#Hotd season 2

[jelmonezaldrizes]

Aemond would be a waiter if he wasn't a targaryen dragon lord because he's just serving everything all the time.

YOUR BROTHER IS HALF DEAD AND YOU’RE SERVING FACE?!??!??!!?!

[poemascent]

AEMOND TARGARYEN aquiline nose, silver-white hair, and purple eyes that bespoke his Valyrian blood

[rhaenyrathecruell]

“Brave they were, dead they are. My sweet boys.”

[idkyetxoxo]

Criston Cole - In Shadows and Chains

Summary - In a kingdom fraught with power struggles, a woman trapped in a marriage to Daemon grapples with humiliation and betrayal. Yearning for freedom, she finds solace in her secret affair, forcing her to confront her dark reality and the secrets that bind her to Daemon.

Pairing - Criston Cole x reader

Warnings - Mild language

Word count - 2069

Masterlist for Criston • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

I could feel her eyes on me long before I ever saw her. Judging, scrutinizing—always watching. It was as if she could sense that I was everything she despised. 

And why wouldn't she? I was the woman who had taken what she held most dear: her precious uncle.

But she was wrong about me. I didn't want him the way she wanted him. 

If I had my way, she could have him. I would gladly hand him over and run off with the man I truly wanted, the man I would choose. 

The man who wouldn't humiliate me the way my husband had, and still does.

"Hands off," I hissed, as Daemon's hand snaked around my waist. He groaned softly at my words, a sound that made my skin crawl.

"You're my wife," he whispered back, his voice tinged with irritation as if that simple fact gave him all the rights in the world.

I rolled my eyes. "Was I your wife when I found you buried between the legs of a brothel whore not so long ago?" I shot back, venom dripping from every word. 

His hand fell from my waist as though my words had stung.

"It was a moment of weakness," he muttered, trying to justify the unjustifiable.

Weakness? The very word made me want to strike him.

"Oh, of course," I said, my voice heavy with sarcasm. "How convenient that your moment of weakness involved a woman with silver hair and blue eyes... much like your niece."

His breath caught, a sharp inhale that told me everything I needed to know. 

We both knew the truth. The sick, twisted truth that he didn't desire me at all. His lust was reserved for his niece, Rhaenyra. 

It was shameful, and yet here we stood, pretending to be the perfect couple as if the filth of his desires didn't cling to us both.

I had once dreamed of love and loyalty, of a marriage built on trust—not the mockery it had become.

I leaned in closer, my voice low and laced with malice. "You embarrass me tonight, and I swear I'll cut your cock off while you sleep." 

A smile immediately spread across my lips as we approached the king, the perfect mask of a dutiful wife and loyal subject.

"Don't play the saint, not with me," he snarled, his smile as fake as mine. "I know about your little affair with that Dornish knight."

I met his gaze, my eyes turning cold as ice, burning with anger. "Good," I replied calmly. "I wasn't exactly hiding it."

We turned our attention to Viserys, who was babbling on about something meaningless, oblivious to the storm brewing between us. 

I smiled and nodded, playing the role I was meant to play, even as I plotted my escape from this wretched marriage.

We were both liars, both traitors to vows we never should have made, and in that moment, I realized just how far I was willing to go to finally be free of him.

As the evening wore on, the tension in the grand hall thickened, the air heavy with the scent of wine and the low hum of murmured conversations. 

I could feel my husband's eyes wandering, his gaze lingering far too long on Rhaenyra, his niece—his obsession. 

It sickened me, but I kept my mask intact, smiling and nodding at courtiers, pretending not to notice the growing strain in Daemon's posture as the wine continued to flow.

By the time the feast was in full swing, Daemon was several goblets deep, his tongue loose and reckless. He staggered toward me, a smug grin plastered across his face, eyes glassy with intoxication. 

He leaned in too close, the smell of alcohol clinging to him like a second skin.

