#Ser Criston cole imagine

[lunarflux]

For shits and giggles, here's a background song for Ser Criston Cole

[spider-stark]

SWORN PROTECTOR

Criston Cole x Targaryen!Reader

Summary - After sneaking back into the Keep from a night spent out in the city, you find your sworn protector, Ser Criston Cole, waiting for you in your room.

Warnings - fem!reader, targtower!reader, not edited, reader has mommy/daddy issues, duty turned devotion type bullshit, criston can't just guard a woman without falling in love ig, yearning

Word Count - 2k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Soft footfalls echo in the narrow corridor of Maegor’s passages. You keep a palm cupped around the candle in your other hand, protecting the flame so it won’t gutter out. Secret doors are scattered throughout the corridor, each leading into bedchambers or solars or other forgotten passages. Having already left your brother, Aegon, at the secret door leading to his room, you keep count of your steps. 

One, two; seven, eight; thirteen, fourteen; twenty, twenty-one.

At just over twenty-five paces, the exact distance between his room and yours, you stop, turn to the left and blow your candle out, setting it on the ground for next time you go sneaking through to passages. 

Cold stone bites at your palms as you press them against the aged door. You cringe with every scrape and groan as you push it open. When there’s a gap just wide-enough, you turn sideways and shimmy inside. 

You’re greeted by warm light, candles flickering from all around your room, chasing the shadows of dusk into faraway corners. If you weren’t so preoccupied with heaving the door back into place, adjusting the tapestry that hides its seams from view, you may have noticed that there are more candles lit now than when you slipped out earlier, having abandoned the Keep in favor of a night spent in the city lying below Aegon’s High Hill. 

When all is as it was, the secret door shut and covered, you turn around. Heaving a sigh, you shrug your cloak from your shoulders, letting it fall into a heap on the floor. Gooseflesh immediately forms along your arms, kissed by the chill breeze blowing in from the open balcony. 

You walk to the vanity on the far side of your room, rolling your neck and shoulders, muscles sore from hours spent dancing among the smallfolk in a Flea Bottom tavern. Exhaustions made your bones weary, fantasies of crawling into warm sheets plague your mind. They tempt you, urging you to forego your nightly routine in favor of sweet, sweet sleep. 

Your footsteps falter, casting a wistful glance down your shoulder to your bed when—

Seven Hells! 

Your pulse jumps, a scream threatens to rip from your throat at the sight of a figure sat on the foot of your bed. You react quickly, clamping a hand over your mouth to muffle any sound, not wanting to raise alarm amongst the guards. Recognition washes over you in a matter of seconds, taking them in one detail at a time: their weathered boots and polished armor, tanned skin and ever-present frown. 

Lowering your hand, you have half a mind to curse Criston for frightening you like this, for not announcing himself as soon as you snuck in—

Rational thought trumps what remains of fear. 

He had to have seen you—sneaking in from the passages, hiding the door upon entrance. 

Fuck. 

The air turns thick. Every breath is like sucking treacle into your lungs, slow and suffocating. Criston’s stare is heavy, his expression like weathered stone. Armor grinds against itself as his arms cross over his chest. “Where have you been?” 

There’s some relief that he doesn’t first question you about the passages. Does he already know about them, you wonder? After all, before Criston became your protector, he was sworn to your half-sister, Rhaenyra—who, in your youth, was said to be quite rebellious. 

A trait Criston finds to be alive and well within you. 

You look away from him, continuing to your vanity. “I was out,” you answer, purposefully curt. “Obviously.” 

Nudging the vanity stool with your foot, you take a seat upon its plush velvet cushion. Criston pushes off your bed, and you fight a smirk at the sound of his footfalls, heavy and fervent as he strides to your side. 

“Out where?” 

You pull your neatly plaited hair over your shoulder, watching yourself in the mirror as you untie the ribbon binding it. “In the city,” you tell him, tossing the scrap of silk onto the vanity top. “Where else would I go?” 

“Were you alone?” 

You reach for your brush, begin combing. “What does it matter?” Before he can answer, you catch his gaze in the reflection, eyes playfully narrowing as you ask, “If I said that I wasn’t, would you be jealous, Ser Criston?” 

He certainly looks jealous. 

The knight’s breathing is shallow, tanned cheeks flush with frustration. At your question, a muscle feathers in his jaw, clenched so tight that you can nearly hear his teeth grind together. There’s a dark gleam in his eyes, a shadow of rage—not at you, you don’t think. But at whoever may have been graced with your presence tonight, showered with your favor and affection. 

“As your sworn protector,” Criston says, voice strained, “I have a right to ask if you were escorted by another member of the Kingsguard.” 

There’s such emotion in it—the way he said: Your sworn protector. A trembling betrays his fraying restraint, revealing the raw nerve beneath and exposing Criston’s desperation, a desire to not only be sworn to you, but to be wholly possessed by you. 

Your sworn protector—no longer a title, but an identity. 

Your sworn protector—no longer an oath, but a sacred devotion. 

You set your brush down, holding his stare with a faint smirk. “I’m afraid that doesn’t answer my question, Ser.” 

Something snaps. His mouth twists into a scowl. 

“Are you truly so thoughtless, princess?” Criston asks, his tone maintaining a delicate balance between respect and disappointment. “Do you understand it’s your very life you play with? And that it’s not only you who would suffer the consequences of this… this utter lack of duty! This wanton negligence!” 

You could have him dismissed from the Kingsguard for this. 

For speaking so freely. For interrogating a princess. For trespassing in your rooms. 

Criston continues, “If something were to happen to you, my life is forfeit. The king would–” 

He’s interrupted by wood screeching against stone, the vanity stool thrust back as you rise to your feet. You turn to stand toe-to-toe with the knight, chin tilted to lock eyes with him. “The king,” you hiss with a sickly smile, contradicting the venom in your voice, “would do nothing—just as he’s done all my life.” 

The energy shifts. Criston’s scowl morphs to a pitying frown. 

“He is your father,” his protest is a tentative breath, laced with underlying uncertainty, “if something happened to you, he would seek justice.” 

You laugh, low and bitter. Shake your head and shove past the knight. “If he mistook me for Rhaenyra, perhaps,” you say, kicking off your shoes as you head to the wardrobe next to your bed. “If not, then I imagine he wouldn’t even notice I’m gone. My life—the lives of my siblings—has never meant anything to him.” 

Criston redirects, facing you now. He argues, “It means something to your mother.”—And to me, he holds back. 

A scoff, throwing the wardrobe open. 

Your mother loves you, of course—but it’s the kind of love that hurts. It’s cold distance and piercing scrutiny, violent words and stinging cheeks. If you were to die, she would certainly mourn. But it won’t change that she failed you. It won’t make her a good mother. 

When you don’t respond, mindlessly digging through a drawer of nightgowns, Criston knows better than to broach that particular topic any further. 

With a hesitant breath, he says, “It’s my duty to protect you. To keep you safe.” He takes several steps, decreasing the distance between you by coming to stand at the foot of your bed. You stay facing the wardrobe. “It’s true that I cannot tell you what to do—if you wish to fraternize with common-men—” such distaste laces this word—“then that is your will.” 

There’s a pause. Your hands falter, swathed in a mess of silky fabric as you wait for him to continue. 

“I only ask that you heed caution, princess. For you to allow me to accompany you and do my job—to safeguard your life, your virtue-”

Genuine amusement floods your chest. It spills from your lips in a string of vivacious giggles. “Is that what this is about, Ser Criston? My virtue?” You settle on a nightgown, turn around and toss it onto your bed. You glance to the foot of it, at Criston and his ever-present frown. ��You truly are a jealous man,” you muse, smiling, “aren’t you? Thinking I go into the city to fuck common-men.” 

His fists tighten at his sides, the blatant mockery in your voice having invited a wave of embarrassment. 

“It was not my intention to imply that—” 

The words catch in Criston’s throat as you turn the opposite way, slip your shirt over your head and shimmy out of your trousers, leaving the smallclothes beneath. All he can see is your back—the smooth column of your spine, brushed by tendrils of long, silver hair—but that’s enough. 

Enough to make his heart jolt, hammer against his ribcage. Enough to make his knees weak, threaten to buckle beneath his weight. Enough to light a fire inside him, flames licking at every inch of his skin. 

Grasping at the final shreds of his restraint, Criston averts his gaze to the floor. 

He swallows on a too-dry throat. “King’s Landing is full of vile men, princess,” he tells you, a sense of guilt pricking at his conscience. “And vile men are known to commit vile acts.” 

You reach out an arm, grab the nightgown and pull it over your head. Silk glides over your skin, covering the exposed flesh that tempts the knight so. 

Whirling to face him, you ask, “And what about you?” 

Criston doesn’t answer, still studying the rug beneath his feet with a staggering intensity. You catch his brow furrow, though, a small wrinkle forming there. You elaborate on your question. 

“You’re a man in King’s Landing,” you tell him, leisurely placing one foot in front of the other, gliding to where he stands at the end of your bed. “Are you as vile as the rest of them, Ser Criston?” 

Again, only silence. 

You take another step. Less than a foot of space separates you, close enough now to scent the earthy musk of his armor. “Some might think it vile,” you continue, taunting him, “for you to be here right now—hiding in my bedchambers well after dark.” 

Criston stammers, his words broken-up by serrated breaths, “I merely wished to know that you were safe, princess.” Dark eyes flutter up from the floor, drawn to yours. “My intentions were pure.” 

“Were?” 

His blood thrums. His lungs ache. 

You continue, “Do you mean your intentions have changed, Ser Criston?” 

Criston tells the truth. “No.” With you, his intentions are always pure. It’s his desires that complicate things. “My intentions are the same,” he tells you, clearing his throat, “I only wish to know you’re safe. That you’re well-protected.” 

Your mistrust in his answer is evident. Lips pursed, your eyes scan his face, searching for something. At this moment, he feels every bit like prey. A cornered animal trapped beneath the searing gaze of a dragon, left entirely at your mercy. 

A part of him is terrified. Another, utterly entranced.

Finally, you click your tongue. Reaching out a hand, you place it against his chest. His gaze falls, staring at where your palm is pressed to his armor. He wonders how it might feel against his skin. “You’re an honorable knight, Ser Criston,” you tell him, smiling. “A good man, too.” 

Criston doesn’t remember the need for oxygen until your touch falls away. 

Turning your back to him again, you stride back around your bed, pull the blankets back, and sit on the edge of your mattress. His mind is still reeling when you next speak.

“I was with Aegon.” 

Criston blinks. “What?” 

