jace’s, not the one you had been in earlier. You must have been moved while you were sleeping. But something felt off. The air was too quiet.

Then the door creaked open.

Your breath hitched as a tall figure stepped inside. It took you a second to process who it was. Cregan.

You blinked, surprised. “Cregan?” Your voice was hoarse, but you managed a small, confused smile. “Jace isn’t here… he—”

Before you could finish, Cregan didn’t stop walking. He moved toward you with steady steps, his expression unreadable. Then, in a swift motion, he grabbed your wrist.

Your eyes widened. “Cregan, what are you—?”

Without a word, he lifted you with ease, throwing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

Panic surged through you. “Cregan, put me down!” You thrashed, kicking against his chest, hitting his back with your fists, but he didn’t budge. He held you tightly, moving toward the door with a terrifying sense of purpose.

Your breath came faster now, your heart hammering against your ribs. “What the hell are you doing?!”

He didn’t answer.

As soon as he carried you out of the bedroom, your body stiffened at the sight before you.

The house was a mess. The living room was completely trashed—tables overturned, broken glass scattered across the floor, and the sharp scent of blood in the air. But worst of all, your stomach twisted at the sight of two familiar figures.

Alicent and Rhaenyra.

They were tied to chairs in the middle of the room, their hands bound behind them, their mouths gagged.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened when she saw you, and Alicent made a muffled sound against the cloth in her mouth, thrashing against her restraints.

Your entire body locked up.

“Cregan, what the fuck is this?!” Your voice cracked as you struggled harder.

His grip tightened around you. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

Terror crawled up your spine. Where the hell was Jace?

And what had you just walked into?

Cregan dropped you onto your feet with little care, his grip loosening just enough for you to take a few shaky steps backward. You knew you had to run. It didn’t matter how much your body ached, how the cuts on your feet burned with every movement—you couldn’t just stand there.

As soon as he turned to open the car door, you took your chance.

You bolted.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you sprinted toward the nearest exit. The cold night air stung your lungs, and each step sent a sharp pain through your body. You bit your lip to keep from crying out, forcing yourself to move faster.

But you weren’t fast enough.

A sharp yank on your hair sent you stumbling back, a scream escaping your lips as your balance faltered. Cregan’s fingers tangled in your locks, pulling hard enough to make your scalp burn.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” His voice was low, dangerous.

You winced, tears forming in your eyes as you tried to pry his hand off. “Cregan—please! What did I do? Why are you doing this?”

Your voice broke as you choked on a sob, confusion and terror overwhelming you.

But Cregan didn’t answer. He simply yanked you toward the car, his grip like iron.

“Let me go!” you screamed, thrashing in his hold.

“Shut up.” His voice was cold, devoid of any warmth. “You’re coming with me. No more running, no more games. You’re mine now.”

Panic surged through you. This wasn’t the Cregan you knew—this was someone else, someone cruel and unrecognizable.

With a final shove, he threw you into the backseat of his car. The door slammed shut behind you before you could react. Your fingers trembled as you tried to open the door, but the locks clicked before you could even reach for the handle.

Cregan slid into the driver’s seat, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. “If you behave, this won’t be so bad.”

You shook your head, pressing yourself against the door. “Please, Cregan, don’t do this. I don’t understand—”

He ignored you.

With a single press of his foot against the gas pedal, the car sped away from Jace’s house, taking you further and further away from everything you knew.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt truly helpless.

Jace, Aemond, and Aegon pulled up to the house, their tires screeching against the pavement. The plan had been to stop here quickly before heading to the port, but something immediately felt wrong.

The house was dark. Too dark.

Jace's grip tightened around the steering wheel. "Where is everyone?" he muttered under his breath.

Aemond had already stepped out, his gaze sharp as he scanned the property. "Something's off."

Aegon scoffed. "No shit." He reached for his gun. "Let's go."

They moved in quickly, pushing open the front door.

The second they stepped inside, their blood ran cold.

The living room was wrecked—furniture overturned, shattered glass across the floor, and, worst of all, their mother bound to the chairs in the center of the room.

"Mother!" Jace was the first to move, sprinting toward Rhaenyra and untying her hands with shaking fingers. "What happened?"

Rhaenyra gasped, her hands stiff and cold as she gripped Jace’s arms. Her voice was weak, but the fury in her eyes burned. "They took her."

Aemond had already untied Alicent, who exhaled sharply, rubbing her wrists. "It was Cregan." Her voice trembled slightly.

Jace’s vision blurred with rage. "Cregan?" The name came out like venom. "What the fuck do you mean Cregan took her?!"

"He took her." Her voice was unsteady, filled with barely controlled rage. "He took her, Jace." The words sent ice down his spine. His ears rang. His stomach twisted violently.

You were gone.

Jace stumbled back, his breath coming out in short gasps. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "No—no, no, no—"

Aegon swore under his breath, pulling out his phone to call Helaena. "We need to track him, now."

Aemond was already pulling out his gun, his knuckles white around the grip. "Where was he taking her?" His voice was eerily calm, but the storm in his eye said otherwise.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, steadying herself. "I don’t know, but he said something about ‘finally taking what’s his.’"

Jace’s vision blurred with rage. "He is not taking her anywhere."

Alicent grabbed Aemond’s sleeve, forcing him to look at her. "He’s dangerous. He planned this. This wasn’t just some random act, Aemond—he knew exactly when to strike."

"Then we’re going to make him regret it," Aegon muttered darkly.

Jace turned away from them, his fingers digging into his hair as he struggled to breathe. "I should’ve stayed. I shouldn’t have left her alone."

Aemond stepped in front of him, gripping his shoulder tightly. "None of us should’ve left her alone. But we’re getting her back."

Jace swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus. "Where the fuck is Helaena? She needs to track them, now."

Aegon’s phone rang. The moment he answered, Helaena’s urgent voice came through. "I found them."

Silence.

"They’re headed to the docks."

Jace’s blood turned to fire. His entire body burned with a rage unlike anything he had ever felt before. "Then let’s fucking move."

Your entire body trembled as Cregan held you against him, his arms tightening in a way that made you feel trapped, suffocated. This wasn’t like Jace’s embrace—warm, protective, safe. No, this was possessive, controlling, wrong.

You struggled against him, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. "Please—please, let me go." Your voice cracked as tears streamed down your face, your hands weakly pushing against his chest.

Cregan only laughed, low and dark, his grip never loosening. "You’re still so soft," he mused, almost in admiration. "So delicate. You think begging will make me stop? You should know better by now."

Your stomach twisted violently when he leaned in, pressing his lips against the sensitive skin of your neck. Your body recoiled instantly, a sob ripping through your throat as you tried to shove him away. But he was stronger—he always had been.

"Stop—please!" Your voice rose in desperation.

He exhaled against your skin, his lips ghosting over your ear. "I should’ve taken you back that day," he murmured, his fingers digging into your waist. "Back when we had lunch together. Do you remember that? If I had, none of this mess would’ve happened."

Your breath hitched as the weight of his words settled in. You remembered that lunch—the first time you had seen him before everything had fallen apart. The way he had looked at you, the way he had smiled so easily as if he wasn’t the same man who had destroyed you.

"Jace won’t find you," he continued, pulling away just enough to look into your tear-filled eyes. "He’s too busy searching at the docks while we’re at the airport. By the time he realizes, it’ll be too late."

Panic surged through you, your heart hammering against your ribs. "No…" you whispered, shaking your head violently. "No, he’ll come for me. He always comes for me."

Cregan chuckled, tilting his head. "You’re so sure of him, aren’t you?" His fingers brushed against your cheek, making you flinch. "It’s almost sweet. But love won’t save you this time."

You barely registered his next words as he turned to the pilot. "Take off."

The engines roared to life. The plane began to move. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Jace…

He didn’t know.

He didn’t know you were here.

You were running out of time.

Your body went rigid as Cregan tightened the restraints around your wrists, securing you to the plush leather seat of the private jet. You struggled against them, your breaths coming out in short, panicked gasps.