"Look at them all, playing their little games," he slurred, his voice loud enough to turn a few heads. "Kings, queens, lords, and ladies—none of them half as interesting as you and me, eh, wife?" 

He laughed, loud and obnoxious, drawing the attention of the table.

His eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, roved the room until they inevitably landed on Rhaenyra. He leered at her in that way that made my stomach twist, and the familiar, acidic burn of humiliation crawled up my throat.

It was as if everyone in the hall could sense it too. Eyes flickered in Daemon's direction, nobles whispered behind raised hands, casting sidelong glances our way. 

Every gaze felt like a dagger aimed at me, not at him. 

I could feel their judgment, their disdain for the spectacle he was becoming, and yet they would never say a word to him. Not to Daemon Targaryen. 

Instead, their eyes fell on me—on the poor wife who was forced to endure his public unravelling. Always me.

I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to lash out. "Daemon, lower your voice," I whispered harshly, trying to keep him in check.

But he was already too far gone. With a drunken wave, he knocked over a goblet of wine, sending red liquid splashing across the table. Several guests gasped, and I felt a flush of humiliation creep up my neck.

"And what of our king?" Daemon continued, ignoring my warning entirely. 

"Our beloved Viserys, so blind to everything around him, especially the fact that his throne is slipping right through his fingers!" His voice rose, and now, eyes across the hall were fixed on us.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken tension, the kind that lingered before disaster struck. 

I could feel my pulse quicken, the flush of shame creeping up my neck as Daemon continued, oblivious to the damage he was doing. 

Even Viserys, across the hall, had noticed now—his kindly eyes narrowing in concern as he glanced between Daemon and me. 

How many times had I had to play the dutiful wife in the wake of his chaos? How many more nights would I be forced to endure this mockery?

I shot him a warning glare, but it was no use. Daemon's smirk widened as he swayed on his feet, clearly relishing the attention.

I couldn't take it anymore. Without another word, I grabbed his arm, yanking him from his seat. 

"Enough," I hissed under my breath, pulling him toward the exit. He staggered beside me, grumbling incoherently as I dragged him out of the hall, past the curious and judgmental eyes of the court.

"You're embarrassing yourself, you drunken fool," I whispered harshly. "Come with me now before you cause more damage."

We barely made it out of the hall when Daemon stumbled again, nearly crashing into a nearby column. His mouth opened, likely to unleash some venomous retort, but I cut him off with a glare. 

"Not another word," I spat, waving over two guards stationed outside. "Take him to his chambers," I ordered, my voice cold and commanding.

One of the guards hesitated, eyes flicking between us. "My lady, are you sure—"

"Take him," I repeated coldly, my voice leaving no room for argument. 

Daemon stumbled into the arms of one guard, still muttering something about treason and thrones as they led him away. 

I stood there for a moment, my heart pounding, my hands trembling with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

As the sound of Daemon's drunken ramblings faded into the distance, I leaned against the cold stone wall, pressing my hands to my head. The night had been a disaster, yet again. 

Every public appearance with him was a humiliation, a reminder of the farce our marriage had become. 

I closed my eyes, trying to calm the storm inside me, trying to keep the tears from falling.

When I finally dropped my hands, I saw him.

Criston Cole, lingering at the edge of the shadows, his eyes dark and full of concern as he stepped forward. 

"He's made a spectacle of himself again," he said quietly, his voice gentle but carrying that underlying tension he always had when it came to Daemon. "You shouldn't have to deal with this."

I exhaled slowly, shaking my head as I tried to push down the rising frustration. 

"It's nothing new," I muttered, my voice barely hiding my anger. "Every time, it's the same. He humiliates me, and I'm the one left to clean up the mess."

Criston stood there, silent for a moment, his gaze searching my face. 

His presence was always a strange comfort—solid, unwavering in a world that felt like it was constantly shifting beneath my feet. He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving mine. 