“You asked if I was alone,” you say, reminiscing on his earlier question, “I wasn’t. I was with Aegon—who was accompanied by Ser Erryk.” Sliding your legs beneath the blankets, you lean back against a stack of plush pillows. “So I was well-protected from those vile men you speak of.” Chewing on your lip, fighting a wider grin, you add, “I just thought you might like to know—despite how unjealous you are.”  

Criston’s own lips twitch, curving upwards. 

“Good,” he says, a bit awkward. Then: “And about that secret door…” 

You groan, tossing your head back against the pillows. Criston softly chuckle, another lecture already poised on the tip of his tongue. 

It’s going to be a long night.

a/n - idk man. I randomly decided at 8pm that I needed to write 2k words about this man after never writing for him a day in my life, and this is the product of that. any and all feedback is welcome and much appreciated!

[br0kenangel]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐘: 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥.

You stood on a balcony overlooking the scene, a small, satisfied smile on your lips as you watched Ser Criston Cole train shirtless. His muscles rippled with every swing of his sword, his body a perfect specimen of strength and grace. You admired his form openly, your gaze unapologetic as it lingered on his well-defined abs and strong arms.

A small tug at your gown broke your focus. You glanced down to see little Aegon, looking up at you with wide, curious eyes. "Y/N," he said in his tiny voice, "what you lookin' at?"

Without taking your eyes off Ser Criston, you responded, "Just admiring a very beautiful man, Aegon. What a beautiful body he has, don't you think?"

Aegon’s little face scrunched up in confusion. He turned his gaze to where yours was fixed and saw Ser Criston. The knight was tall, strong, and everything a warrior should be. Aegon’s tiny hands patted his own round tummy, soft and pudgy as any toddler’s would be. He frowned, clearly not understanding why you found Ser Criston so fascinating.

You barely noticed as Aegon wandered off, your attention still fully on the training knight. But Aegon’s little mind was already working hard, trying to figure out why you liked looking at Ser Criston so much.

The next day, Ser Criston was back in the yard, training as usual. Aegon waddled up to him, his little face set with determination. Tugging on Ser Criston’s trousers, he looked up and said, "Ser Cwistun, take off shirt!"

Criston looked down at the tiny prince, startled by the unusual request. "Why, my prince?"

Aegon repeated himself, his voice insistent. "Take off shirt! Please!"

With a bemused smile, Criston removed his shirt, revealing his muscular torso. Aegon’s eyes widened in awe, his tiny mouth forming a small “o” as he stared at the knight’s body. He reached out with one tiny finger and poked Criston’s abs, feeling the hard muscle beneath his skin.

Then, with a serious expression, Aegon patted his own round belly. He looked up at Criston, his big eyes filled with concern. "How Aegon be like you?" he asked, his voice small and worried.

Criston crouched down to Aegon’s level, a gentle smile on his face. "Why would you want that, little prince?"

Aegon’s lower lip trembled as he confessed, "So Aegon be beautiful for Y/N."

Criston’s heart softened at the little prince’s innocent wish. He placed a comforting hand on Aegon’s shoulder. "You don’t need to worry about that, my prince. You’re perfect just the way you are."

"But…" Aegon’s voice wavered, tears starting to well up in his eyes. "Y/N said you beautiful. And Aegon not."

Criston quickly scooped Aegon into his arms, holding him close. "You are beautiful, my prince. In your own special way. And Y/N loves you because you’re you, not because of how you look."

Aegon sniffled, his tiny fists rubbing at his eyes. "Really?"

"Really," Criston assured him, gently patting his back. "And besides, you have a baby tummy. That’s exactly how it’s supposed to be."

Aegon looked up at Criston with wide eyes, his tears forgotten as he processed this information. "Baby tummy?"

Criston nodded, chuckling softly. "Yes, a baby tummy. And it’s perfect for a little prince like you."

Aegon’s tears finally stopped, and a small smile spread across his face. "Okay," he said, nodding to himself as if confirming that everything was alright.

Criston set Aegon down on the ground and ruffled his hair. "Now, how about we go find Y/N? I’m sure she’ll want to see you."

Aegon nodded eagerly, already forgetting his worries. He took Criston’s hand, toddling beside him as they made their way back to the Keep. Though he was still small and soft, Aegon felt a little better knowing that he was just right the way he was.

But even as they walked, Aegon couldn’t help but glance back at Criston’s muscles, a mix of awe and determination in his innocent eyes. He was going to grow up strong, just like Ser Criston, and maybe one day, Y/N would look at him the way she looked at the knight. At least, that’s what he hoped.

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ♡ Part 4 ♡ Part 5 ♡ Part 6

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[shuichiakainx]

[sublimitymp3]

hi hope you have a nice day :) if you have time could you write hotd's yandere boys (estranged) romantic reaction to his reader wife giving birth to twins? (I apologize in advance if this bothers you or something I swear I didn't mean to :( take care :)

I'm back 😈😈😈

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Aegon was madly in love with you, his darling wife, but he never quite knew how to show it. He had awful habits of drinking, whoring, and gambling, only pushing you further away from him. Each time he'd come crying to you on his knees promising he'd do better, you'd hold him and suppress your feelings, but enough was enough. You were pregnant, carrying his child and he couldn't even make an effort to stop his wanton ways. You were fed up, and rightfully so. You had moved into your own separate apartments, eating your meals alone in your rooms, and avoiding places around the Red Keep you knew your husband would frequent. Eventually, the months passed, and you neared closer to giving birth each day, until one night, your labors finally had begun. Aegon was at some brothel wasting away and getting drunker by the second it seemed. He had no clue you were in the midst of your labors, nor that you would be bringing in not one, but two of his babes into the world. It is only the next day does he wake from his slumber, hungover and feeling ill, does he find out you had given birth. He rushes to your chambers to see you sitting up in bed, cradling two swaddled babes, each one with little tufts of white hair and violet eyes. He'd immediately burst into tears at the sweet sight, begging for your forgiveness and swearing to the old Gods and the new that he would change his lecherous ways for you and his newborn children. Despite your apprehension to forgive him, deep down inside you strangely felt that he would truly honor his promise this time.

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Aemond seemed so cold to you. He was distant and rarely ever spoke to you unless it was necessary. Even when you'd try to initiate conversation he'd only respond cooly with a yes, no, or a simple hum of acknowledgment. You'd tell yourself at night when you lay alone in bed that it could've been worse. He could've been prone to striking you, or he could flaunt paramours in your face. He could've been a drunkard, a wastrel, or a cruel and sadistic husband. However, your efforts to comfort yourself would be in vain, as the feeling of loneliness festered within.

Despite Aemond being a withdrawn husband, you both had done your duty on your wedding night and so it was no surprise you had fallen pregnant. Unbeknownst to you, Aemond was growing more and more obsessive over you once he had been told you were now carrying his child. He didn't mean to be quite neglectful, he only wished to not overwhelm you with his less-than-normal feelings of obsession towards you. He practically stalked you, despite the fact you two were married and expecting a child. The months passed, and Aemond would open up a bit more, showing bits of care and concern toward you in your fragile state. But even then, his actions seemed cold and his words curt. When your labors begin, Aemond remains in the hall outside the birthing room, despite wanting to rush to your side. He decided right then and there as he heard your screams of pain that he would no longer keep up this distant farce. He didn't care if you'd find his attentions odd, he just couldn't bear to torture himself or you any longer. Once he could hear the wails of a baby, he'd rush into the room to be greeted with the sight of two, small, and wailing babes laying on your chest. He'd come to your side, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he admired your newborn twins with a small smile. You felt hope for your marriage at that tender moment, the first hope you had felt in such a long time.

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Jacaerys loves you so much, he truly does, but sometimes you feel as though he puts his duties of being heir above you. He takes his role extremely seriously, as his mother's claim is already shaky due to her being a woman, and his even more so due to the concerns of him being legitimate or not. He doesn't mean to neglect you, to dismiss your attempts at spending time with him, or to hardly inquire about his babe that grows within you. By the time he notices, the damage is already done. You had given up any attempts to spend time with him, to conversate with him, or to merely be in his presence. It seemed to you that he put his duty before you, and you couldn't see how you could change that. Honestly, Jace is so sweet I can't imagine him not immediately coming to you and apologizing immensely for being an inattentive husband, so for the sake of this, let us imagine he finally realizes the effect his actions have on you by the time you are in the midst of your labors. He'd be pacing outside the birthing room, mentally chastising himself for being so foolish. How could he have ever been so stupid to leave you alone when you needed him most? How could he be so cruel to the one he loved most? Your muffled screams of pain from beyond the door shattered his heart even more, and all he could do was wait in borderline painful anticipation. When the maester does let him in the room, he rushes to your side. He apologizes immensely, kissing your tears away and brushing the hair that sticks to your sweaty face out of the way. When he holds the twins for the first time, you watch him adoringly. Everything seemed right again.

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Ser Criston didn't get to see you much. You two were wedded in secret, as due to his vows as a member of the King's Guard, he wasn't allowed to wed or father children. You were a common girl, living in the city, and Ser Criston spent his days and nights at the Red Keep. He could only visit you on his rare days off, and even then those were kept brisk due to his paranoia someone would discover you. You had always tried your best to be understanding, after all, you knew what you were getting into by being romantically involved with a member of the King's Guard. But an awful thought would always linger in your mind whenever you would see Ser Criston: did he regret marrying you? The thought would persist, never leaving like some parasite that had latched onto you. In fact, as the months passed and your stomach swelled with his child, it only grew. He looked uneasy every time he'd stare too long at your pregnant belly, only feeding that awful thought in the back of your mind. Sometimes, you would even find yourself questioning your marriage to him, doubting it all. Your marriage grew tense, and though none of you voiced these feelings, it was evident the doubts festered within both of you. The day Ser Criston visited you after you had brought his twins into the world, he looked shocked. The color seemed to drain from his face, as he saw them. Not one, but two, living breathing children, evidence he had broken his vows. But the heartbroken expression on your face as you held back tears slapped him back into reality. He would quickly kneel by your side, whispering to you how he loved you and the babes more than anything, and that he regretted nothing. When he finally holds the babes, his smile was so genuine, and his eyes were filled with nothing but love. At that moment, those awful doubts faded from your mind, never to be thought of again.

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Daemon longed for battle. He loved you dearly, and so desperately wanted to stay put with you and your unborn babe. But when the fighting in the Stepstones had begun, and the perfect opportunity to spite his brother for refusing to name him heir arose, he couldn't resist. You had begged him to stay, far too worried for the peril he would most certainly face during battle, and fearing for his life. He brushed you off, leaving you behind.

You spent your nights alone, praying to the Seven to keep your lord husband safe so that your child would have a father. He barely wrote to you, and you found yourself getting more and more frustrated at him for leaving you and your child behind to participate in some war that didn't concern him that much. And it wasn't like he wanted to help for some noble cause, you knew he only joined to spite his brother. Instead of spending the remainder of your pregnancy happy with the notion of your child growing within you, you spent it crying tears of anger and sadness.