"Cregan, please," you whispered, your voice breaking as tears welled up in your eyes. "You don’t have to do this. Let me go, please—"

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head, watching you with something almost like amusement. Then, slowly, he reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with terrifying gentleness.

"Shh," he murmured. "You’ll only make yourself more upset."

You flinched at the contact, trying to turn your face away, but his grip was firm. A low chuckle left his lips before he finally pulled back, reaching for the laptop resting on the table beside him.

Your stomach dropped the second you saw the screen.

No—no, no, no.

"You know, I always thought you were beautiful," Cregan said casually, as if he weren’t about to destroy you all over again. He clicked on a file, and suddenly, your worst nightmare played out before your eyes. "But these videos?” He exhaled, shaking his head. "They really show just how perfect you are."

Your throat closed up, bile rising as the familiar, horrifying video flickered across the screen. Images of you—of what had been done to you. You couldn't breathe. Couldn’t think.

"No…" you choked out, your entire body trembling. "Turn it off—please, turn it off!"

Cregan just watched you, his lips curling into a smirk. "Why? You’re so mesmerizing like this."

Your vision blurred with tears as you thrashed against the restraints, but it was useless.

Then, suddenly, he leaned in, his warm breath fanning against your tear-streaked cheek.

"Don’t cry, princess," he murmured before pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your skin. "You’re mine now."

Your body went completely still.

For a moment, you thought you had misheard him.

But then Cregan chuckled softly, his fingers tracing down your trembling arm as he leaned in closer. "What do you think, princess?" he whispered against your ear. "Should we recreate it together?”

A broken sob tore from your throat. Your entire body started shaking, your breaths coming out in ragged gasps. "No… no, please…" you begged, yanking against the restraints until your wrists burned. "Cregan, please—don’t do this."

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. There was something dark in his eyes, something terrifyingly unreadable. "Don’t look at me like that," he mused, his hand cupping your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "I’m not the bad guy here."

"Then let me go!" you cried, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. "If you care about me at all, please—"

Cregan exhaled heavily, like he was tired of the conversation already. "You don’t understand, do you?" he murmured, brushing his thumb across your lower lip. "I’m the only one who can protect you now."

"Protect me?!" you spat, your voice raw. "You’re doing the same thing they did!"

His grip tightened, and for the first time, his smirk vanished. "I’m nothing like them," he said coldly. "I won’t hurt you—not unless you make me."

Your stomach twisted in fear, but before you could say anything, he pressed a finger to your lips. "Shh… relax, princess." His smirk returned, and his hand slid to the laptop again. "Let’s enjoy the show together."

The screen flickered as the video continued playing, filling the cabin with the sounds of your past agony and you? You could only sob, trapped in your worst nightmare all over again.

Your body had given up.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, but you didn’t fight anymore. You didn’t pull against the restraints, didn’t scream, didn’t beg. You just sat there, shaking, eyes locked on the screen as Cregan forced your face toward it.

"There you go…" he murmured, his grip on your jaw tightening. "That’s better. No more fighting, no more crying—just accept it, princess."

Your lips trembled as you watched the video. Watched yourself being held down, a bottle forced to your lips as you choked, your eyes wide with terror.

You remembered that night.

You remembered how they laughed. How they told you it was your fault, how they whispered disgusting things in your ear. You remembered the way your body stopped listening to you after they made you drink. How you felt like you were floating outside of yourself, unable to move, unable to fight.

You thought you had buried these memories.

But now, Cregan was digging them up.

"It’s hard to watch, isn’t it?" His breath was hot against your cheek, his voice sickeningly sweet. "But I think you need to see it. Need to remember what happened to you."

A strangled sob escaped your throat.

"Stop…" you whispered, your voice hoarse. "Please, Cregan… I don’t want to see this…"

"Oh, but I do," he countered, his lips ghosting over the tear-stained skin of your temple. "Because every time I see this, I realize how much they didn’t deserve you. They treated you like trash. They didn’t see how precious you are."

His hand slid down to your throat, thumb pressing lightly against your pulse.

"But don’t worry, princess," he whispered, his tone almost… affectionate. "I’ll take care of you now. I’ll make sure no one ever touches you like this again."

Your stomach twisted in horror.

"You’re doing the same thing they did," you choked out. "You’re hurting me, Cregan."

His expression darkened.

"No," he said sharply. "I’m saving you."

Your breath hitched when he suddenly grabbed your chin again, forcing you to look at him. His gaze was intense, possessive, something twisted lurking beneath the surface.

"Jace can’t protect you. Aemond and Aegon? They don’t understand you like I do." His thumb traced your lower lip, his eyes filled with something that made your skin crawl. "Only I can keep you safe."

Another sob wracked through your body.

"Please…" Your voice was barely above a whisper. "Please don’t do this…"

For a moment, just a moment, you thought you saw hesitation in his expression.

But then he smirked.

"Don’t worry, princess," he murmured, brushing his lips against your forehead. "Soon, you’ll see that this is what’s best for you."

Jace's fury was unlike anything Aemond or Aegon had ever seen before.

He stormed across the empty docks, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His breaths came out in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to contain the storm inside him.

"Where the fuck is she?!" Jace roared, his voice echoing across the deserted pier. His eyes darted around wildly, searching for anything—anything—that would tell him where they had taken you.

Nothing.

No tire marks. No signs of a struggle. No traces of you ever being here.

It was a setup.

"Fuck!" Jace punched the side of a shipping container, the force rattling the metal. His hand ached, but he didn’t care. Pain was nothing compared to the agony twisting in his chest.

"Calm the fuck down, Jace—" Aegon started, but Jace whirled around, his expression wild.

"Don’t tell me to calm down!" he snapped. "She’s gone! They took her right from under us, and I—" His voice broke, and he clenched his jaw, shaking his head. "I should’ve been there. I should’ve protected her."

Aemond, who had been silent until now, exhaled sharply. "They wanted to distract us. Make us think she was here while they took her somewhere else." His mismatched eyes burned with barely restrained anger. "And we fell for it."

Jace ran a trembling hand through his hair, trying to steady himself, trying to think. "We need to find her. Now."

"No shit," Aegon muttered. "But how? We don’t have a fucking lead anymore."

Just then, Aemond's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his brows furrowing as he read the message. Then his entire body stiffened.

"What?" Jace demanded. "What is it?!"

Aemond lifted his gaze, his expression unreadable. "Helaena just tracked the last signal from her phone."

Jace's heart nearly stopped. "Where?!"

Aemond met his frantic stare. "The airport."

Jace ran.

His legs burned, his chest ached, but he ran. As if by some miracle, if he just moved fast enough, he could reach you. Could tear you away from the monster who had taken you. Could stop that jet from leaving the ground.

But he was too late.

The private jet had already ascended, its wheels no longer touching the earth. The roar of its engines filled his ears, drowning out everything else. He skidded to a stop at the edge of the tarmac, his breath ragged, sweat dripping down his temple.

And he watched.

He watched as the plane carrying you away climbed higher and higher, until it was just a dark speck in the sky. Until it disappeared completely.

His knees hit the ground.

A strangled, guttural sound tore from his throat as he clenched his fists against the concrete. Aemond and Aegon weren’t far behind him, both breathing heavily from the sprint, but neither of them said anything.

There was nothing to say.

Jace's hands trembled as he pressed them into the cold pavement, his vision blurring. "I lost her," he choked out. "I lost her."

Aemond’s jaw tightened. "We’re going to find her."

"How?" Jace snapped, his voice raw with desperation. "How the fuck are we supposed to find her now?! He could be taking her anywhere!"

"We’ll track the jet," Aegon said, rubbing a hand down his face. "We have contacts, resources. He won’t get far."

"You don’t get it," Jace growled, pushing himself back onto his feet. His entire body was shaking—whether from exhaustion, rage, or sheer helplessness, he didn’t know. "He planned this. Every step. He was always one step ahead of us. And now she’s alone with him."

Alone with Cregan.

Jace’s stomach twisted violently. He wanted to tear his own skin off, wanted to scream, wanted to rip apart anything in his path.

Aemond grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to meet his gaze. "Get a fucking grip," he snapped. "Losing your shit isn’t going to bring her back. We need to move. Now."