"You don't deserve this," he murmured, his hand brushing against my arm in a way that was familiar, intimate.

"I know," I whispered, feeling the warmth of his touch seep into my skin, soothing the raw edges of my emotions. 

This wasn't a new conversation. We had been here before, too many times to count. The secret, stolen moments where I could let the mask fall, if only for a little while. 

Where I could feel like myself again, not just Daemon's wife.

Criston's hand moved to cup my cheek, his thumb gently brushing over my skin as he studied me with that intensity I had come to crave. 

"You don't have to keep putting up with this," he said softly. "Every time he drags you down, it gets harder to watch."

I could hear the restraint in his voice, the anger he kept bottled up for my sake. He never said it outright, but I knew how much it pained him to see me tied to Daemon. 

It pained him because I was his, in secret, in shadow, but never where it counted. Not in the eyes of the court. 

He hated Daemon for that.

I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch for just a moment, letting myself feel the tenderness in his hand that was so different from Daemon's rough, selfish grip. 

"And where would I go, Criston?" I asked, my voice small, my frustration leaking through. "What would I do? My life is tied to his. If I leave, I lose everything."

"Not everything," he whispered, stepping closer, his lips just a breath away from mine. "You wouldn't lose me."

I opened my eyes and met his gaze, the weight of his words hanging in the air between us. 

We had been lovers for months now, sneaking away when we could, sharing these moments in the shadows. 

But it was different when we stood like this, on the edge of something more dangerous, more permanent.

"I can't," I said, but the words felt weak, hollow, even to me. "Daemon may be a fool, but he's still powerful. If he found out—"

"He won't," Criston interrupted, his hand slipping from my cheek to rest at the small of my back, pulling me closer. "You're too careful. And even if he did... he doesn't deserve you. None of this is your fault."

I let out a shaky breath, my head dropping to his chest as I allowed myself a moment of weakness. 

"I don't know how much longer I can live like this," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Criston's arms tightened around me, holding me close, his breath warm against the top of my head. 

"Then don't," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to my hair. "We could leave, you and I. Start over somewhere far from here. You wouldn't have to live in Daemon's shadow anymore. You could be free."

The words sent a shiver down my spine. 

It was tempting—so tempting to imagine a life where I wasn't tied to Daemon's cruelty and endless embarrassment, where I could be with someone who truly cared for me. 

Someone like Criston. But the risks were too great, and I knew it.

I pulled back slightly, looking up at him, my heart aching with the impossibility of it all. "It's not that simple," I said softly, shaking my head. "You know it's not."

Criston's eyes darkened, but he didn't argue. Instead, he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to my lips, his hands steady and sure as they held me. 

"I'll wait," he whispered against my mouth. "For as long as you need. I'll be here."

His words lingered in the quiet hallway, and for a moment, I let myself believe in the possibility of something better. 

But as the noise from the hall grew louder, pulling me back to reality, I knew that tonight, like every night, I would return to the prison of my marriage.

But in Criston's arms, just for a little while, I could dream of escape.

A/n - Worked a 13 hour shift and edited this through half opened eyes apologies for any mistakes!

[chocobroing]

Fixed it.

[the-fiction-witch]

Yes My Lords

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Jacaerys Velaryon & Cregan Stark Couple - Jacaerys X Reader + Cregan X Reader Reader - Y/n (Winterfell Maid) Rating - 17+ (Playful flirting/ playful spanking/ lap sitting) Word Count - 1114

The summer snow swirled fiercely across the expansive hills of the north. The ancient castle of Winterfell loomed majestically over the pristine, snow-covered fields, its weathered stone walls reflecting centuries of history and resilience from the onslaught of winter. From every window of the castle, flickering flames casted a warm, golden glow.

The hearths crackled with life, their heat radiating through the thick walls, creating a comforting sanctuary from the bitter cold. Heavy wooden doors were bolted tight, ensuring that the howling winds and the biting chill could not invade the warm embrace of the castle.