When Daemon first hears word from a messenger that you had given birth to healthy twins, he abandoned his petty attempts to establish his own kingdom to spite the king. He would return to you as fast as he could, proud that you had given him two strong and healthy heirs. Daemon wasn't the best at saying apologies and preferred to show them through actions. The Stepstones could wait, all he needed right now was to be with you and the newborn twins.

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when that 3am inspiration pulls you out of your sixth month hiatus 😍

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Patience is the Virtue of a Lady

Summary: As Daemon's wife, you are left humiliated by your errant husband. As the product of an annulled marriage, you are seen as barren and tainted, left to befriend Queen Alicent, gaining the reputation of an unsalvageable woman over the years.

But, the heart wants what it wants, and you have had your eyes on unattainable Ser Criston for years.

Notes: anon’s mind is imploding with the amount of genius in it. thank you for requesting, i was on my knees for this idea

Warnings: smut, religious undertones, afab!reader, daemon is an ass, criston is an ass, reader is genuinely not having a great time (at first ahaha), religious/vow-related guilt, slight size kink?

Taglist: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @a-beaverhausen @ilikeitbetterangsty @levithestripper (adding you tentatively, jack, hmu to be added to any!)

based on this request | masterlist | requests are OPEN! (and i'm back to writing!!)

Daemon never cared to hide his straying looks, and you knew of his habits. Whoring, drinking, murdering – and yet, you were lucky for having married a Targaryen Prince. You kept your mouth shut, knowing that you would, otherwise, end like your predecessor, Rhea Royce.

Why Viserys had insisted Daemon marry against his will again, you’d never understand.

You kept your mouth shut, through whores, paramours and treason. You played your part, as everyone did in the court. And when your eyes strayed, they did so secretly and carefully. You chose to stare at someone you could not attain anyway.

A kingsguard was your safest bet at something that would never happen anyway. You seethed against the humiliation of your husband and sought your own distraction. Even when Daemon stared hungrily at Rhaenyra, a girl, you said naught.

Targaryen tradition – you did not know if you could argue with that. But Rhaenyra was barely fifteen. She was beautiful, yes, but even now, the fact that your husband would prefer a girl over you stung.

In the early days of your marriage, you had gone to the sept every day, beseeching the Mother to give you a child, even if your husband refused to touch you beyond a drunken wedding night, in which he had failed to even come close to producing a child. Now, you were glad for your childless state, even if the court whispered that you were barren.

So when Daemon left your shared chambers, which were an order of the king, you bade him goodnight and turned back to your reading. Still, you stared from your balcony out at the small spot outside the Red Keep he always appeared in after a while.

A secret entrance only Daemon knew how to use. You held your breath when a small figure appeared first, silver hair glinting in the moonlight.

Rhaenyra.

A few moments later, Daemon appeared, and they disappeared into the city.

The rumors in the days to come were enough for you to draw your own conclusions, but to your surprise, Ser Criston was soon included in them, which stung more than anything. You’d deemed him safe to keep as your own in secret, and yet, Rhaenyra had not only taken your husband from you, but also him.

It hurt more than the annulment of your marriage that Daemon brought forth. You only nodded through the process, letting the Septon say what he wanted, and Daemon tell as many lies as he needed.

And so, your name was yours again and all you were in court was the former wife of Prince Daemon. Your family seethed, ready to remove you from court until Queen Alicent asked you to become her lady-in-waiting, and you were once again stuck in a court of lies.

Ser Criston grew bitter over Rhaenyra, but instead of becoming your friend, he began to worship Queen Alicent. It wasn’t lust, it wasn’t love, but something queer in between.

In his own twisted way, he once again wanted anyone but you, and it stung when it shouldn’t have. Weren’t you supposed to be past this?

And yet, you tortured yourself, watching as he raised Alicent’s children as his own and continued to barely spare you a glance. The court grew disinterested in you, and you continued to lead a life as quiet as before, turning into a lonely spinster with the years.

Only now, you turned to the Father in the Sept, begging for purpose. For anything to happen in your life that might make it worth something.

And then, Lady Laena died. Beautiful, magical, mysterious Lady Laena, who you’d never known and yet loved for ridding you of your husband was dead.

You attended the funeral, even prayed for her, hoping that she would find peace – a thing you thought highly unlikely for a wife of Daemon. You watched as Daemon once again practically drooled over Rhaenyra, and watched as she did the same. Alicent saw it, too.

“It appears as if some things do not change.” Alicent commented dryly. It was treason, what she said, but her nerves had been frayed for the past few weeks, and she knew you would not speak ill of her to the king. You wouldn’t have made a difference to frail King Viserys anyway.

“No, my queen.” You sighed. “But it is not me he is humiliating this time.”

“That did not make you deserve it.” Alicent replied, ever gracious. She slipped her arm into yours, as if you were still the young, disappointed women you had once been and led you away from the balcony. Ser Criston followed dutifully, and for some reason, it felt as if his eyes were burning into your back.

Rhaenyra and Daemon disappeared together, and everyone in their presence trained their eyes to the ground, pretending not to see. Your hand curled into a fist instinctually, feeling old anger and disappointment bubble back up in you.

Perhaps, if you had been bolder, you could have reigned Daemon in. You could have been queen consort, and saved Alicent all her pain. They were silly thoughts, and yet, they made you leave the room, and make for your chambers.

You almost screamed when you saw a dark figure sitting in them, back turned to you, until you recognized dark curls and white armour.

“I almost thought Daemon had finally sent someone after me.” You mumbled, half to yourself. Criston turned, looking right through you.

“Ser Criston?” You asked carefully. He’d grown older, as all of you had, but his beauty remained to him. Criston stayed silent, still staring.

“Criston?” You tried again, calling him by his first name this time, and slowly, he seemed to see you standing across from him.

“She could have had me, and freedom. She chose this prison, you know?” Criston told you. For a moment, your felt confused, before you realised that he was speaking of Rhaenyra, still heartbroken. Of course.

“What are you doing in my chambers, ser?” You asked. Ser Criston laughed dryly.

“You never deserved what he did to you. Prince Daemon dishonored you.” Ser Criston continued, not answering your question. “A lady so beautiful any a man would have been grateful to have you as their wife, and yet, he threw you away for nothing at all.”

Nothing. He had called beautiful Laena, wild Rhaenyra nothing at all. What treason, and how your heart loved to hear it.

You swallowed down your bitterness, ignoring the fluttering feeling in your stomach as Ser Criston called you beautiful. Yet, you kept your guard up. This place was only an extension of King’s Landing, reeking of corruption just as much. For a moment, you considered whether, mayhaps, this was some kind of ploy.

Ser Criston stood so suddenly you took a step back instinctively. He passed you, and you thought that he was going to leave, tired of your company. Instead, he closed the door in front of him. The lock clicked into place, a cacophony of sound in the silence that hung over the room. You held your breath, praying to the gods that nothing would happen to you.

He began to close the distance between you, and you began to back up, until your knees hit the bed, and you fell backwards. Criston was still walking, still closing in on you like prey, and you felt yourself scramble backwards. The headboard stopped your attempt to flee, forcing you to look at Ser Criston.

He stood at the end of the bed, his hand on his sword. Could you make a run for it? Where was there to run?

His swordbelt unravelled, and the weapon hit the ground with a quiet thud. Criston only waited, staring at you expectantly. What did he want?

Slowly, you felt yourself freeze out of place, dragging yourself across the bed towards the end of it, where he stood solemnly. Carefully, you reached up, putting a hand on his shoulder. You heard him inhale shakily.

“Ser Criston, are you alright?” You asked. A pause, then, a shaky breath and a shrug that turned into a shake of his head. “Ser?”

“I’m sorry.” Criston said finally. Carefully, his hand took yours. You stared down, looking at the dark grey glove that covered his hand, starkly contrasting the white of the rest of his uniform. The leather felt soft against your hand, and it was that you tried to focus on, not the fact that you were holding the man’s hand in yours.

“What for?” You asked, smiling up at him nervously. You hated the position you were in, the vulnerability of it. Your neck was craned to look up at him, and you were practically kneeling on the bed. If anyone found you like this, they would accuse you of unthinkable things… Alicent would never forgive you.

“For not defending you. For what I am to do.” Criston said. “Both tarnish my knighthood, my white cloak… tarnishing you.”

You opened your mouth to speak. “What you are about to…”

As Ser Criston pulled off his gloves, cupping your face with his left hand, you trailed off. You could hear your heart beating in your chest. You wanted to pinch yourself. Surely, you were dreaming. This was not real.

Yet, even if it was, you did not care to move away from him. Instead, his lips found yours, soft and gentle in their own way. You felt yourself reciprocate, though you knew that you should not. You should not be doing this, betraying Alicent in this way and yet…

He sighed into the kiss, and the thought disappeared in the fuzz of your mind. You were unable to think, almost unable to breathe. Gods, how long you had waited for this moment. Weeks, months, years.

“Do not give in.” Criston begged. You paused, breaking the kiss to look at him, but no words left your mouth. He repeated his own once, before something shifted in his eyes. This time, he kissed you less softly, and more so like in the bawdy tales your sister had told you. And you found yourself reeling, your hands against his chestplate to steady yourself.

Even as his hands slip under your dress and travel up your thighs, he begged. “Please, stop me.” He whispered. You shook your head in saccharine betrayal and Criston rested his on your shoulder for a moment. His hands left your thighs, leaving the skin hot and burning, and snaked up your neck, cradling your head. They were big, encompassing your skull and somehow, that made your breath hitch.

Hands that were made to kill, and yet, he was holding you so gently, as if you were fragile. A sudden boldness made you speak.

“Do you want me?” you asked. He lifted his head, nodded almost frantically and you made your choice.

Had the distance between you two really been that dramatically large? It felt as if there was no world around you, only your lips on his, his hands touching, holding as your husband should have held you. As you should have held your children.

Oh how you had longed for years, had none of it, and watched as others had been destroyed, by husbands, by children… yet it still felt so deeply unfair that you could not bring yourself to feel guilty for this little thing. Just this once.

You let Criston kiss you, worship you with his hands as he took his time, carefully unlacing your dress, letting the fabric pool around you. Still, you sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at him. He loomed in his armor, dwarfed you from this perspective.

When you were finally in your shift, you could not help shivering. Criston looked at you with worry in his eyes, before he slipped away, stoking the fire in the furnace. The heat did not match the feeling his hands left on your skin.

He stood before the fireplace, his silhouette illuminated as he took off his armor. The chestplate, the padding, all those parts that shielded him when he did his duties were discarded carelessly on the floor, a stark contrast to his eyes, trained to the ground.