Jace clenched his jaw so tightly it hurt.

But Aemond was right.

Breaking down wouldn’t save you.

He took a shuddering breath, then nodded. "Fine." His voice was hoarse. "We track the jet."

Aegon had already pulled out his phone, his expression grim. "I’m on it."

Jace turned back toward the sky, staring at the empty space where your plane had vanished.

Hold on, he thought desperately. I’m coming for you.

Tears streamed down your face as Cregan pulled you onto his lap. Your body trembled, not just from fear but from the unbearable weight of watching those cursed videos over and over again. You had lost count of how many he had forced you to watch—how many times you had been made to relive your own suffering.

The screen flickered, playing yet another clip. Your own voice—weak, broken, desperate—filled the cabin of the jet. A choked sob escaped your lips. You wanted to look away, to shut your eyes, to block out the nightmare unfolding before you, but Cregan’s grip was firm, keeping you facing forward.

Then, his lips brushed against your neck.

Your body went rigid.

His hands moved to your waist, his touch eerily mirroring the movements of the men in the video. He was recreating it. Reenacting what had been done to you before.

A violent shudder wracked through you. "Please..." you whimpered, voice barely above a whisper. "Please don’t do this."

Cregan hummed against your skin, as if considering your words. His fingers dug into your waist, holding you still. "You don’t need to be scared," he murmured, his tone almost gentle. "You’re mine now."

Your breath hitched. "I’m not yours."*

His grip tightened. "No?" He chuckled darkly, pressing a kiss just below your ear. "I think you are."

You squeezed your eyes shut. "Jace will find me," you whispered, more to convince yourself than to warn him. "He won’t stop until he does."*

Cregan’s entire body tensed at the mention of Jace. His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching against your skin. Then, with a slow exhale, he forced a smirk. "Jace is too late."

You shook your head, struggling against him. "He’ll come for me," you repeated, your voice firmer this time. "He won’t stop."*

Cregan let out a slow, amused breath. "Then we’ll make sure he never finds you."*

Your stomach dropped.

The plane continued soaring through the sky, farther and farther from home.

Your body stiffened as Cregan pressed closer, his lips trailing down your neck despite your desperate pleas. His grip on your waist was firm, holding you in place as if he were afraid you would vanish if he let go.

"Please, Cregan," your voice was barely above a whisper, shaking with fear. "Don’t do this."

He exhaled against your skin, his breath warm, sending a shiver down your spine. "You keep begging," he murmured, his fingers tracing slow circles along your side. "But I told you already—you belong to me now."

Your stomach twisted in dread, but you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to stay strong. "Jace will find me," you whispered. "He won’t stop until he does."

Cregan froze for a fraction of a second before a dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. "Jace?" He pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, his smirk full of mockery. "You really think he’ll get to you in time?"

Your lips parted, but before you could respond, the plane suddenly dipped.

The change in altitude made your stomach lurch, and your ears popped as the jet began descending.

Cregan smiled.

"Looks like we’ve arrived," he said smoothly, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Welcome to your new home."

Your breath hitched.

"Where are we?" you asked, barely able to get the words out.

Cregan’s smile widened as he brushed his thumb over your cheek, as if savoring your fear. "Somewhere Jace will never find you."

Your heart pounded violently against your ribcage. You wanted to fight, to scream, but you knew it wouldn’t help. Not yet. You had to think. You had to survive.

The jet touched down with a soft thud.

Cregan unbuckled both of your seatbelts and stood up, gripping your wrist before you could even think of running. "Come on, sweetheart," he murmured, dragging you toward the door. "Let’s go home."

You swallowed hard, the word home sounding more like a prison sentence than a promise.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

[vaelry]

Endless Battle Of Love- Modern!Jacaerys Velaryon x Female.

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2.

Word Count : 9k

Jacaerys Velaryon Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

You stirred awake, your eyes slowly adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. The warmth beside you was familiar, comforting. Jace lay next to you, his breathing even, his face peaceful in sleep. For a long moment, you simply watched him, taking in every detail—the way his dark curls fell messily over his forehead, the faint crease between his brows, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

You had never felt safer than in this moment.

A quiet sigh escaped your lips. If Jace hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t fought for you, you didn’t know what you would have done. The exhaustion of carrying so much pain alone had nearly consumed you. But now… now, there was him.

Jace stirred beside you, his body shifting slightly. Then, as if sensing your gaze, he blinked awake, his dark eyes meeting yours. A slow, sleepy smile stretched across his lips.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

You couldn’t help the soft smile that formed on your own lips. “Morning.”

Jace lifted a hand, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face before he leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. The simple gesture made your chest tighten.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked, his thumb tracing slow circles on your arm.

“Not long,” you admitted. “I was just… watching you.”

Jace let out a low chuckle, his fingers tightening slightly around you. “Creepy,” he teased, but his smile was nothing but fond.

“Shut up,” you muttered, rolling your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade.

Jace’s expression softened as he studied you. “How are you feeling?” he asked gently.

The question made you pause. You weren’t sure how to answer. Were you okay? Not entirely. The memories were still there, the wounds still fresh. But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were drowning.

“Better,” you said after a moment. “Because of you.”

Jace’s jaw tightened slightly, his fingers gripping your arm a little more firmly. “You give me too much credit,” he said. “I just—”

“You saved me, Jace.” Your voice was quiet but firm. “I don’t know where I’d be if you weren’t here. I don’t even want to think about it.”

Jace didn’t respond right away. Instead, he just pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his forehead against yours. “You don’t have to think about it,” he murmured. “Because I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”*

You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as you melted into his embrace. “Promise?”

“I swear it.”

For the first time in a long time, you believed it.

As you and Jace made your way downstairs, the sound of voices echoed through the house. You felt your stomach twist when you recognized them—Aemond and Aegon.

Your steps faltered, and instinctively, you moved behind Jace, gripping the back of his shirt as if it were a lifeline. Not because you were afraid, but because shame clawed at your insides. You knew. You knew they had seen it. The video. The proof of what had been done to you.

How could they look at you the same way now?

Jace, noticing your hesitation, stopped in his tracks. Without missing a beat, he reached behind him, grasping your wrist before gently pulling you forward again, making you stand beside him instead of behind him.

“Don’t do that,” he murmured softly but firmly.

Your throat tightened. “Jace, I—”

“You don’t have to hide,” he interrupted, his grip on your wrist tightening just slightly. “Not from them. Not from me. You did nothing wrong.”*

You swallowed hard, but the lump in your throat remained.

By the time you reached the living room, Rhaenyra was seated gracefully on the couch, her expression unreadable as she observed you both. Aemond stood near the window, arms crossed, his sharp gaze flicking toward you but revealing nothing. Aegon, on the other hand, was sprawled in the chair across from his sister, spinning a silver ring around his finger, his lips set in a firm line.

Silence stretched between all of you for a brief moment before Aegon exhaled loudly and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well,” he started, tilting his head. “I assume we’re all here for the same reason?”

Jace stiffened slightly beside you. “This isn’t up for discussion.”

“It should be,” Aemond finally spoke, his voice calm yet laced with something unreadable. “This isn’t just about you anymore, Jacaerys.”

Your fingers curled into your palm, your nails pressing against your skin. You hated this. The way they were all here, sitting around as if your trauma were some business deal to negotiate.

“I don’t care what either of you think,” Jace shot back, his voice sharp, protective. “She’s safe now. That’s all that matters.”

“Safe?” Aegon let out a dry chuckle, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. “After what we saw, after what those bastards did? And you think just because they’re dead, it’s over?”

Your breath hitched.

“Aegon, enough,” Rhaenyra’s voice was firm, but Aegon barely reacted, his eyes still on you.

“Look,” he said, his tone softer this time. “I’m not saying this to make you uncomfortable, sweetheart.” He ran a hand through his messy blond hair. “I’m saying it because I know what people are like. And this? This won’t just disappear.”

You swallowed, lowering your gaze. You knew what he meant. The internet was merciless. Even if those men were dead, there was always a chance that the damage they caused would linger, that those video would resurface somewhere.