Within the sturdy stone walls of the ancient castle, there lay an intimate chamber nestled high in the south tower. The room was steeped in a shadowy gloom, illuminated only by the flickering light of a handful of carefully placed candles. Above, an iron chandelier hung ominously, its numerous arms dark and cold, neglected in their duty to bring brightness to the room.

The faint crackle and pop of a fire danced in the fireplace, sending occasional bursts of sparks into the air as it consumed the dry wood. The warm flames flickered across the stark stone walls, creating shadows that leapt and swirled in a chaotic ballet. In the centre of the room, were two sturdy chairs, draped with soft, worn furs. Between them lay a thick, luxurious rug, shielding the floor from the chill that seeped through the castle’s ancient stones.

Despite the harsh winter storm raging outside, the air was filled with the joyful sounds of boisterous laughter and lively conversation, harmonizing in cheerful defiance against the howling wind and the crackling fire.

In one chair sat Lord Cregan of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell. Stripped down of his cloak and armour to only his leathers.

On the other sat Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon, Heir to Queen Rhaynera Targaryen. Having also removed his snow-covered cloak now only in his fine black and red clothes.

Both held in their hands goblets of winter mead, bringing them to their lips often.

Jacaerys had arrived just a week prior, to propose an alliance and suppose of House Stark for his mother’s claim to the Iron Throne. The two had found a fondness for one another, the two cut from the same cloth, a mutual like and desire to be taken seriously and seen as men when the world around them saw them only as boys, even in the brief time they had together the two had felt like brothers. They had travelled to the wall together, trained in Winterfell's courtyard together, dined and drank together.

Now they sat beside the hearth, deep in their drink. Joking back and forth, telling tales and drunken jokes.

The only other soul in the room, was a young maid girl. Who was working late into the night as the two’s cup bearer coming with her large jug of wine to refill their cups whenever they demanded her. Which was often.

“…So then he says, well how was I to know the frog would jump out!” Jacaerys finished,

The two then burst into a rush of laughter,

“You are too much my prince,” Cregan laughed,

“You must relax every so often my lord,” Jacaerys laughed in return tapping his goblet to summon the maid,

She nodded and headed over to refill his goblet,

“Some of us have not had such pleasure to relax,” Cregan reminded,

“I suppose you’re right,” Jacaerys nodded his eyes falling from the goblet to the maid who filled it, he looked her over a little glancing at her well-braided hair pinned up on her head, her simple northern clothes and the body that lay beneath them, his eyes trailed over her and he captured his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes took their time over her stopping at her arse, “You’re very pretty,”

The maid was taken back surprised he spoke to her, “Oh- M-Me My prince?”

“Yes, you.” He nodded, “I hardly meant Lord Stark now did I?” He laughed,

“I feel somewhat offended my prince,” Cregan laughed,

“You’re very pretty too, Cregan” Jacaerys told him,

“Thank you,” He agreed sipping his goblet,

“But, you are very beautiful.” Jacaerys smiled to her, “A very very, pretty girl.”

“T-Thank you, My prince,” She nodded sheepishly,

Jacaerys gave her a soft stroke down her back and pushed her over to Cregan, “Isn’t she lovely,”

Cregan happily held his goblet for her, so she began to fill it for him, his eyes trailed over her more aggressively than Jacaerys had, and far less covertly,

Her eyes remained on the floor very aware of how the two were looking at her,

“She is isn’t she,” Cregan smirked, “Hello little thing,” he cooed giving her a firm smack on her backside,

“Ohh! My lord-” She gasped standing up straight and tall in her panic,

“It’s alright little maid, we won’t hurt you.” Jacaerys cooed leaning forward in his chair, “What’s your name?