The shadows that flickered through the room, created by candles and fire illuminate the muscles of his back as his dressshirt joined his armor on the ground. You could feel yourself biting your lips to keep yourself from making unladylike sounds.

When Criston returned to the bed, you expected him to push you into the bed, to climb atop you and do what Daemon could not. Instead, he fell to his knees before you at the end of the bed. Confused, you stared down at him.

“What are you doing?” you asked him. He did not answer, his eyes dark as he stared up at you, filled with things you would never tell your septon about. His hands pushed up the seams of your shift until it bunched at your hips.

Suddenly, you felt exposed, and your legs crossed automatically. You sat up straight, as you had been taught, until Criston’s hand returned to your knee, patient, waiting. You understood. Slowly, you uncrossed your legs again.

You still felt exposed as Criston began to place kisses on your knee, even more so when his mouth wandered upwards, towards your thighs. He had kissed your mouth, had barely kissed your neck and now he looked like he wanted to devour your thighs.

Criston took his time sucking marks into the flesh of your thighs, marking it as his, you suddenly realized. And how you loved to be loved.

His mouth moved upwards with a pace that was so slow it almost became painful. You felt a moan escape you, covering your mouth immediately. Criston, looking up again, shook his head. You felt confused – wanton sounds, those were condemned by the church. They could not possibly be what he, such a devout man, would want to hear?

Only, Criston wasn’t that devout after all, was he?

And when his lips touched your cunt in devout prayer, you answered in such currency. Eagerly, his tongue licked a stripe up your cunt, flicking the nub at the top with impatient insistence until you felt your back weaken. You let yourself fall backwards onto the mattress with a girlish ease you had not felt in years, but suddenly it was there, and you were floating…

How had the septons dared to tell you all this was sin? How could that be true? How could it be when-

Criston never ceased his movements when you grew louder, trying to contain your sounds to the confines of your chambers. A knot was beginning to tie itself in your stomach, growing tighter and tighter until you were begging Criston for something – you didn’t know what it was, except that he knew, that he would give it to you.

And then, suddenly, the knot was gone, and something else took its place. You weren’t sure if this was something you had ever felt before because it was all-consuming, washing over you like a golden wave and pulling you under. The tension, the pressure, all of it was gone, replaced by white-hot pleasure and your eyes rolled backwards, your back arching off the bed towards Criston.

Coming down from you high, you felt Criston slowly removing your shift, continuing his worship on your stomach and your chest, sucking and biting skin until he felt you squirm beneath him. It was then that he looked at you, smirking, but you could see that his eyes were full of something no one had ever looked at you with.

Not desire, nor lust, for you had seen those in men who eyed you greedily during banquets. It was not the empty, sad stare King Viserys gave Alicent. No, it was the glances Ser Harwin had thrown at Rhaenyra before her death. The look of adoration Queen Aemma had held for King Viserys all those years ago…

You had no need to say the word, for you knew, and it made your head spin. Could it be?

His hands pulled your shift over your head, until you were bare for him. He was still wearing breeches, but you could see the strain beneath them. Filled with sudden confidence, you pulled him towards you, kissing Ser Criston and wrapping your legs around his waist in a desperation to have him close to you.

Your hands fumbled at the laces of his breeches clumsily, until he gently removed them, doing the work himself. You could see Criston’s cock, half-concealed by the shadows between you and the dark, and yet, you knew it was bigger than Daemon’s. The thought of it made you afraid and your face heat up at the same time.

His hand moved languidly while he leaned down to kiss you. When his hips bucked into his hand, you heard yourself beg him for it, and that seemed to change something in him. Suddenly, Criston seemed hungry.

You could feel him between your legs, and then, you weren’t all that confident anymore. But Ser Criston held you close, whispering reassurances and praise until you could feel him enter you. There was a small stretch, a small feeling of discomfort, and Ser Criston halted his movements for a bit.

When you nodded, he began to move, his body rocking into you. He seemed to know what he was doing when he rolled his hips, stimulating that spot inside of you you had no idea existed in the first place.

The first time he hit it, you felt the air knocked out of you from pleasure. And then, the feeling became a rapid addiction. Your hands dragged his chest to yours, your legs wrapping around his waist again in an attempt to urge him to move faster, harder, to make you feel good.

Ser Criston, the perfect white knight, obliged. He snapped his hips against yours, angling them upwards and giving you something that you had not thought would work that way, feel that way.

“Please, Criston.” You gasped.

“Please what? What do you need, my lady?” Criston replied, his words coming in short intervals. He was just as gone as you, you realized, and that only added to your own high.

“Oh Gods,” you began. “Criston, I don’t know, I- please, please,…”

He rested his head in the crook of your neck again, but this time, his teeth found your shoulder, biting down gently at first. The pain was good. It added an edge you had no idea you needed, brought you back down into a realm where you could form some coherent thought.

The knot you had felt before, the tension that had turned into a coil in your stomach returned with a sudden fervency. This time, the feeling was there more quickly, more intense and it was almost too much. At the same time, you felt as if you would die if it stopped.

Criston seemed to feel it, and only later would you realise that your cunt was clenching around him so tightly that he was having difficulty not to moan as loudly as you. But Criston continued, and he pushed you over the edge, leaving you reeling in pleasure as his hand clapped over your mouth to muffle a scream.

He followed soon after, only that he refused to spend his seed inside you, instead painting your stomach with it. You know why he did it, and yet, it somehow still hurt. Before you could ponder too much on the matter, Criston disappeared, returning with his breeches on and a rag in hand. He cleaned you while you lied on the bed, the soreness beginning to sneak in after your high.

Afterwards, Criston lied down next to you. He did not speak, but he did not pray either, and for that, you were glad. And still, he was the one who pulled you closer. You held onto him, basked in his warmth.

Finally, your patience and virtue had been rewarded. You did not waste a single thought on what would come in the future, only that this was right, and no septon nor Alicent would be able to convince you otherwise (not that you would tell them about this to begin with).

You could feel yourself dozing off in your white knight’s arms, until the alarm bells of High Tide suddenly began to rang. As the castle came alive under the signal, Criston shot up, and so did you. Shouts passed your door, and he scrambled to put on his armor.

Never a moment’s peace in this world.

[draczrys]

I know Criston Cole is not who you usually write for and I know he’s not a fan favorite but could you write a Drabble or one shot of Criston Cole x Reader? I love Fabian Frankel and just wish to read something with one of his characters. Much love! 💕

brb just added him to my muse list bc mr fabian is yum & early s1 criston is bearable. and this trope!! my fave medieval theme ever. like wdym i’m not supposed to love a boy w big brown eyes

COURTLY LOVE. ❨ criston cole x reader ❩

the standing of a riverland lord's youngest daughter was nothing of note to the realm. little to inherit, a pitiful dowry, barely a suitor at the door. so, the seven must have blessed you the day queen aemma requested your presence at court. the princess was of age now, and in need of ladies in waiting of noble birth.

suddenly, the world was a different place. thrown into the deep end of the red keep, you had all the dresses you wished for and every suitor at court vying for your hand in marriage. no longer just an unknown lady, but a lady of the crown. still, there wasn't a single lord or son that caught your eye. not since you saw him.

"... ser criston cole!"

your breath had caught in your throat as the young knight shed his helmet and blinked up to the royal box, respects paid to the king before he looks to you.

"i would like to ask for your lady's favour, if she would be so kind," he spoke, voice smooth, eyes never leaving your own. if it weren't for rhaenyra's elbow in your side, you're sure you would have stared all day.

"best of luck, ser," comes your wishes, leaning over the wooden rail to drop your favour over his joust. you had spent a whole day on it, the princess on her's too, weaving daisies and lavender into a pretty ring. "i hope that you win."

"as do i," criston muses, smirking. "if it means speaking with you again, my lady."

a blush burns at your cheeks, hurrying to sit back down. you ignore rhaenyra's teasing and watch the knight mount his horse, readying himself for the competition. he knocks down lord after lord, knight after knight, even defeating prince daemon. the heat in your chest has your heart beating quicker, head somewhat hazy as you watch on in delight.

the chaos of a tourney day sweeps you up from your daydreaming, ushered behind the princess to dress her for the feast. though she speaks to you as you braid her hair, it's barely audible past the heavy thoughts of the knight in your ears. eventually, when rhaenyra is summoned to her mother, you find the time to catch your breath in an empty hallway. leaning against the cold stone, your eyes squeeze shut to urge any romantic ideas from your mind.

"my good luck charm."

the sudden voice startles you, turning quickly to ready yourself in defence. but there, only a few steps away, is your knight. for a moment, you think he's talking about you. noting your furrowed brows and slightly cocked head, he raises the favour you had gifted into view.

"ah," you breathe out, a smile growing on your lips. "i'm glad it was of use."

criston mirrors your smile, steps closing the space between you, his armour clinking as it still rests on his bones. his arm reaches out, offering the flowered ring back to you. "it is custom the knight returns the favour to the lady, if they have survived."

glancing at the branches and petals your hands had tirelessly woven, then back to the warm eyes that watch you so carefully, that strange feeling creeps back into your chest. you shake your head.

"keep it," you urge, cheeks rounding. "perhaps it will bring you luck again."

cole's brows raise, interest obviously piqued at your suggestion. his smile turns crooked, eyes sparkling with a life you'd only seen outside of the walls of the keep.

"and will you be present, again? in case it is you, and not the favour, that has blessed me." his tongue is playful and teasing, but his eyes hold a sincerity you daren't question.

"i cannot promise my presence to be so virtuous." you giggle breathily, eyes darting to the ground for a moment to spare yourself the dizziness that comes from his gaze. "and i should--"

"a kiss then."

the blunt but hopeful proposition snaps your eyes back to him, unsure of whether to be more shocked, offended or delighted. criston smirks, obviously enjoying your surprise. "as a precaution, of course."

stomach jumping with nerves, heart dancing with excitement, you watch his eyes carefully in an attempt to gauge whether he was taunting you or not. but no, still only genuine.

shuffling forward, close enough now, you slowly stretch upwards onto your tiptoes. eyes locked, your lips journeying closer to his cheek - slightly stubbled, but littered with freckles. they barely brush his skin before he turns his head, quicker than you can notice, replacing his cheek with his lips.

the surprise that overtakes you is quickly subdued by the sweet taste of his kiss. his lips soft, just relishing in yours. not desperate or rough as you had seen with older lords and ladies, but delicate and kind. he only parts when he feels you swoon a little in his arms, smiling against the aftertaste of the kiss. breathless, you look at each other, caught up in the warmth between you.

"my lady," criston murmurs, stepping back from your space when he hears the distant patter of feet. bowing at the waist, his eyes still linger on your own. "until next time."