Jace must have sensed the way your body tensed because he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I will handle it,” he said, his voice absolute. “No matter what it takes.”

Aemond exhaled through his nose before finally looking at you, his single violet eye sharp, calculating. “Do you want to know how we handled it?”

You hesitated, your voice barely above a whisper. “No.”

Aemond nodded slightly, as if he had expected that answer. “Good.”

“And what about her?” Aegon asked, gesturing toward Rhaenyra. “What did you tell her?”

“Enough,” Jace said simply.

Rhaenyra, who had been silent this entire time, finally sighed and leaned back against the couch, crossing her legs gracefully. “I knew something had happened,” she admitted, her gaze on you now. “I just didn’t know the extent of it until a week aho when i first meet her.”

You felt yourself shrink under her stare.

“And?” Aegon pressed.

“And,” Rhaenyra continued, her expression softening, “she is not to blame for any of it.”

You blinked, your throat tightening.

“She is a victim,” Jace added, his fingers tightening around yours, “and if either of you have a problem with that, you can leave.”

Silence filled the room.

Aemond, for once, was the first to speak. “No one here thinks otherwise.”

Aegon sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah, yeah. It’s just… fucked up, that’s all.”

“We know,” Jace murmured. “We know.”*

A beat of silence passed before Aegon leaned back in his chair, exhaling loudly. “Well. If nothing else, you’ve got us.”

You looked up at him, confused. “What?”

“We’re in this now too,” Aegon shrugged. “Like it or not. And if anyone so much as breathes your name in the wrong way, they’ll be answering to us.”

Aemond nodded slightly, his expression unreadable, but you could see the sincerity in his gaze.

Your lips parted slightly, surprise washing over you. You weren’t used to this—to people standing by you, defending you.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said quietly.

“We know,” Jace said, squeezing your hand. “But we will.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding slightly.

Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

As Jace stood beside you, his grip on your hand firm, Aemond’s sharp gaze didn’t waver. Then, without warning, he reached out, grabbing Jace’s wrist and pulling him slightly away from you. Aegon followed, stepping in beside them, forming a small huddle a few feet from where you stood.

You frowned, unease settling in your stomach. Jace’s hand slipped from yours as Aemond led him a little farther, lowering his voice—but not enough for you not to hear.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Aemond hissed, his single eye burning with frustration. “Lying to her? Keeping her in the dark about the other videos?”

Jace’s jaw tightened. “Because she doesn’t need to know.”

Aegon scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “And what happens when she finds out? Because she will, Jace. You think you can just shield her forever?”

“If I have to, yes,” Jace snapped back, his expression hardening. “She’s been through enough—”

“And that’s exactly why she deserves the truth!” Aemond cut him off sharply. “You’re treating her like she’s fragile, like she’ll shatter the moment she hears the truth.”

“She’s already shattered,” Jace shot back, his voice low but heavy with emotion. “You didn’t see her, Aemond. You didn’t hear the way she cried in her sleep, the way she begged for help even in her dreams. I did. Every fucking night.”

Aegon sighed, rubbing his temples. “We get it, Jace. We do. But keeping this from her isn’t the solution.”

Aemond stepped closer, his gaze dark and serious. “You think this is over?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “You think just because those bastards are dead, that’s the end of it?”

Jace clenched his jaw. “We wiped out everyone involved.”

“Did we?” Aemond challenged. “Are you sure there’s not a single person out there with access to those videos? Because I’m not.”

Jace exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “We checked everything. Phones, backups, hard drives, laptops. We destroyed it all.”

“And what about people we don’t know about?” Aemond countered. “She was with that bastard for years, Jace. You really think he didn’t share something with someone else? That there aren’t copies floating around somewhere?”

Jace’s hands curled into fists. “Then we find them,” he said, voice steady, unwavering. “And we destroy every last trace of it.”

Aegon sighed, shaking his head. “Look, man. I admire your determination and all, but this isn’t just some street fight we can beat our way out of. We need a plan. A real one.”

“We have one,” Jace said firmly. “Keep her safe. Keep this buried. And if anyone comes looking for her, we make sure they never find her.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed slightly. “And what about her? What about what she wants?”

Jace hesitated for a fraction of a second. “She wants to move on.”

“She wants to survive,” Aemond corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Jace exhaled through his nose. “What do you want me to do, Aemond? Tell her everything? Watch her break even more?”

Aemond stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “I want you to prepare her. Because the worst thing you can do for her right now is let her believe she’s safe when she’s not.”

Jace swallowed hard, his throat tightening.

“If she doesn’t know the full truth,” Aemond continued, “she can’t protect herself. And if she can’t protect herself, then no matter how hard you try—”

“—You’ll never be able to keep her safe,” Aegon finished, his voice quieter now, but just as serious.

Jace shut his eyes for a moment, his hands shaking slightly.

Aemond exhaled, his tone softening just a little. “We’re not saying this to fight you, Jace. We’re saying it because we care about her too. And the longer we wait, the more dangerous this becomes.”

Jace opened his eyes again, his gaze flicking between Aemond and Aegon before finally turning toward you.

You were still standing there, looking small, fragile. But there was something in your eyes—something hesitant, something afraid and that was what broke him the most. Because Aemond was right. You deserved to know. Even if it hurt. Even if it changed everything.

Because the truth?

The real danger hadn’t passed.

Not yet.

The soft hum of the television filled the quiet room, the morning news droning on in the background. You barely paid attention at first, too lost in your own thoughts, but then—

"Breaking news: The bodies of six men were found late last night in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Police have yet to release official statements, but sources suggest that the killings were highly calculated, with no evidence left behind. It is estimated that they had been executed more than six days from the condition of their bodies. Among the deceased is—"

Your breath hitched.

The camera panned across the scene, a shaky close-up of a body partially covered by a bloodstained tarp. But it wasn’t the body that caught your attention—it was the hand.

A limp, lifeless hand, peeking from beneath the tarp and wrapped around that wrist was something you knew all too well.

A bracelet.

A simple, silver bracelet with a small engraving on the inside. Your bracelet or rather—the one you had once given to him. Your heart slammed against your ribs. Your fingers trembled slightly as they curled against your lap.

He was dead.

Truly dead.

Your ex-motherfucking-fiancé was gone.

You barely noticed the way your breathing had quickened until Jace’s warm hand slid over yours, grounding you. You turned slightly, meeting his gaze.

He wasn’t looking at the TV. Neither were Aemond or Aegon. They all sat in silence, unmoving, their expressions unreadable. No regret. No guilt. Just… nothing and that silence alone spoke volumes.

They knew.

They knew.

And they had done it.

Your fingers twitched, but you didn’t pull away. You weren’t scared. You weren’t even angry. If anything— You were relieved.

A deep, shuddering exhale left your lips as you shifted your gaze back to the screen. The news anchor was still talking, going on about police investigations, gang involvement, possible suspects—

It didn’t matter. Because the only thing that mattered was that he was gone. You licked your lips, the words forming before you could stop them.

"He’s really dead."

Jace stiffened slightly beside you, his grip on your hand tightening just a fraction.

Aegon scoffed under his breath, tilting his head slightly. "What, you wanted us to leave him breathing?"

"No." You shook your head, voice steady. "I just… I don’t know. It feels… surreal."

"He doesn’t exist anymore," Aemond stated simply, his tone devoid of emotion. "And neither does the rest of his filth."*

You swallowed, the weight of his words settling over you.

"Good,"* you whispered. That was all you said and that was all you needed to say. A slow, heavy silence settled between you all. Then— A sigh.

Rhaenyra.

She had been standing near the doorway, quietly observing, letting the weight of the moment sink in. But now, she stepped forward, her expression unreadable as she grabbed the remote and clicked the TV off.

"Enough of this," she murmured, turning back toward all of you. "Come. Let’s eat."

You blinked. "What?"

"Breakfast is getting cold," she said simply, walking toward the dining table. "And after everything that’s happened, I think we all need something warm in our stomachs."*

You stared at her, almost incredulous.

The woman just shut off a murder investigation report like it was the weather segment and proceeded to call everyone for breakfast. Aegon let out a short laugh. "God, Sister, sometimes I forget how cold you are."