“Y/n, My - My prince,” She blushed,

“Y/n… a very pretty name for a very pretty girl,” Cregan smirked giving her arse another smack,

“Ooh!” she gasped almost falling forward from the strength of the slap, fighting the urge to rub her skin to soothe it from the slap,

“She’s a bit jumpy,” Jacaerys laughed,

“She is, isn’t she?” Cregan laughed, “Sweet little Y/n, our guest is not used to these northern snow storms. Go and keep him warm now.”

“Y- yes my lord,” she nodded setting the wine jug down and going over to Jacaery’s chair, she stood sheepishly unsure what she was to do but he smiled up at her,

“Do not worry sweet thing, This dragon does not bite.” he cooed, setting his hands on her hips and pulling her onto his lap,

Y/n softly squealed at the shock of being so suddenly pulled, her body slightly trembling as she felt herself over him, “My- My prince I-”

Jacaery’s smirk only grew, he guided her hands to his shoulders and smiled up at her, “There we go, that’s more secure isn’t it, don’t worry sweet thing, you won’t fall. I’ll make sure of it.” he growled leaning back as far as he could in the chair, his fingers digging into her hips,

“That better my prince? Warmer for you?” Cregan laughed leaning his elbow on his knee watching with a sly grin,

“Much better my lord, much better.” he nodded slowly guiding her hips on him forcing her to shift against him,

“You’ll stay a while longer, won’t you y/n?” Cregan asked but spoke like an order,

Y/n glanced back and forth between them, and gulped,

“Please sweet thing, it would be so much more fun if you stay.” Jacaerys pleaded,

“Y-Yes my Lords.” She nodded,

“Good girl.” Cregan Growled,

[ladylokianna]

The price we pay for love

Valentina's thoughts: this because i'm currently rewatching HotD in my spare moments and because i know Alicent cares for her kids and above all i would have loved to see that poor soul consoled in that scene. I would have loved to see Aegon and Helaena consoling each others but… let's not talk about this.

Warnings: Angst, S2E2 after Jaehaerys' death, but it's just mentioned, so no other warning applied.

Words count: 222

Being a mother is not an easy task itself, let alone being a mother when you are still in need of your own. Alicent stay still for an infinite moment, uncertain: she lost her own when she was so young she could barely remember her, so if she cannot rely on something she has never experienced, on a mother figure she has never been able to know and feel, how can she, in turn, be one? "I'm sorry." she whispers. What can she do to ease such great pain? What can she do to console her boy after what happened to Jaehaerys? "I'm sorry." she repeats. But, to whom, to her son or to herself? Tears she did not even know she could still cry begin to streak her cheeks in the very moment Aegon seeks comfort in her motherly arms. His tormentate sobs and moans reverberate in her chest while his hands clings to her like a castaway seeking for safety after a shipwreck. "Mummy..." She return the embrace with all the strength she had, resting his head against her chest as she did with Aemond at Driftmark years before and as she would do with Helaena, if only she allows her. I'm sorry, it's the only thing she can think, while Aegon's tears tore apart another piece of her heart.

[shutupcrime]

I feel like so many problems people have with tv at the moment could be solved if we just went back to the good ole days of 20 episodes a season that’s just sixty percent filler and character development. Give the people what they want- less condensed story and more meaningless shenanigans

[iflipforrizzles]

Tweets

[robynnnn311]

nobody is making him say this he’s just saying it unprovoked

[nikinikori]

“My son, do not be over bold or rash; be cautious, keep within the bounds of propriety, and protect our home and family.”

— "The Odyssey" by Homer

[barbieaemond]

Genetics, chico. They never lie.

[ophelieverse]

“Visenya why aren’t we burning the dornishmen?”

[hed184]

Sunfyre moved his wing to shield Aegon from Vhagar's fire.

He landed on his wounded belly, which means even though he fell out of the sky backwards, he angled his body to avoid crushing Aegon.

Eventually, when Aemond found him, he curled up around his rider.