[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!

[axelsagewrites]

Can I request Criston Cole x f!reader x Aegon? Where Aegon is just a voyeur and Criston is there to teach him to be patient and not put himself first (when having sex) with Aegon's lady wife (tough love! it was probably an idea Otto or Alicent had to just taunt Aegon some more). And Aegon just sits there looking - ofc - and yapping about Criston not having enough experience to know while reader clearly is enjoying everything that is happening ?

Criston Cole*Test My Devotion

Pairing: Criston x f!reader, Aegon x arranged wife!reader

Word count: 2515

Warnings: technically cheating but not cause Aegon said it was okay, cuck Aegon, f! receiving oral, praise, mentions of religion, possibly a tad blasphemous to the seven, p in v sex, breeding, smut 18+

Masterlist here

The marriage was not a happy one and the whole court knew. Anyone who saw you or Aegon knew it. you both knew it and Criston Cole; well, he certainly knew. While teaching Aegon to spar, which was often just the prince pretending to try swing his sword, he would complain about his wife. Specifically, the events of your marital chambers.

“She just lays there,” Aegon said, his swords tip scrapping the dirt as Criston tried to convince him to at least try this lesson, “Hardly an appealing sight for a husband,”

Criston sighed, tempted to just fling his sword in the river, “Well have you made it appealing for her?”

“What’s not appealing about sex?” Aegon said, dumb founded at the disgruntled knight, “It’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing,”

“Yes, but are you just having sex,” Criston said, lowering his voice even though no one was around, “or are you making love? There is a big difference my prince,”

Aegon snorted making Criston contemplate swinging his sword at his head, “You sound like a village girl. Besides what do you know about any of it?” Aegon said, finally picking up his sword again, “The only girls you please are the seven,”

It was bad enough being mocked by an uptight prince but having to hear in even more detail about the prince’s lack of a sex life from his mother no less just made matters worse. “I just don’t understand,” Alicent said as she paced her chambers, hands on hips, “She’s a woman, he’s a man. It’s not hard to make a child. Even the king could do it,” she muttered, pausing her pacing.

Criston stood even straighter when the queen turned to him, “I’m sure it will happen in time your grace,”

“We don’t have time,” Alicent said as she returned to her pacing, likely wearing down the floorboards, “No boy wants his mother in his bed chambers, but his wife must be. Perhaps if you talk to him, he’d listen to you- “

“Your grace,” he said, an awkward smile playing his face to try hide his sheer embarrassment, “I don’t think I am qualified to help- “

“Hush,” Alicent said, holding her hand out to shush him as he cleared his throat in embarrassment, “He needs guidance,” she said, continuing her pacing, “but he won’t take it from me. Perhaps if you were to talk to him, to show him how it’s done,”

“I think he knows how to do it,” Criston said, clearing his throat yet again like he’d swallowed thick tar, “I think they lack an emotional connection,”

“That was never my strong suit,” Alicent admitted, her pacing finally stopping as she sighed, “Please ser Cole,” she said, turning to him with desperate eyes, “Perhaps if you spoke to them, on their level, you’re about their age. They’ll listen to you. just try, for the sake of the realm,” Alicent plead, “I-We need an heir,”

Criston Cole soon found himself as security at each and every one of the couples’ awkward dinners. On the rare times you allowed Aegon to visit your chambers he was forced to be there two. However, he could see the way you grew bored from Aegon’s touches and how little he wished to be there.

This also however gave him plenty of time to see you, however. Rarely did you speak to him, but he noticed the way your lips curved when you called on him. He noticed the new dresses Aegon did not and the different ways you styled your hair. He may be a man of honour, a knight, a sworn protector of the realm but also you, but even he noticed your looks. How Aegon grew bored of you he could not understand.

One night after dinner Criston escorted the prince and you to your chambers in silence. The door shut and wordlessly you began to unlace your dress while Aegon pulled off his tunic. “Stop,” Criston found himself saying without thought making you both turn to look at him.

Aegon’s eyes were bored but yours were filled of a curious wonder Criston deeply wanted to explore. He approached the prince, lowering his voice but he knew you could hear, “Perhaps my prince you may try a different approach tonight,”

“I know how to have sex with my wife,” a tipsy Aegon protested, “but if you are so sure you can do better, you have my blessing ser,” Aegon said, drunkenly patting his shoulder before sauntering over to a chair to drop into, “I insist. Please dear wife, show this knight what a good time you are,” he said, sarcasm dripping off his voice.

Criston turned to you in time to see the hurt tinging your glazed eyes, but you hide it as quick as it appeared. “I cannot, my prince, it would be a dishonour,”

“More of a dishonour to deny your prince?” Aegon said, his head cocking to the side, “If you and my mother wish to poke around my bed chambers you may as well show me how it is done ser Criston. Show me how a knight does it,” he said.

He knew he shouldn’t let his taunting bother him. After all, Aegon was just a spoiled prince, and he was a knight. He knew better. But the look on your face when he glanced at you made him wonder, “Is this an order my prince?” he finally asked taking even you by slight surprise.

Aegon lent forward in his chair, gesturing for him to continue, “She’s all yours for tonight my good knight. Teach me how to make an heir,” he said as he slumped back to his seat.

Criston cleared his throat before awkwardly looking to you. he glanced at his prince before stepping closer to you. “My princess,” he said, his voice low, “I do not wish to dishonour you. I only wish to help,” he said, his cheeks tinging pink.

This time it was you who cleared your throat, stepping closer so your chest brushed against his making his blush deepen, “Perhaps my husband could do with some lessons,” you said, your voice barely a whisper as your eyes slowly trailed up to meet his.

“May I kiss you?” he asked softly, waiting for your nod of approval before slowly leaning down, his lips softly colliding with yours. his lips were soft and slow and tender unlike Aegon’s chapped careless ones.

You leaned into his touch when his hand moved to rest on your hips, holding you gently in place as if he was afraid you would disappear. Your hands rested on his shoulders, gripping his strong shoulders over his tunic.

Aegon who had looked bored up till now almost perked up in his chair when he saw the way Criston’s hands slipped to the small of your back, pressing your body into his firm chest. “You are a gift from the gods themselves,” Criston mumbled against your lips, staring at you have drunk from the kiss.

“Such comparisons are surely blasphemous my dear knight,” you said, your hand moving to brush against his cheek.

He instinctively leaned into your touch, “No, no, my princess,” he said, turning his head so he could kiss your palm gently, “For I think they sent you to me. As a test,”

“And what kind of test would that be?” you enquired, and Criston studied the way confusion mapped your face.

Slowly he stepped forward, leading you towards the marital bed you usually dreaded but now not so much. “To test my devotion,” he said as the backs of your legs hit the bed frame softly, “and so I can prove my worship for them,”

“Perhaps its not a test at all,” you said quietly, leaning up to kiss his jaw. Creston’s breath caught in his throat at your sudden forwardness, his fingers slowly slipping up to the ties of your dress, “Perhaps they sent me as a reward,”

“No,” he said, clearing his throat as his fingers played with the ties of your dress, desperate to unlace it or tear away the fabric, “I have done nothing to deserve such a grand reward. I must earn it princess. We should not take what we do not deserve,” his words made you smile lightly. Aegon had never earned your affection, but Criston was determined to prove himself.

“Then earn it dear knight,” you whispered, kissing his lips softly, “Show the gods how much I mean to you,”

Your words sent his honour over the edge and soon your dress had pooled around your ankles. Your hands went to reach for the straps of his armour, but his hands covered yours, stopping your movements as he kissed you gently. “Lay down princess,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning your face and making you flush.

You did as you were told, not even sparing a glance to where Aegon sat watching mesmerised by the whole scene. Criston made quick work of his armour, discarding the steel at the side of the bed. Once he was down to an undershirt and under trousers he kneeled at the foot of the bed, his eyes scanning your bodies hungrily.

“You can tell me to stop,” Criston said, his hands trailing slowly up your legs as he moved closer to your body, “It won’t offend me princess,”

“I want this,” you whispered, your eyes glued to his movements while his were glued to your body. “I want you my knight,”

My knight. The words made his eyes snap up, looking into yours making your breathing pause for a moment while your heart fluttered. You were too distracted to even notice him moving to kiss your inner thigh.

You gasped lightly, not expecting his soft trails of kisses up your inner thigh, “What are you doing?” you asked, eyebrows knitting in confusion but not wanting him to stop.

“Has your husband never done this for you?” he asked, his hot breath fanning over your wet cunt making you almost moan already. When you shook your head no Criston tutted, “No wonder he’s had no success. He has failed his husbandly duties. Let me show you princess, how an honourable man treats a wife,”

Your eyes glanced to your husband before back to the man you really wanted, “Yes,” you whispered, your body already on fire with anticipation, “Show me,”

Criston started by placing a soft kiss to your clit making you whine lightly. “You can grip my hair,” he said, glancing up at you, “if it helps,” he added and for a moment you considered saying no until he placed another soft kiss to your nerves and suddenly you were tugging his soft dark hair.

Slowly he began to increase his speed, his tongue being added to the mix as he massaged your clit with his mouth. You couldn’t help the moans as your legs were placed over his shoulders and his arms gripped your legs to keep you in place.

Not once had this tightening feeling happened when Aegon had bedded you but suddenly it was like your body was alight. You gasped loudly when you felt his tongue dive into your hole, curling in all the right places. He moved his head till his nose began to nuzzle your clit and your grip of his hair tightened. “Don’t stop,” you begged, over and over in an almost whisper like a prayer.

He had no intentions too especially when your grip tightened. He could feel his own member harden but it was too soon for that. This was more important. Spurred on by the moans and pretty whines Criston replaced his tongue with his fingers, curling them in and out as he thrust. Meanwhile his mouth moved up, his lips wrapping around your sensitive clit making your whole-body twitch.

It didn’t take long for a new feeling to wash over your body as your legs twitched around his head. Criston’s movements slowed but they did not stop until he felt your body grow limp. When he came up for air he saw you, eyes dazed as you panted like you’d seen the gods. You lazily looked down at him, offering him a hand as if you could pull him up.

Criston took your hand, kissing the back of it as he moved to lay over your body. He brushed the hair out of your face, kissing the top of your head, “Princess, are you okay?”

“I am better than okay sweet knight,” you said, already breathless but your legs were instinctively wrapping around his waist. “Please do not leave me yet,” you said, pulling his waist down till his hard on was pressing into your cunt.