"It’s not cold," Rhaenyra corrected smoothly, glancing over her shoulder. "It’s practical. We can talk about this later. For now, we eat."

Aemond hummed in agreement, already pushing himself up from the couch. "She’s right."*

Jace hesitated beside you before finally releasing your hand, rising to his feet. He turned to you, his expression softening just a little. "Come on," he murmured. "You need to eat."*

You stared at them all.

At Rhaenyra, effortlessly composed. At Aemond and Aegon, unbothered and calm and at Jace. Jace, who had done all of this for you. Jace, who had gotten his hands dirty for you.

Jace, who had just killed for you and yet, even after all of that— He still looked at you the same. Like you weren’t ruined. Like you weren’t broken. Like you were still you.

Your chest tightened.

Slowly, you inhaled and then you stood up, slipping your fingers into his.

"Okay," you murmured. "Let’s eat."

The clinking of silverware against porcelain filled the dining room, the only sound cutting through the thick silence. You ate slowly, methodically, your mind still processing everything.

It felt strange.

To know they were gone.

That the people who had tormented you, broken you, and made you feel like nothing—were nothing now themselves.

No more threats. No more fear.

Just... silence.

You swallowed another bite, barely tasting it, your eyes flickering up to glance around the table.

Rhaenyra was speaking with Aemond, their conversation low but casual, as if discussing business rather than murder. Aegon, on the other hand, had his usual smug expression, twirling a fork between his fingers.

And then there was Jace.

He wasn’t eating.

He wasn’t even pretending to.

Instead, his gaze was on you, watching your every movement like a hawk. The way your fingers gripped your fork. The way your lips parted slightly before taking another bite. The way your brows furrowed ever so slightly as your mind wandered.

His grip on the table tightened.

And then—

"Alright, enough of this boring silence."

Aegon’s voice cut through the air, making you blink in surprise. You turned your gaze to him just as he leaned back in his chair, stretching lazily before dropping his hands into his lap.

"We have something to discuss," he continued, tilting his head slightly. "After we finish eating, of course."

Something about his tone made you pause. Something about the way he said it—lighthearted yet firm, playful yet serious—made your stomach twist just a little.

You glanced at Jace instinctively and you saw it immediately. The way his entire body had gone rigid. The way his jaw clenched, the muscles twitching slightly. The way his fingers curled against his thigh, a slow exhale escaping his lips as he visibly tried to contain himself.

Your heart skipped a beat.

"Jace?" you murmured quietly, so only he could hear.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, blinking once before shaking his head. "It’s nothing."

But you weren’t stupid.

And you weren’t buying it.

Before you could press further, Rhaenyra’s voice filled the space. "Not at the table, Aegon," she said simply, taking another sip of her drink. "It can wait."

"Oh, come on, sister." Aegon smirked. "Aren’t you curious to see how she reacts? I sure as hell am."

Your stomach twisted even more.

React?

To what?

Your fingers tightened around your fork, your appetite quickly fading as you darted a glance between them all. Aegon’s smugness, Aemond’s neutral indifference, Jace’s barely-contained frustration— They all knew something. Something you didn’t and you weren’t sure you were going to like it.

The living room felt too small.

The walls seemed to close in as you sat on the couch, your fingers gripping the fabric of your clothes without realizing it. Rhaenyra stood by the door, arms crossed, observing silently. Aegon, for once, looked… cautious. Careful. His usual smugness dimmed as he shifted in his seat.

"Look," he started, exhaling through his nose. "I need you to listen and not freak out, alright?"

Your fingers twitched.

Your chest felt tight.

You already didn’t like where this was going.

Aemond, who stood beside Jace, cut straight to the point. "We found more videos," he said, voice void of emotion.

Your ears started ringing.

"More?" Your voice came out quieter than you intended.

Jace tensed beside you, his entire body rigid, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He didn’t want this conversation to happen. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his foot bounced slightly as if he were barely restraining himself from lashing out.

"Yes," Aemond continued. "Not just one or two. We’re talking—" He hesitated and in that hesitation, you knew. You knew it was bad. Really bad.

"How many?" Your throat felt dry, and the moment you asked, you wished you hadn’t.

Aemond didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

"Twenty-four."

The moment the number left his lips, your vision blurred. Your breath hitched. Your fingers went numb.

Twenty-four.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

Twenty-four videos of you.

Your world started spinning. Your lungs constricted, struggling for air, but no matter how hard you tried to breathe, it wasn’t enough.

The walls were closing in.

The room was shrinking.

Your chest burned, your fingers trembled, your vision swayed—

And then—

"Hey. Look at me."

Jace’s voice cut through the haze.

You barely registered that you were shaking. That your breaths were coming out in short, ragged gasps. That your nails had dug into your own arms, gripping yourself so tightly it hurt. Jace grabbed your hands, prying them away from your arms, forcing you to focus on him.

"Breathe." His voice was firm, commanding. "Look at me and breathe."

But you couldn’t.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t think.

You felt exposed. Violated. Every piece of you had been taken, used, recorded—and now it was all out there.

"They’re gone." His voice softened just a fraction. "They don’t exist anymore. We made sure of it."

His hands cupped your face now, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks.

"Breathe with me."

You felt his forehead press against yours, his warm breath fanning over your lips. He inhaled deeply, exaggerating it so you could follow.

You tried.

You really tried.

But your breath still hitched, still wavered—until his hands slid down to your shoulders, then your back, pulling you into his chest.

"I’ve got you." His voice rumbled against you, low and steady. "I’ve got you, okay? Just focus on me."

You squeezed your eyes shut, clutching onto him, your body still trembling as you struggled to match his breathing.

Slowly, painfully, your heartbeat steadied. The panic didn’t disappear completely, but it dulled, just enough for you to register your surroundings again.

Jace held you, his arms secure, his grip firm yet careful, like he was afraid you might break. When you finally pulled back just slightly, your eyes met his, and you saw it— Rage.

Not at you.

Never at you.

But at the people who had done this to you. "They can’t hurt you anymore," he whispered.

The moment Aemond spoke, your fingers tightened around Jace’s arm. "My men are still looking into it," Aemond said, his voice even, controlled. "There’s a chance those bastards sent the videos to someone else before they died."

Your body went rigid.

Your breath caught in your throat.

No. no, no, no— A strangled sound left your lips, something between a sob and a gasp. Your lungs burned, struggling to take in air as panic clawed at your chest. The room blurred at the edges, and suddenly it was too much—

Too loud.

Too bright.

Too suffocating.

Your knees buckled. You didn’t even realize you were falling until Jace caught you, his strong arms wrapping around your body before you hit the floor.

"Hey, hey—" His voice was frantic now, shaking slightly. "You’re okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe, baby, please."

But you couldn’t.

Your vision darkened, the voices around you fading into nothing and then— Everything went black.

You woke up to warmth.

Gentle hands.

A soft voice calling your name. Your eyelids felt heavy as you slowly blinked, your mind sluggish, your body weak. The first thing you saw was Jace.

He was hovering over you, his brows furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. His hands cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek.

"You scared the shit out of me," he muttered, his voice raw with emotion.

You swallowed, your throat dry. "What… happened?"

Jace exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before gripping your hand tightly. "You passed out," he said, his grip tightening just slightly. "You were panicking, and then—fuck, your eyes just rolled back, and you collapsed."

Your stomach twisted at his words. You had never fainted before. Sure, you had panic attacks, but you had never actually blacked out.

The weight of everything hit you all over again.

The videos.

The possibility that someone else had them.

That they could still be out there, waiting to be exposed, to be used against you.

Your chest tightened again.

Jace saw the way your fingers twitched, the way your breathing started to quicken, and before you could spiral again, he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Breathe with me," he whispered.

You shuddered but tried to match his breaths. Inhale. Exhale.

You felt his hand trail down to your back, rubbing slow, soothing circles.

"Aemond’s men are handling it," he reassured you. "And if—if—anyone out there has those videos, we will find them. We will destroy them."

You swallowed hard, your hands gripping his hoodie.

"What if we don’t?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.

His grip on you tightened.