[rhaenyrathecruell]

“Aegon the realm’s delight” is the saddest line ever. Aegon wants to be a daughter so bad. To be coddled and gazed upon with love and affection rather than distain and fear. Rhaenyra wishes to be a son. She wants the loyalty everyone has to be unwavering. She wants to be feared and respected like a man. They are truly two sides of the same coin.

[ashblooddragons]

This was so soft, dark, and sexy all at the same time! I adored the way you described his obsession, it was powerful but the way he went about pursuing the reader felt very Criston with all his oaths.

The smut was amazing and this is such a short but sweet fic and I adore those!

Amazing work by this author and highly recommended this fic for all my Criston girlys!

Criston Cole - A Halo of Ruin

Summary - Sworn to oaths, he finds his unshakable honour shattered the moment he lays eyes on her. She unravels him, making him forget his vows, duty and the very essence of who he is. What follows is a dangerous obsession, where honour takes a backseat to forbidden desire.

Pairing - Criston Cole x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2202

Masterlist for Criston • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Ser Criston Cole prided himself on his unwavering adherence to the sacred oaths of the Kingsguard. 

He was a man defined by honour, loyalty, and an unshakable sense of duty—or at least, that was the image he had long projected, the ideal he had worked tirelessly to uphold.

Never, in his most fleeting moments of weakness, did he imagine that his resolve could be so thoroughly undone. 

But then, he saw me, and everything shifted.

To him, I was beyond compare—radiant in a way that seemed almost otherworldly. I defied the realm of reality, a vision too perfect to belong to the mortal plane. 

The first time I crossed his path, Criston felt time itself grind to a halt. I moved with a grace that made even the wind envious, a book held close to my chest and a deep crimson rose delicately twirled between my fingers. 

My smile lit the air around me as if the sun itself had descended to bless my presence. 

He could have sworn that it was as though the gods had reached down from the heavens and gifted him a glimpse of an angel.

He stood frozen, rooted in place by a spell he did not understand. And then, compelled by something he could neither name nor resist, he pursued me. 

Disbelief warred with hope in his chest. Surely, I could not be real. Surely, no earthly creature could possess such captivating beauty.

"My lady," he called out, his voice tight with a mix of awe and nerves. 

His gloved fingertips lightly brushed against my shoulder, and I turned to face him. 

The world seemed to fall away when our eyes met. My smile was both a promise and a peril—a curve of lips that could coax saints into sin and unravel the convictions of even the most disciplined souls. 

My gaze held him prisoner, binding him tighter than any vow ever could.

"Yes?" I replied, my voice a melody of silken notes, sweet as honey and as delicate as a whispered secret on the wind.

Criston faltered, words catching in his throat as he stared into the depths of my eyes. The armour that had always felt so heavy now seemed insubstantial. 

He withdrew his hand as if burned by the intensity of his own emotions. "I—I just... what is your name?" he managed, at last, the question emerging more like a prayer than an inquiry.

I continued to smile, and in that moment, he knew with every fibre of his being that he was lost.

Criston was bewitched—completely and irrevocably captivated by me. There was no other word to describe the hold I had over him. 

He began to seek me out whenever he could, his gaze searching rooms, hallways, and gardens for any glimpse of me. 

To his immense relief, and perhaps against every cautious whisper in his mind, I met his attentions with a warmth that mirrored his own desire. 

It was as if fate had entwined our paths, and for a time, he dared to believe himself the luckiest man in the realm.

Honour? To the flames with honour. Oaths? Let them be scattered like ashes in the wind. 

Between us, there was no room for rules or regrets—only the fire that burned whenever we were near one another.

"Stop staring at me," I murmured, my fingers caressing the petals of a white rose he had pressed into my hand earlier. 

We were alone in his chambers, a fire crackling gently in the hearth, the night still young and full of promise.

"How can I?" he replied, his voice low and rich with unrestrained adoration. His eyes roved over me, drinking in every detail as though I were a vision that might vanish with the next breath.