Criston closed his eyes for a moment as he tried to steady himself, “Are you sure princess?” he finally asked, opening his eyes to gaze into yours, “For I fear, as honourable as I try, I won’t be able to stop if this is just to test me,”

“This is not a test,” you said, your hands moving to cup his face, “I need you, my knight. I need to feel you,”

He couldn’t wait anymore but he tried to be patient as he lined up his painfully hard cock with your hole. Slowly he began to push the tip in, and he almost came just from the way you gasped as he pushed in.

You whined as he sunk in further, desperate for more but already feeling stretched out. When he’d sunk fully in you brought his lips to yours, kissing them desperately as your hips bucked for friction. He was glad to grant it.

His thrusts were slow and deep at first but as your nails sunk into his back, your mouth agape and your eyes screwed shut, they began to speed up. He slipped his hand between your body, rubbing sloppy fast circles onto your clit as his pace increased.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in deeper as the headboard began to slam against the wall. Your head twisted to the side, your eyes opening to see a silent Aegon sat on his seat, his hand down his own trousers. Your attention was brought back to your knight when you heard curses mumbled from his soft lips.

“I can’t,” he gasped, his thrusts becoming messy, “I’m going to- “he stammered but your grip around him tightened. He groaned when he felt the way your cunt clenched around him.

“Please,” you gasped, feeling another peak close by and threatening to spill, “don’t stop Criston, please,” you moaned, before your own orgasm washed over you as your nails raked down his back leaving red scratches.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, his body tensing as he finally let himself go. With only a couple more thrusts you felt Criston finish inside you, his forehead pressed against yours as he tried to recover from the earth-shattering experience.

Once he finally caught his breath he sat up, glancing to where Aegon sat just two feet away, “That my prince, is how you fuck your wife,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @starkleila

[blakeswritingimagines]

Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off

Summary: The farm boy next door can't help but admire you even when it becomes too much.

Warnings: PwP, Nipple play, Eating out reader, Blowjob, Unprotected sex, Overstim, Swallowing cum.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Word count: 5.3k

Criston Cole was a hardworking ranch hand, waking up every morning before sunrise to tend to the horses, cattle, and other farm animals. His tan muscular body was always covered in dirt and sweat as he carried out his chores. You just happened to be the new neighbor who moved in next door, and Cole couldn't help but notice how beautiful you were. He often found himself watching you from afar as you worked in your own garden, dressed in a flowing sundress

You were unaware of the glances from Criston and continued with your gardening for the day, humming a cheerful tune to yourself. A light breeze tousled your hair, causing a few strands to fall into your face. As you bent down to weed your garden, your sundress clung to your curves, emphasizing your figure. Criston's breath caught in his throat at the sight of your curves accentuated by the clinging dress. He quickly looked away, trying to compose himself. It wasn't right to ogle his new neighbor like that. "Hey there, mind if I lend a hand?" Criston called out, approaching you with a friendly smile. "I've got some experience with gardens. Maybe I could help you get those weeds under control." He hoped his offer would give him an excuse to be closer to you, even if just for a little while. Criston had always been a straightforward guy, but around you, he found himself getting tongue-tied and flustered. You looked up from your gardening, a smile spreading across your face. "Oh, hello there," you said, straightening up. The sun glinted off your hair. "I could definitely use some help," you replied, your eyes dancing with gratitude. "These weeds are relentless. But, really, you don't have to bother. I don't want to take up your time." Criston's heart pounded in his chest, not just from the physical exertion of working in the garden but also from the proximity to you. Your scent - a mix of soil and something sweetly feminine - filled his nostrils, making it difficult to think clearly. "No, no," he stammered, shaking his head. "It's my pleasure. Besides, it gives me a good excuse to spend more time with you." He leaned over, pulling out a stubborn weed with ease, his muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt. "So, what else do you grow here? Just vegetables or… maybe flowers too?" You chuckled, your eyes sparkling with amusement at his eagerness to help. "Thanks," you said, feeling a flutter of butterflies in your stomach at his words. "And yes, I grow flowers too," you replied, gesturing to a patch of vibrant blooms nearby. "But I'm particularly proud of my collection of sunflowers. They've just about finished flowering, but they'll make beautiful cut flowers for the house."

Criston followed your gaze to the sunflowers, admiring their bright yellow petals against the green stems. "They're beautiful," he murmured, feeling a sudden urge to pluck one and present it to you. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, his hands moving deftly through the soil. "Sunflowers are my favorite," he admitted, glancing at you from beneath his lashes. "They remind me of sunshine and happiness." He paused, then added softly, "Kind of like you." Criston blushed at his own boldness, realizing he'd probably said too much. But the words were out now, and he couldn't take them back. Your eyes widened in surprise as he spoke, your heart skipping a beat at his compliment. You had always been reserved and introverted, rarely the target of such ardent attention from the opposite sex. However, you couldn't deny that you secretly relished his compliments. You looked down, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Thank you," you said softly, feeling a sudden warmth spread through your chest. "That's very sweet of you to say." Criston felt a surge of relief when you smiled at his compliment. He hadn't meant to make you uncomfortable, he simply couldn't help his feelings. You were unlike any woman he'd ever met - kind, gentle, and beautiful. He wanted nothing more than to make you happy. "I mean it," he said earnestly, meeting your gaze once again. "You're special, darlin'. And I hope…" He trailed off, swallowing nervously. This was uncharted territory for him. Normally, he was the confident one, not the stuttering fool. But you brought out a side of him he didn't know existed. "I hope we can be friends," he finally managed to say.

You could sense his nervousness, and it only served to increase your own. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't hide the fact that he had an effect on you, too. The word 'friends' stuck in your throat, but you nodded, pushing past the unexpected disappointment. "Yeah," you said, plastering a smile on your face. "Friends." Even as the word left your lips, you wondered how long you could keep up the pretense of friendship when your heart was begging for more.

As days turned into weeks, you found yourself spending more and more time together. The boundaries of friendship slowly blurred as Cole's compliments turned into lingering touches, his eyes never wavering from yours. Even though you knew it was wrong to encourage his advances, it was becoming increasingly difficult to resist the growing attraction between you. Criston had been hard at work for hours on the ranch, his muscles straining under the weight of the bales of hay he was carrying. Sweat dripped down his face and his back as he moved from one chore to the next. His mind kept drifting to you, your laughter lingering in his ears, your face constantly on his mind. He needed to see you, to talk to you. But he was nervous. He didn't want to come on too strong and ruin the newfound friendship.

Following your interactions with Criston were spent thinking of him more often than you'd ever thought possible. You found yourself looking out of your window frequently to catch a glimpse of him, but not too obviously. One evening, you were sitting on your porch, enjoying the cool breeze, when you heard the sound of approaching footsteps. You looked up to see Criston walking toward you, his hat shading his eyes from the sunset. Criston's heart hammered in his chest as he approached your house. He'd been thinking about you nonstop since that day in the garden, dreaming up scenarios where he could spend more time with you. As he drew near, he noticed you sitting on your porch, and his steps quickened. "Evening," he said, tipping his hat. "Mind if I join you?" He sat down beside you, leaving enough space between you both so as not to crowd you. But close enough that he could smell your soft perfume and hear your breathing. You felt a thrilling race down your spine as he sat down next to you. He was so close that you could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. "No, not at all," you managed to say, your voice coming out a little more breathless than you'd like. You fidgeted with the hem of your dress, trying to keep your thoughts from straying into forbidden territory.

Criston felt your nervous energy and it made him chuckle. He reached over, placing his large, calloused hand over yours, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Relax, darlin'," he said reassuringly. "I ain't gonna bite." He let go of your hand and leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head as he gazed up at the stars beginning to appear in the darkening sky. "Beautiful night," he remarked, hoping to break the tension. Your breath hitched as he took your hand, his touch sending sparks through your skin. You tried to relax, but it was difficult with him so close. You looked up at the night sky, trying to focus on something other than the man next to you. "Yeah," you agreed, your voice a whisper. "It really is." You were acutely aware of the space between you, like an electric current waiting to be bridged. Criston turned his head to look at you, taking in your profile bathed in the moonlight. He'd never seen anything so beautiful. Slowly, carefully, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your face, letting his fingers linger on your cheek. "Sweetheart," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "I… I need to tell you something." He swallowed hard, gathering his courage. "Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. You've gotten under my skin, darlin'. And I don't want you to leave."

Your heart stopped as he touched your face, your breath catching in your throat. You could see the intensity in his gaze, and the raw emotion behind his words. It took everything in you not to melt right then and there. You'd had your suspicions about his feelings, but hearing him say it out loud was something else entirely. "Criston," you whispered back, your voice filled with hope and uncertainty. "What are you trying to say?" Criston exhaled slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it. There was no turning back now. "I'm saying that I care about you," he confessed, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions within him. "More than I should after knowing you for such a short time. But I can't fight it anymore. I want you to be mine." His confession hung heavy in the air between them, a declaration of love and desire that left him vulnerable and exposed. Your eyes widened at his confession, your heart racing in response. His words stirred up a maelstrom of emotions within you. Part of you wanted to jump into his arms and say yes, but the rational part of your brain held you back. "Criston, I… I don't know what to say," you murmured, a mix of confusion and admiration in your voice. "I care about you too, but we barely know each other. Isn't this a little…fast?"

Criston nodded, understanding your hesitation. But he wasn't about to give up without a fight. "Maybe it is fast," he conceded, reaching out to gently cup your chin. "But I've never been one to play it safe. Life's too damn short for that." He leaned closer, his lips hovering just inches away from yours. "Tell me," he whispered, his breath mingling with yours. "Would it be so wrong if I kissed you?" Your heart hammered in your chest as he inched closer, his words and proximity making it hard to think clearly. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, making you shiver and close your eyes. For a moment, rationality left your brain, replaced by a wave of yearning and desire. "No," you breathed, finally giving in. "It wouldn't be wrong." Slowly, you tilted your face toward his in a silent invitation. Criston watched as you closed your eyes, tilting your face towards him. It was all the encouragement he needed. With a low growl of desire, he moved closer, his lips crashing onto yours in a passionate kiss. His hands moved to cradle your face, holding you firmly as he deepened the kiss. His tongue darted out, exploring the depths of your mouth, tasting every inch of you. His body pressed against yours, the heat between you growing stronger with each passing second.

You melted into his touch, returning his kiss with equal fervor. Your hands grasped at his shoulders, pulling him closer as your lips moved in tandem with his. A soft gasp escaped your lips as his tongue invaded your mouth, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. The feel of his hard body against yours was electrifying, making you cling to him even more. All rationality and hesitation faded away, replaced by a burning need for more of him. Criston groaned softly as he felt your hands grasp at his shoulders, pulling him closer. He loved the way you responded to his kisses, the way you melted into his embrace. His hands slid down to your waist, tugging you flush against him as he deepened the kiss further. He could feel the heat building between you, the desire coursing through his veins. He wanted you, needed you, with a desperation he'd never known before. Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged. "God," he panted, his voice thick with lust. "You have no idea what you do to me." Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your breathing just as ragged as his. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the desire in his voice sending shivers down your spine. You looked up at him, your eyes mirroring the same intense need you felt. "I think I have some idea," you murmured, your own voice breathless. "You have the same effect on me, Criston." You ran your fingers through his dark hair, pulling him down for another hungry kiss.