"Then we burn the whole fucking world down until we do." There was no hesitation in his voice. No doubt. Just pure, unwavering determination and for the first time since all of this started…

You felt just a little bit safer.

You sobbed into Jace’s chest, your entire body trembling as fear wrapped around you like a suffocating shroud. The memories, the helplessness, the overwhelming dread—it was all crashing down on you again, like a wave threatening to drag you under.

Jace’s arms tightened around you, his hand cradling the back of your head as he whispered soft reassurances into your ear.

"I’ve got you."

"You’re safe."

"I won’t let anything happen to you."

But the fear didn’t leave. It clung to you, sinking its claws deep into your skin. Aemond let out a quiet sigh, sharing a glance with Aegon before clearing his throat. "Come on," he murmured, nudging Aegon. "Let’s give them some space."

Aegon hesitated for a moment before nodding, and with that, they both slipped out of the room, leaving you alone with Jace.

But even then, the panic didn’t fade.

You clung to him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie, your sobs shaking your entire body. Jace didn’t say anything—he just held you, pressing gentle kisses against your temple, rubbing slow, soothing circles into your back.

And slowly… so slowly… your cries turned into quiet sniffles.

Your breaths came easier.

Your body felt heavier. Jace exhaled, resting his chin on the top of your head. "Do you want me to get you some water?" he asked softly.

You shook your head weakly. "Just… stay."

"Always."

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that—wrapped in his warmth, the sound of his heartbeat steady against your ear.

But then…

A new presence.

The soft rustling of fabric. A gentle hand on your shoulder. You blinked blearily, and when you looked up, you found yourself staring into the warm, kind eyes of Rhaenyra.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

She simply reached out and took your hand, gently pulling you away from Jace before wrapping her arms around you.

And the moment she held you…

You broke down all over again.

A fresh wave of sobs wracked your body as you clung to her, burying your face into her shoulder, your tears soaking into the soft fabric of her dress.

She didn’t shush you. She didn’t tell you to stop crying. She just held you, her fingers threading through your hair, her touch so soft, so motherly.

"You’re safe now, my dear," she murmured, her voice warm and steady. "No one will ever hurt you again. I swear it." You believed her.

Alicent’s voice rang through the house like a sharp blade cutting through the heavy atmosphere.

"Aemond! Aegon!"

You flinched at the sudden intrusion, your grip on Rhaenyra tightening as your breath caught in your throat. Jace immediately stiffened beside you, his expression darkening as he instinctively shifted, placing himself slightly in front of you as if to shield you from whatever storm was about to unfold.

Alicent’s heels clicked loudly against the floor as she stormed into the room, her sharp green eyes scanning the space until they landed on her sons, who had just reentered from the hallway.

"Would one of you like to explain to me why I received a report about six men being slaughtered in a warehouse last week?" she demanded, her voice sharp and filled with barely restrained fury. "And why the two of you are involved?"

Aemond, ever composed, only tilted his head. "I assume you already know the answer, Mother, or else you wouldn’t be here."

Aegon snorted, crossing his arms. "You should be thanking us, honestly."

Alicent’s nostrils flared at their dismissive attitudes, her jaw tightening as she took another step forward. But before she could say anything else, her gaze shifted—finally landing on you.

You froze.

Her sharp green eyes narrowed in confusion as she took in your red-rimmed eyes, your tear-streaked cheeks, and the way Rhaenyra still held you close.

"And who is this?" Alicent asked, her tone less harsh but still filled with scrutiny.

When no one answered immediately, she turned to Rhaenyra. "Who is she? And why is she crying?"

Rhaenyra’s grip on you subtly tightened, as if instinctively shielding you from whatever judgment Alicent might cast.

"She’s someone who has been through enough without you raising your voice at her," Rhaenyra answered coolly. "Lower your tone, Alicent."

The words were spoken softly, but there was steel behind them, and for a brief moment, the room felt colder.

Alicent’s expression flickered with something unreadable before she exhaled sharply, composing herself. "I did not come here to argue with you, Rhaenyra," she muttered. "I came to demand answers from my sons."

But her gaze flickered back to you, eyes scanning you more carefully now—the oversized shirt that was clearly Jace’s, the way you were curled close to Rhaenyra, the quiet trembling of your fingers as you tried to steady your breath.

A realization seemed to settle over her.

She turned back to Aemond and Aegon, her voice quieter now. "What exactly did you two do?"

Aemond merely adjusted his gloves, his expression unreadable. "We took care of a problem."

Alicent’s gaze darted between them, then to Jace, then to you.

"A problem," she repeated, her tone dripping with suspicion. "And this… has something to do with her, doesn’t it?"

No one answered immediately.

But Jace—who had been silent all this time, barely restraining his own rage—finally spoke, his voice eerily calm.

"The men they killed deserved worse."

Alicent’s brows lifted, but before she could ask more, Aegon let out an impatient sigh.

"Look, Mother, just know that we didn’t kill anyone who didn’t deserve it," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "And honestly? We probably did the world a favor."

Alicent’s lips parted as if to say something, but then her gaze shifted back to you. She studied you carefully, as if searching for an answer in the quiet way you curled into Rhaenyra’s embrace, the way your fingers fidgeted, the way Jace had positioned himself protectively near you.

Then… something in her expression softened.

She wasn’t stupid.

She had seen this kind of fear before.

She took a slow breath, then exhaled.

"I see." It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t approval. But it was understanding and for now… that was enough.

Jace barely had time to react before Alicent stepped forward and shoved him—not hard, but enough to make him stumble slightly backward. His brows furrowed in confusion as he steadied himself, looking at her with narrowed eyes.

"What the hell—"

"Move," Alicent said simply, her voice firm but not unkind. Jace clenched his jaw but obeyed, stepping aside. Then, to your surprise, Alicent turned to you.

She crouched slightly, bringing herself to your level as her gaze softened. You tensed, not knowing what to expect, but she didn’t seem angry—just… studying you.

"I know this is all overwhelming," she finally said, her tone much gentler than before. "But you don’t have to be afraid anymore."

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond.

Then, she reached out and—surprisingly—brushed her fingers through your hair, smoothing it in a motherly gesture.

"Everything will be alright now," she murmured. "No one is going to hurt you again."

Your throat tightened.

You didn’t know what to say. You had braced yourself for judgment, for disapproval, maybe even dismissal. But instead… you were met with warmth.

Alicent took a breath and stood up, glancing at the others.

"I am Alicent Hightower," she finally said, her voice stronger now. "Rhaenyra’s stepmother… and mother to Aemond and Aegon." Her gaze flickered to her sons briefly before settling back on you.

"That means you are under my protection now as well." You blinked, startled.

"I—" You hesitated, unsure of what to say.

"You don’t have to say anything," Alicent interrupted softly. "Just know that from this moment forward, you are not alone. Whatever has happened to you… whatever you have been through… it ends here."

You felt a lump form in your throat. She wasn’t saying it just to make you feel better. She meant it.

Jace, who had been watching quietly, exhaled and crossed his arms. "Took you long enough," he muttered.

Alicent shot him a sharp look. "Watch your mouth, Jacaerys."

Aegon snorted. "That’s rich, coming from you."

Aemond merely sighed, adjusting his gloves as if this conversation was exhausting him. "Can we move past the dramatics now?" he muttered. "We still have more important things to deal with."

Alicent ignored them. Instead, she reached out once more, giving your hand a small but firm squeeze before finally pulling away.

"Come," she said. "You should rest. And we should talk." For the first time in a long time… you believed her.

Aegon groaned as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He leaned back against the couch, pulling it out lazily before glancing at the screen. The name flashing across it made him sit up straighter.

"Helaena?"

Aemond and Jace immediately turned their heads toward him. Without wasting time, Aegon answered the call and put it on speaker.

"Brother," Helaena’s soft but urgent voice filled the room. "I’m coming over. There’s something you need to know."

Aegon frowned, exchanging glances with Aemond and Jace. "What is it? Just tell me now."

"No," she said firmly. "Not over the phone. I’ll be there soon."

And then the call ended. Aegon let out a frustrated sigh, tossing his phone onto the coffee table.