"Close your eyes," I whispered, my voice teasing yet soft, an invitation more than a command. 

Criston's jaw tensed; he never thought there would come a day when he would resist anything I asked. But he shook his head, refusing to look away, his gaze dark and hungry.

"Do it," I pressed again, a playful pout forming on my lips. 

He drew a sharp breath at the sight, his resolve shattering like fragile glass. With a reluctant sigh, he obeyed, his eyes fluttering shut. Trusting. Surrendering.

The rose slipped from my fingers, forgotten, as I moved closer. 

I climbed onto his lap, my hands cradling his face. He leaned instinctively into my touch, as though the warmth of my palms alone could anchor him to this moment. 

I leaned in, my lips brushing against his cheek—a feather-light caress—before capturing his mouth with my own.

Time stilled. His breath mingled with mine, and his pulse raced, beating out a rhythm of longing and disbelief. This was real. He was not dreaming. 

His hands found my waist, gripping with equal parts need and reverence. 

Slowly, I guided him down, our bodies sinking into the softness of the furs spread before the hearth. Shadows from the fire danced around us, a flickering testament to the heat we shared.

Criston's eyes opened, darkened with emotion as they met mine again. 

In that gaze, I saw the man beneath the armour—the one who had torn away every shield for me, who would risk everything for just a moment longer at my side. 

And in the dance of flames and whispered promises, we both knew there would be no turning back.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a reverent whisper, the weight of his words soft but potent. 

I offered him a smile—the very smile that always unravelled him, reducing every carefully crafted piece of his composure to dust. It was the smile that made his heart stutter and his breath catch, leaving him no choice but to believe that, in this moment, he was the luckiest man alive.

"You're too kind," I teased, letting my fingertips trace lazy patterns over his chest as I perched delicately in his lap.

"No—no, I mean it," he insisted, his voice trembling with raw sincerity. There was a hunger in his gaze, but more than that, there was awe—a reverence that both humbled and exhilarated me. 

I laughed softly, turning my head, but the pull of his gaze drew me back to him like a magnet to its source.

Still meeting his eyes, I reached for the hem of my dress. With deliberate slowness, I lifted it over my head, the fabric slipping away like water to reveal bare skin. 

I placed it beside us and settled back atop him, exposed and vulnerable yet somehow powerful under the intensity of his gaze.

His eyes roamed over me, drinking me in as though he feared this might be the last time he could. They lingered on every dip, every curve, memorizing me as if I were a sacred text he wanted to learn by heart. 

He swallowed, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips, and I couldn't help but grin, my palms gliding over his chest in invitation.

"Touch me," I whispered, the words soft but insistent. He remained frozen, captivated by the sight of me, as if reality had suspended itself. 

I leaned closer, repeating with gentle demand, "Touch me."

Taking his hands in mine, I guided one to my waist, pressing it firmly against my skin, and placed the other against my chest. 

I watched as wonder crossed his features, and then, as if a spell had been broken, he moved.

His fingers traced paths of fire along my bare skin, his touch tender but laced with urgency. As his hand slid lower, gliding down my stomach and between my thighs, I drew in a sharp breath. 

My hips lifted, offering more of myself, and his touch deepened. His fingers explored, a soft caress turning bold, while his thumb circled my clit, sending ripples of pleasure through me.

A breathless moan spilled from my lips, the sound a sweet melody that spurred him on. 

He quickened his rhythm, each stroke a promise, each caress a spark that sent me spiralling higher. 

I moved against him, seeking, needing, craving the release he teased from me with every touch.

Through it all, Criston watched me, captivated and triumphant, the sounds of my pleasure his victory, the sway of my body his masterpiece.

He didn't stop until I shattered, my climax crashing over me in waves that left me trembling in his arms. 

Only then did he begrudgingly withdraw his fingers, leaving me gasping and blissfully spent, my body still humming from the intensity of it all.