Criston moaned into the kiss, his hands sliding up to grip your hips tightly. He could taste the desire on your lips, feeding his own hunger. He broke off the kiss once again, panting heavily as he stared down at you. "Then let's not waste any more time talking," he growled, his hands moving to lift you effortlessly onto his lap. His arousal was evident, pressing insistently against your thigh. "Let's show each other exactly how much we want each other." A gasp escaped your lips as he lifted you onto his lap, your knees bracketing his hips. You could feel his hard length against your thigh, making your body throb with need. You gripped his shoulders, steadying yourself as you looked down at him. "What did you have in mind?" you whispered, your voice sultry. Criston's eyes burned with desire as he looked up at you, his hands roaming over your curves. "I have a few ideas," he replied, his voice low and husky. "But I want to hear from you, Blake. What turns you on? What makes you lose control?" His hands found the hem of your dress, slipping underneath to caress the soft skin of your thighs. A shiver ran down your spine as his hands glided over your thighs, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You leaned into him, your lips skimming along his jaw. "You," you whispered, your breath hot against his skin. "You make me lose control." Your hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, deftly undoing them one by one. "Just the sight of you, the sound of your voice… It drives me crazy."

Criston groaned as you undid his buttons, revealing his chiseled chest. He couldn't resist the urge to capture your lips again, kissing you deeply as his hands continued their exploration of your body. He palmed your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric of your dress. "I want to see you, Sweetheart," he murmured against your mouth. "All of you." With a swift motion, he stood, lifting you with him and carrying you towards the barn. "Let's get you out of these clothes." You gasped as he stood up, lifting you into his arms effortlessly. Your heart thudded in your chest, anticipation building with every step he took towards the barn. "Criston…" you murmured, your hands clutching at his shoulders. The idea of being exposed to him, completely vulnerable and at his mercy, both thrilled and terrified you. But there was no denying that you wanted this, that you wanted him. "Yes," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. "Please." Criston carried you into the barn, setting you down gently on a stack of hay bales. He stepped back, his eyes devouring the sight of you standing there, your dress clinging to every curve of your body. He reached out, tracing a finger down the valley between your breasts, watching intently as your nipples hardened under his touch. "You're so beautiful," he breathed, his voice laced with awe and desire. "I want to worship every inch of you."

The air was cool and the hay bales were slightly scratchy against your skin, but you barely noticed. Your body was too focused on the way Criston looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. His touch sent fire through your veins, making you arch into his hand. "Please," you whimpered, your breathing uneven. "Touch me. I need you." Criston didn't need to be told twice. His hands went to work, peeling the dress from your body until it pooled at your feet. He stepped forward, his gaze locked on your bare flesh. His hands roamed over your breasts, squeezing gently as he lowered his head to take a nipple into his mouth. He sucked and nibbled, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. His other hand slid down to your panties, hooking his fingers into the elastic and pulling them down. Your head fell back, a loud moan escaping your lips as he lavished attention on your breasts. The sensation of his warm mouth on your skin was overwhelming, making your legs tremble. As he pulled your panties down, you stepped out of them, kicking them aside. You were now completely naked, exposed to the cool air and to Criston's hungry gaze. "More," you pleaded, your hands finding their way to his hair, urging him closer. Criston's hands explored your naked body, his touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. He kissed his way down your stomach, pausing to dip his tongue into your navel before continuing lower. He knelt before you, his face mere inches from your most intimate area. He inhaled deeply, savoring your scent. "You smell divine," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your folds. Without warning, he leaned in, his tongue delving between your slick folds. He lapped at you hungrily, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady. Your knees buckled as his tongue made contact with your sensitive flesh, a cry of pleasure tearing from your throat. Your hands fisted in his hair, holding him close as he ate you out like a man starved. The sensations were almost too much to bear, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. "Oh god, Criston!" you gasped, your hips rocking against his face. "Don't stop! Please don't stop!" Criston reveled in the taste of you, the sweet essence of your arousal coating his tongue. He worked his tongue deeper, flicking it inside you as he sucked on your clit. He could hear the pleasure in your voice, the desperate plea for more, and it only fueled his desire to bring you to the brink. His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you open for him as he devoured you.

The intensity of his oral assault was driving you wild, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel your orgasm building, a wave about to crash over you. "I'm gonna—oh fuck, Criston!" you cried out, your entire body tensing as you came undone beneath his skilled mouth. Waves of pleasure washed over you, your inner walls clenching and unclenching around nothing as your climax ripped through you. Criston felt your body go rigid and heard your cry of release echo through the barn. He redoubled his efforts, sucking harder on your clit as he thrust his tongue deep inside you, prolonging your ecstasy. Only when your trembling subsided did he slow his ministrations, licking and kissing your sensitive flesh to ease you down from the high. Finally, he pulled back, looking up at you with lust-glazed eyes. "You're breathtaking when you come apart," he said, his voice rough with desire. Panting, you gazed down at Criston, taking in the sight of him kneeling before you, his face glistening with your juices. Your body hummed with satisfaction, but the sight of him, the raw desire in his eyes, reignited the fire within you. "Come here," you demanded, tugging on his hair. "I want to taste you too." He rose to his feet, allowing you to pull him into a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, and it only heightened your arousal. Your hands fumbled with his belt, desperate to free his straining erection.

Criston broke the kiss, panting heavily as he watched you strip away his belt and unzip his jeans. He kicked off his boots and shoved his pants down, freeing his throbbing member. He was hard and ready, his cock standing proudly at attention. He grabbed your wrist, guiding your hand to wrap around his length. "Feel how much you affect me," he growled, his eyes burning with carnal intent. Your fingers wrapped around his thick shaft, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. You pumped him slowly, marveling at the silky hardness in your grip. "God, Criston," you breathed, "you're so big." You licked your lips, eyeing his impressive size. Dropping to your knees, you leaned in, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock from base to tip. You swirled your tongue around the swollen head, tasting the salty drops of pre-cum that leaked from the slit. A guttural groan escaped Criston's lips as you lavished attention on his cock. The warmth of your mouth, the wetness of your tongue—it was intoxicating. He threaded his fingers through your hair, guiding you as you took him deeper. "That's it, baby," he encouraged, his voice strained with pleasure. "Take all of me." With a muffled moan, you relaxed your throat, allowing him to slide further in. The stretch was intense, but you reveled in the power it gave you—to make him lose control. You bobbed your head, taking him in and out, savoring the taste of him. Your free hand cupped his balls, gently rolling them as you worked his length. The musky flavor of his arousal filled your senses, spurring you on. You wanted to bring him to the brink, to watch him unravel. Criston's breaths became ragged, his hips instinctively thrusting forward to meet each motion of your head. The sensation of your mouth enveloping him was exquisite, sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body. "Fuck, yes," he hissed, his grip tightening in your hair. He could tell you were enjoying yourself, reveling in the power you held over him. It only added fuel to the fire of his desire. The sound of his approval spurred you on, your movements becoming more urgent. You took him deeper, your throat constricting around him as you swallowed. You could taste the saltiness of his precum, the slight tang of his arousal. It was addictive, and you found yourself craving more. You doubled your efforts, sucking harder, pumping faster.

Criston's control slipped, his hips snapping forward as he chased his release. The sight of you on your knees, worshipping his cock, was almost too much to bear. He could feel the tension coiling in his gut, the familiar pressure building at the base of his spine. "I'm going to come," he warned, his voice tight with impending release. "If you don't want it in your mouth, pull away now." Your eyes locked onto his, a wicked grin spreading across your face. You knew exactly what you were doing, and you relished the power it gave you. You continued to suck him, increasing the suction as you felt his cock throb in your mouth. You wanted every last drop of his release, and you weren't about to let him pull away now. With a final, deep swallow, you took him as far as you could, milking his cock with your throat muscles as he erupted into your mouth. Criston's world narrowed to the sensation of your warm, wet mouth engulfing him. The pressure built to a crescendo, and then he was coming, his release flooding your throat in powerful spurts. He gripped your hair, holding you in place as he rode out the waves of his orgasm. "Fuck...." he panted, his voice hoarse with exertion. Finally, he stilled, his cock softening slightly in your mouth. He looked down at you, his expression a mix of awe and gratitude. "That was incredible," he said, carefully pulling out of your mouth. "You're amazing."

With a satisfied smirk, you stood up, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You stepped closer, pressing your naked body against Criston's, feeling the lingering hardness of his cock against your belly. "And I haven't even gotten started yet," you teased, reaching down to stroke his softened member once more. Criston chuckled, a low, husky sound. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. "Oh, I think we've both got plenty left in us," he murmured, nuzzling your neck. His other hand slid down to cup your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. "What do you say we take this to the bed?" He pressed a trail of kisses along your jawline, his breath hot against your skin. "I want to explore every inch of you." A shiver ran down your spine at his words, your body already responding to his touch. "What's wrong with right here?" you whispered, tilting your head to give him better access to your neck. As he guided you towards the hayloft stairs, you couldn't help but wonder what other pleasures awaited you in his arms. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and you found yourself practically vibrating with excitement by the time you reached the loft. Criston laid you down on the soft pile of hay and blankets, his eyes dark with desire as he loomed over you. Criston stared down at you, his gaze devouring every curve of your body. He bent down, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue demanding entry. He explored your mouth with abandon, tasting himself on your tongue. Breaking the kiss, he trailed kisses down your chest, pausing to circle a hardened nipple with his tongue before taking it into his mouth. He sucked gently, teasing the sensitive bud until you arched beneath him, whimpering with need.

The sensations coursing through your body were overwhelming, each kiss, each lick sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You threaded your fingers through Criston's hair, urging him on, wanting more. "Please…" you moaned, your hips bucking up toward his, seeking friction. "Don't tease me," you pleaded, your voice laced with desperation. Criston lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours with a smoldering intensity. "Patience," he whispered, his voice a seductive purr. He kissed his way down your stomach, pausing to swirl his tongue around your naval before continuing lower. He spread your thighs wide, exposing your slick, glistening pussy to his hungry gaze. He dipped his finger into your folds, coating it with your arousal before sliding it inside you. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as he penetrated you, stretching your walls deliciously. You bit your lip to stifle another moan, not wanting to alert anyone below to your illicit activities. But the pleasure was too intense to hold back completely. "Criston," you breathed, clutching at the hay beneath you for purchase. "More," you begged, rocking your hips up to meet his finger. He added another finger, scissoring them inside you, stretching you wider. The sounds of your pleasure were music to his ears, driving him to push you higher. Criston watched intently as he fucked you with his fingers, admiring how your body responded to his touch. "You're so fucking tight," he growled, his thumb circling your clit in rhythm with his fingers.