"She always does this," he muttered.

Jace, who had been sitting tensely with his hands clasped, exhaled through his nose. He was still on edge, barely holding himself together after everything that had happened today. His knuckles were white from how tightly he had been clenching his fists.

"If she says it’s urgent, then it must be," Aemond said calmly. He was swirling the amber liquid in his glass, his one remaining eye sharp and calculating. "We wait."

Aegon scoffed. "What if it’s nothing? Helaena has always been—" he paused, searching for the right word, "—peculiar."

Aemond shot him a cold look.

"She sees things," he reminded him. Aegon rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Jace ran a hand down his face, trying to steady himself.

"What if it’s about her?" he muttered.

Aemond narrowed his eye at him. "Who?"

Jace gave him a sharp look. "Who the fuck do you think?"

Aegon sighed. "Alright, relax. She’s upstairs with our mothers, she’s safe."

Jace didn’t look convinced. His knee bounced up and down anxiously, his entire body restless. Aemond finished his drink in one smooth gulp and set the glass down with a soft clink.

"Then let’s hope Helaena brings something useful."

Helaena strode into the room with a sense of urgency, her heels clicking against the floor as she clutched her laptop tightly. Without a word, she shoved Aegon aside, making him grunt in protest.

"Fucking hell, Helaena," Aegon muttered, rubbing his arm where she had pushed him.

Ignoring him, she placed the laptop on the coffee table and opened it swiftly, her fingers flying over the keyboard. The screen illuminated her face, and her expression darkened as she pulled up an email inbox—your email inbox.

Jace, who had been standing tense with his arms crossed, immediately stepped closer. His brows furrowed as he recognized the email address.

"What the fuck is this?" Aemond asked, leaning forward.

Helaena didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she clicked on the most recent email. The moment the content loaded, she turned the screen towards them.

The room fell into silence.

Displayed on the screen were several screenshots—gruesome, explicit, and undeniably real. Each frame contained a piece of your nightmare, stolen and turned into a weapon against you.

Jace’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening as his hands curled into fists. He could feel the bile rising in his throat. His vision blurred with rage as he scanned the threatening message attached to the images:

"You belongs to me. Did you think you could erase everything? The world will see soon enough. Three hours."

Aegon let out a long, slow exhale, running a hand through his hair.

"These fucking bastards," he muttered under his breath. Aemond leaned in closer, his fingers tapping the armrest of the couch rhythmically as he processed the situation.

"Who the fuck sent this?" Jace finally spoke, his voice eerily calm, but the fury behind it was unmistakable.

Helaena’s fingers moved again, tracing the source of the email. "It’s untraceable for now. They used a deep web service to send it. But I might be able to find something if I have more time."

"We don’t have time," Jace growled, pacing back and forth. "We have less than three hours."

"Then we act now," Aemond stated simply, already pulling out his phone.

Jace clenched his fists, breathing heavily through his nose. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to kill something.

"We need to tell her—" Aegon started, but Jace cut him off sharply.

"She doesn't need to know about this."

Aemond, leaning back against the couch, let out a slow breath, tilting his head slightly as he observed his nephew. "And what happens when she finds out? Because you know she will, Jace."

Jace’s jaw tightened. He ran a hand through his curls in frustration before snapping, "Did you see what happened earlier? Did you? She fucking shut down, Aemond. She had a full-blown panic attack just from hearing about the other videos. What do you think will happen if she finds out some bastard still has them?"

Aegon leaned against the wall, arms crossed, nodding slightly in agreement. "He's not wrong," Aegon muttered. "She’s barely holding on as it is. If we tell her, it’ll break her completely."

Helaena, who had been silently working on her laptop, finally spoke up. Her voice was softer but carried weight. "Keeping it from her might feel like protection, but if she finds out later—on her own—it’ll feel like betrayal."

Jace clenched his fists, his frustration boiling just beneath the surface. "I know that," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "But right now, the only thing that matters is making sure she never has to see this again. We have less than three hours. We take care of it. And we make sure she never finds out."

Aemond exhaled through his nose, considering. He tapped his fingers against his knee in thought before finally nodding. "Fine. But if this backfires, it's on you."

Jace met his uncle's gaze with unwavering determination. "It won’t backfire. Because we’re not going to fail."

Helaena sighed, her fingers still typing as she tracked the email source. "We need a plan."

Jace didn’t hesitate. "Then let’s get to work."

The voices of Alicent and Rhaenyra grew louder as they approached the living room, their conversation stopping the moment they saw the laptop screen.

Alicent froze. Her usually composed face hardened as she took in the images, her lips pressing into a thin line. For a long moment, she said nothing, just staring at the evidence of what had been done to you. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until finally, she spoke.

"Where did you get this?" Her voice was sharp, controlled—but beneath it was a barely contained fury.

Helaena, still typing rapidly, answered without looking up. "It was sent to her email an hour ago. An anonymous account, but I’m tracing it now."

Alicent inhaled sharply, then turned to Jace. "Does she know?"

Jace didn’t answer right away. He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling harshly before shaking his head. "No. And she doesn’t need to."

Rhaenyra crossed her arms, glancing toward the stairs. "She’s asleep. I gave her something to help her rest." Her gaze softened slightly, but her voice remained firm as she turned back to them. "She was still shaken after everything earlier. I couldn’t leave her like that."

Jace’s jaw tightened. The thought of you needing medication just to find peace made something in him twist painfully. He hated this. Hated that you were suffering while he sat here, helpless to make it all go away.

Alicent moved to stand beside the couch, her eyes narrowing as she took in the email again. "And you were planning on handling this yourselves?"

Aegon scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck. "What do you think, Mother? We don’t exactly have a lot of options here."

Aemond, still leaning back in his chair, finally spoke. His tone was cold, practical. "We need to find out if these are the only copies. If this bastard sent them to someone else, we’re in trouble."

Helaena glanced up from her screen. "I’m working on it. But it’s not easy. Whoever this is, they know how to cover their tracks."

Jace let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his face. His entire body felt tense, his mind running through every possible outcome. None of them were good.

"Then we move fast," he said finally. "We find this bastard before the three hours are up. And we make sure he never gets the chance to do this again."

Alicent watched him carefully, something unreadable in her expression. "And if she finds out?"

Jace met her gaze without hesitation. "She won’t."

But even as he said it, he couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in his chest. Because deep down, he knew—secrets like this never stayed hidden forever.

Rhaenyra guided Jace through the dimly lit hallway, her grip on his wrist firm but gentle. He didn’t resist, didn’t ask where she was taking him—he simply followed, his mind too clouded to think clearly. The weight of everything was pressing down on him, heavier than ever before.

Once they reached the back garden, away from the others, Alicent finally stopped. The cool night air wrapped around them, the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers filling the space. Jace stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing uneven.

Rhaenyra turned to face him, her eyes scanning his face. He looked exhausted—his usual confidence stripped away, replaced by something raw and vulnerable.

"Jace," she called his name softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He flinched slightly at the contact, but didn’t pull away. He kept his gaze on the ground, his jaw tightening as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

"You don’t have to hold it in," She whispered, rubbing slow circles on his back. "Not with me."

Jace exhaled sharply, his shoulders shaking slightly. His fingers dug into his palms as he tried to push everything down—the anger, the helplessness, the fear. But then Rhaenyra pulled him into a firm embrace, wrapping her arms around him as if she were shielding him from the world.

And just like that, the dam broke.

Jace’s breath hitched as he buried his face against her shoulder, his entire body trembling. He wasn’t crying—not exactly—but he was close. His arms hung limp at his sides for a moment before he finally gave in and held onto her, gripping the back of her dress tightly.

"I can’t—" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I don’t know how to fix this, Mother."

Rhaenyra tightened her hold on him. "You don’t have to fix everything, Jace. You’re already doing more than enough."

"It’s not enough!" His voice cracked, frustration leaking into his words. "She’s still suffering. She’s still afraid. And I—" He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes squeezing shut. "I should have been there. I should have done something sooner."