"I suppose I owe you now," I whispered, my voice ragged, chest rising and falling as I tried to catch my breath.

Criston shook his head, his eyes soft with something deeper than lust—a reverence that made my pulse quicken again. 

"You owe me nothing," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Your company has placed me in your debt forever."

I laughed, a low, sultry sound that vibrated between us. "So you don't wish for me to return the favour?" I asked, teasingly arching an eyebrow as I watched his lips part, then press together again, caught between words and raw need.

His silence spoke louder than anything he could have said. 

"That's what I thought," I purred, shifting down his body with deliberate care. I felt his muscles tense beneath me, anticipation coiling around him like a vice. 

My fingers traced the waistband of his pants, and with one smooth motion, I slid them down, releasing him. His hardness pressed urgently against my thigh, every inch of him ready, waiting.

I took my time, trailing my fingertips lightly over his length. The touch was barely there, but it drew a sharp intake of breath from him, followed by a soft, unbidden whimper that sent heat pooling low in my belly. 

Smiling, I guided him inside me, our bodies aligning perfectly. I paused, savouring the exquisite sensation of him filling me, before beginning to move.

I rocked my hips slowly at first, relishing the friction and the way his hands gripped my waist as though anchoring himself to reality. 

With every roll of my hips, his fingers dug deeper, marking me as his. I leaned back, letting the motion take over, each thrust sending pleasure radiating through me. 

My hands found their way to my hair, pulling it back as I closed my eyes, losing myself to the rhythm, to the feel of him buried deep within me.

Soft moans escaped my lips, mingling with the low groans that rumbled from his chest. The sounds of our pleasure filled the room, an intimate symphony that neither of us could resist.

"Gods, you're..." he began, words failing him as his eyes roved over me, unable to tear themselves away. 

His gaze was full of wonder and desire as he watched every undulation of my body, the way I moved with a sensual grace that seemed effortless and yet completely intoxicating. 

His expression was rapt as if I were the only thing that existed in his world.

A lopsided grin curved his lips, desire tempered by something softer, something achingly tender. "So beautiful," he breathed, his voice rough and trembling.

I leaned forward, pressing my lips to his, and our movements quickened, our bodies moving together with desperate, unrestrained passion. 

Each thrust brought us closer, every touch, every breath a reminder of this moment, of the connection binding us so completely.

As the rhythm of our movements intensified, the world around us blurred, leaving only sensation, only the overwhelming need to chase the rising crescendo that threatened to consume us both. 

I rode him with a fervent passion, each thrust building upon the last, until our bodies were taut with anticipation, teetering at the edge. 

His grip on my hips tightened, his breath ragged against my skin as he moved with me, into me, our bodies entwined in perfect sync.

The tension snapped suddenly, and together we tumbled over the precipice. I cried out, my body shuddering around him as the pleasure surged, wave after relentless wave. 

He followed, a low, guttural groan torn from his lips as he found his own release, his grip on me tightening as if he could somehow hold this moment forever. 

We clung to one another as the intensity washed over us, hearts pounding, breaths mingling, until finally, spent and trembling, I collapsed atop him.

Slowly, I slid off him, my limbs heavy and languid. I nestled into the soft furs beside him, feeling the warmth of the fire's glow against my skin. 

The flames danced across my naked form, casting flickering shadows that played over every curve. The heat was a pleasant contrast to the lingering warmth of our bodies, a reminder of the fire that smouldered between us.

Criston turned to me, his gaze soft but intense, as if he couldn't bear to look away. 

In the dim light, his eyes traced every line and hollow of my body, as if trying to memorize me all over again. 

There was no shame, no hesitation—only awe and desire, mingled with something deeper that neither of us dared to name.

 "Honour, oaths be damned," he whispered, his voice low but resolute.

He was entranced, lost in the heat, the need, and the undeniable truth that this, whatever it was, was worth everything.

A/n - Very sloppily written smut I will admit so sorry about that x