Rhaenyra pulled back slightly, cupping his face in her hands. "You listen to me, Jacaerys Velaryon," she said firmly, her green eyes locking onto his brown ones. "What happened to her is not your fault. You found her when she needed you most. You protected her when no one else did. And right now, she needs you to be strong. Not to punish yourself for something you had no control over."

Jace clenched his jaw, his eyes glistening under the moonlight.

"But what if it happens again?" he whispered. "What if I can’t stop it?"

Rhaenyra sighed, brushing his curls away from his forehead. "Then we will deal with it together. All of us."

Jace let out a shaky breath. He wasn’t sure if those words were enough to ease the storm raging inside him, but at the very least, they made him feel a little less alone.

For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to rest—just for a moment—in his mother’s embrace.

Jace’s chest tightened as he stepped back inside, his eyes immediately landing on the laptop where Helaena sat hunched over the keyboard. Aemond stood beside her, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Aegon was pacing, rubbing his face in frustration.

“What is it?” Jace asked, his voice strained.

Helaena didn’t look away from the screen as she spoke. “I found something.” Her fingers hovered over the trackpad, the cursor blinking over a hyperlink.

Jace moved closer, his heart pounding. The link led to a dark, barely formatted website with a single string of numbers— a phone number.

Without hesitation, Helaena grabbed her phone and dialed. The call rang twice before someone picked up. A man’s voice, disguised and dripping with amusement, came through the speaker.

“Ah… I was wondering when you’d call.”

Jace stiffened, his grip on the back of Helaena’s chair tightening.

“Who the fuck are you?” Aemond demanded, his voice low and cold.

The man chuckled, the sound light and taunting. “Now, now. No need to be so rude. You already know who I am, don’t you?”

Jace’s hands curled into fists. “Where did you get those videos?”

“Oh, those?” The man hummed as if she was reminiscing about a fond memory. “Let’s just say… a little birdie left me a gift before he met his unfortunate end. And now, I hold something very, very precious to you, Jacaerys.”

Jace’s stomach churned. “What do you want?”

“Oh, it’s not about what I want. It’s about what you want. And I imagine you want those files deleted, don’t you?”

Helaena’s hands were shaking slightly as she tried tracing the call, her eyes flicking between the numbers on the screen.

“If you lay a finger on those files—” Aemond started, but the woman cut him off with a laugh.

“Relax, Aemond. I’m not an idiot. I know exactly how valuable this is.”

Aegon exhaled harshly, his hands on his hips. “So? What’s your price?”

The man clicked his tongue. “I’ll be in touch soon. Until then… be good boys, won’t you?”

And with that, the line went dead.

Helaena cursed under her breath, slamming the laptop shut. “Damn it! He cut off the trace.”

Jace ran a hand through his hair, his breath ragged. He glanced at Aemond and Aegon, their expressions mirroring his own fury and frustration.

“Who the fuck is he?” Jace muttered.

Aemond’s eyes darkened. “Someone who clearly knows how to play this game.”

Jace clenched his jaw, looking toward the stairs where you were still resting. He had promised to keep you safe, but now—now, the nightmare wasn’t over.

It was just beginning.

Rhaenyra’s expression darkened as she reached for the laptop. “Show me the number again,” she instructed, her voice controlled but tense.

Helaena hesitated for only a second before pulling the number back onto the screen. The moment Rhaenyra’s eyes landed on it, her entire body stiffened. Her fingers curled against the table, knuckles turning white.

Aegon, who had been watching her reaction closely, narrowed his eyes. “You recognize it.” It wasn’t a question.

Rhaenyra exhaled sharply. “I do.”

Jace’s heart pounded in his chest. “Who is it?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line before she finally spoke, her tone sharp as a blade. “Hellfire.”

The room went completely silent.

Aemond was the first to react, his jaw tightening. “You mean them?”

Rhaenyra gave a slow nod. “Yes. That number belongs to someone within Hellfire. And if they’re involved, this just got much worse than we thought.”

Jace felt a chill run down his spine. “Who the hell is Hellfire?”

Aegon let out a dry laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Only the biggest fucking problem our family has ever had.”

Helaena, still typing furiously, glanced up. “They’re an underground syndicate. Ruthless, highly organized, and they specialize in blackmail, extortion, and destruction. They don’t just ruin people—they erase them.”

Jace’s breath hitched. “And we’re their target?”

Rhaenyra turned to face him fully, her expression grim. “We’ve always been their target.”

Aemond ran a hand down his face. “So this isn’t just about the videos.”

“No,” Rhaenyra confirmed. “It’s about power. They must have been working with those bastards long before we even knew. The question is—” she gestured to the laptop, ”—why did they keep the videos? What’s their endgame?”

Jace’s stomach twisted. “They said they’d be in touch. They want something.”

Aegon scoffed. “Of course they do. And I doubt it’s just money.”

Helaena’s eyes darkened. “No. They never plays for just money. They play for control.”

Jace exhaled sharply, his hands balling into fists. “Then we take the fight to them.”

Aemond gave him a sharp look. “Not without a plan. We can’t afford to go in blind.”

“We don’t have time to wait!” Jace snapped, his anger boiling over. “They have those videos! They could release them at any second!”

Rhaenyra placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Jace.” Her voice softened just slightly. “I know what’s at stake. But if we don’t handle this the right way, we won’t be able to protect her.”

Jace swallowed hard, his mind flashing back to you sleeping upstairs, completely unaware of what was unfolding.

“Then what do we do?” he asked, his voice quieter but no less desperate.

Rhaenyra’s gaze swept over her sons before settling on Helaena. “We find them before they make their next move. We cut this off at the root.”

Aemond’s eyes gleamed with something dark. “And we end them.”

Jace’s fingers tightened around his phone as he read the message again, his breathing growing heavier with every second. His jaw clenched, and his entire body went rigid.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely above a growl.

The message was the same for everyone. A single video file attached, a brutal reminder of what had already been done to you. Jace refused to open it. He didn’t need to. The mere thought of it made his blood boil.

His eyes snapped up, meeting Aemond’s and Helaena’s. “Tell me you have something.”

Aemond exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Nothing yet. Whoever’s behind this is smart. They’re covering their tracks well.”

Helaena was furiously typing on her laptop, her expression tense. “I’m trying to trace the origin of the message, but it’s bouncing through too many servers. It’s like trying to follow a ghost.”

Jace ran a frustrated hand through his hair before slamming his fist down on the table, making everyone flinch. “We’re running out of fucking time!” he snapped. “Every second we sit here doing nothing is another second they have power over her!”

Rhaenyra, who had been silent until now, spoke up from where she stood near the window. “We are doing something, Jace. We’re figuring this out.”

“Not fast enough,” he shot back, his voice raw with frustration.

Aegon let out a dark chuckle from where he was leaning against the wall. “I hate to say it, but he’s right. If we don’t act now, we’re just waiting for them to release the rest of the videos. And when they do, it’s over.”

Jace’s hands were shaking. He turned to Aemond, his eyes burning. “We need leverage. We need something that will force them to stop before they do any more damage.”

Aemond met his gaze, calculating. “You’re talking about playing their game.”

“I don’t give a fuck what game we have to play, Aemond. We end this. Now.”

Helaena suddenly sat up straighter, her eyes wide. “Wait. I think I found something.”

Everyone immediately turned to her.

“What is it?” Rhaenyra asked.

Helaena’s fingers flew across the keyboard as she pulled up a new window. “I traced the number back to an old account linked to multiple aliases. And I just found a lead—an offshore account that was recently accessed from a location in the city.”

Jace leaned over her shoulder, his heart pounding. “Where?”

She hesitated before looking up. “It’s a nightclub. One of theirs.”

Aemond smirked. “Now we’re talking.”

Jace grabbed his jacket. “Let’s go.”

Rhaenyra’s voice stopped him. “Jace, wait.”

He turned, his expression dark. “There’s no time to wait.”

She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his. “I know. But you need to be smart about this. No reckless moves.”

Aegon scoffed. “Kind of hard when we’re dealing with psychopaths who hold all the cards.”

Aemond crossed his arms. “Not for long.”

Jace’s grip tightened on his phone. His mind was made up. “We finish this tonight.”

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