The dual stimulation was almost too much, your body trembling under the onslaught of pleasure. You clamped down on his fingers, your inner walls clenching around him. "Yes, just like that," you cried out, no longer caring if anyone heard you. You needed more and craved the release that was tantalizingly close. With a few more expert strokes, Criston felt you tensing, the signs of your impending orgasm clear. He positioned himself between your legs, aligning his throbbing cock with your dripping entrance. With a single, powerful thrust, he buried himself inside you, filling you completely. The sensation of being stretched and filled by him was overwhelming, pushing you over the edge. The feeling of him entering you sent you spiraling into bliss. Your orgasm hit hard, your pussy clamping down on his cock as waves of pleasure crashed over you. "Criston!" you screamed, your body convulsing in ecstasy. The feeling of your tight heat enveloping him was indescribable. He groaned as your walls pulsed around him, gripping him like a vice. He held still, savoring the sensation of your release, letting you ride out the aftershocks. Once your tremors subsided, he began to move, slowly at first, then picking up speed as he lost himself in the rhythm of your bodies joining together. As Criston picked up the pace, you met him thrust for thrust, your hips rising to meet his downward strokes. Each movement sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your nerves, reigniting the flames of desire within you. You tangled your hands in his hair, pulling him down for a searing kiss as you rocked against him.

The kiss was deep and passionate, fueling the fire burning between you. Criston broke the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, marking you with his mouth. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of your head as he pounded into you relentlessly. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the loft, punctuating the erotic symphony of your coupling. Your bodies moved together in a dance of passion, your movements synchronized perfectly. Every thrust drove him deeper inside you, hitting all the right spots and sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You could feel your second orgasm building, spurred on by the relentless pace of his thrusts. Criston could feel your body tightening around him again, signaling your impending third climax. He reached between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing it firmly with his thumb. "Come for me, Sweetheart," he demanded, his voice strained with effort. "I want to feel you milk my cock." With one final, deep thrust, he pushed you over the edge, his own release following closely behind as he spilled himself inside you. The combination of Criston's relentless thrusts and the pressure on your clit sent you tumbling into another earth-shattering orgasm. Your pussy clenched around his cock, milking him for all he was worth. You cried out his name, your voice hoarse from screaming. The pleasure was so intense, you thought you might pass out from the sheer force of it.

Criston collapsed onto you, panting heavily as he tried to regain his breath. He rolled off you, lying beside you as he caught his breath. He pulled you close, tucking you into his side as he stroked your hair soothingly. "That was… incredible," he murmured, kissing the top of your head. "You're amazing, Darlin'." As your breathing slowed, you snuggled closer to him, basking in the afterglow of your explosive lovemaking session. "You're not so bad yourself," you replied, a satisfied smile on your face. You traced lazy patterns on his chest, enjoying the warmth of his skin against yours. "We should do this more often," you suggested, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. Criston chuckled, running his fingers through your hair. "I'd like that," he said, leaning down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss. "But we should probably get cleaned up before someone comes looking for us." He sat up, offering you a hand to help you stand. As you made your way towards the bathroom, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close against him. "And don't worry Sweetheart," he whispered in your ear, "we'll find plenty of opportunities to continue our… extracurricular activities."

[sunnyie-eve]

1. The Challenge

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Series: Devious Opportunity

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Cousin! OFC Targaryen!

Word Count: 1.2k

Notes: playful flirting between cousin (duh Targaryen incest) and Alicent pushing views on Aegon

| MASTERLIST |

-

Since Celeste could remember things, she had always been raised in Kings Landing castle. She knew who her father was yet they weren't very close. She was his first child, who happened to be a bastard, with a past love affair.

Viserys knew his brother cared deep down for his daughter by letting her live with him. Daemon knew she was better off there than with him. He would visit her there and write letters to her but even when he married Laena, he never had her come live with them. Plus Rhaenyra cared for her since there was something she thought was just so special about her.

Maybe it had something to do with her knowing Celeste's mother since she was always kind to her. Or maybe because she their mothers both died the same way. Or because she saw some handmaids didn't care to take care of her for some odd reason as she was growing up.

At the moment, Celeste was running through the halls to get to Princess Rhaenyra's room to see the new baby. As she busts through the doors out of breath Rhaenyra and Harwin laugh at her.

"I hear it was another boy." She says out of breath, "Let me see, let me see." She gets on her tip-toes trying to get a better look at him as Harwin was holding him. Rhaenyra nods her head so he gives her to Celeste to hold.

Even though Celeste the and boys were cousins, they acted like siblings more towards each other. Probably because Rhaenyra acted like a mother towards her since she doesn't have much memory of her own mother.

"Between us, I hope he gets his father's looks." She smiles at the baby before passing him back to Harwin. "I'll leave you three alone." She heads for the door, "But I'll be back to give him more love later." She adds leaving with a smile.

As she was walking around the yard, Aegon joins her, "You should have seen the joke we did on Aemond." He laughs so she looks at him.

"Are you to tell me more or not?" She asks him.

"Oh, since he doesn't have a dragon, we gave him a pig with wings. The Pink Dread." He laughs more while she didn't find it funny.

"Why must you boys make fun of him for not having one like the rest of us? You don't have to make it harder on him." She looks at the weapons since she had always fancied them oddly. Especially ones that were made well and looked nice.

"It was Jace and Luke's idea." He tells her so she gives him a look, "It was my idea." He rolls his eyes, "You know, I don't care for how well you know me."

Celeste chuckles as she starts to walk away with him following her, "I'm the only person who ever really pays attention to you. I know you more than your siblings, parents, and maids know you."

"Ah yes, and I appreciate you for that." He playful tugs on her hair causing her to turn to face him with a glare in her face. "I had to get you to face me somehow."

"You couldn't ask me to stop and turn around?"

"As we both know, you know me so I'll say no." He smiles, "No, but I do truly appreciate that you pay attention to me. We both know no one else does unless I step out of line. How else would I get my mother to pay attention to me." He laughs but deep down it hurt him.

"I don't just pay attention to you, Aegon. I care about you as well. We're the closest. Somehow we are which blows my mind to this day since you're a pain in my ass."

He can't help but laugh, "That's one of my titles, of course, just for you to use." He bows a bit, "My lady."

"There's never a dull moment when you're around." She shakes her head at him, "I'm off to go love on my new brother." She leaves him.

"Cousin!" He corrects her.

"Basically my brother!" She shouts back starting to jog back towards Rhaenyra's chambers.

Later in the day, Celeste was bored and just wanted to talk to someone so she headed towards Aegon's chambers. They often had long chats to pass the time along when they were both bored. They never minded when one would wonder into the other's room since they have been doing such a thing since they could remember.

Before walking in the door was slightly opened and she could hear the Queen was in the room, "If Rhaenyra comes into power your very life could be forfeit. Aemond's as well. She could move to cut off any challenge to her succession."

"Then I won't challenge-," Aegon starts but is cut off.

"You are the challenge! You are the challenge, Aegon! Simply by living and breathing! You are the King's firstborn son and what they know, what everyone in the realm knows in their blood and in their bones... is one day, you will be our King." Alicent shouts at him making Celeste's eyes widen.

As she hears her coming towards the room she moves away from the door far enough to act like she was walking that way, "Queen Alicent." She smiles as they came face to face.

"Celeste." She sighs, "Have you heard about the prank that was pulled on Aemond?" She stops her.

"Aegon told me about earlier. I told him they needed to leave him alone and stop making fun of his brother. He said it was the other's idea but I knew he was lying so he admitted to it." She lets her know before she continues her way. 

When she entered Aegon's room he was still sitting in bed like his mother left him thinking about everything, "You know Rhaenyra would never do anything to you or Aemond, right?" She tells him, "Yes, she's not close to either of you but she would never kill either of you for the throne."

He looks over at her, "You heard everything..."

"You know I like to listen to others when I'm not supposed to." She slightly smiles, "How about I step out for a minute so you can get dressed then we can talk?" She leaves him room and when he was dressed he tells her he's done.

"Why does my own mother not listen to me?" He asks looking over at Celeste sitting at the end of his bed. "I have no want for the throne. Now or when I'm older."

"Then stand your ground even when she pushes you." She tells him, "Yes, everyone in the realm prefers a man to takeover but honestly you and I know you are not the best fit to do such a thing." 

"I know and I know my own mother believes that as well deep down but for some reason she wants me to still be a King." He huffs pacing around, "Why can't I be on my own?"

"Because people don't want things to change." She tells the truth.

"What about what I want?" He stops to face her so she gets up to hug him and he holds her tightly.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Snow Angel

Criston's Version

I'll angel in the snow until I'm worthy but if it kills me, I tried.

Gwyane's Version ❄ Daemon's Version ❄ Aegon's Version ❄ Aemond's Version ❄ Jacaerys' Version ❄ Cregan's Version ❄ Criston's Verision

Cregan Stark x Reader | 900< | cw: fem!reader, dornish!reader, angry mob, angst, violence, death, typos, etc.

A/N: renee rapp my beloved. this was requested by an anon so anon i hope you see this and enjoy it <3

You remember distinctly how his hair bounced as he ran to your window. You remember distinctly the huffs that left his lips as he scaled up to your window. You remember distinctly the smile that blossomed on your lips as he handed you the fresh flower he picked.

Yet, it seemed nothing remained of what you remembered of him, to a point where you questioned if you remembered correctly at all.

Criston Cole strut about the Keep with his short hair and white cloak as though he was born here. There was an air of urgency about him and a sullenness to his expression. He spoke with a man, donned in similar attire as they march closer to you. You push your shoulders back and ready yourself to meet him.

You wait for him to stop, for him to see you and look as though he'd seen a ghost. He does not even look your way or notice you as he passes. You are taken aback, but brush it off; after all, you were kids when you last saw each other.

"Criston."

The man speaking to whom you called is the one that looks back. A beat later, so does he. His brows are furrowed, his jaw is clenched.

You offer him a smile, "duty becomes you... I think."

He tilts his head at your words and watches you link your fingers together. It takes him too many seconds too long to recognize you. Your smile chips by the time he says your name. He dismisses the man beside him and moves closer to you. Now that you are face to face, you find it a wonder to have recognized him at all.

How high he has soared from being some lowly boy who offered you flowers. For a moment, you swear his brown eyes soften the way it used once.

"I heard they have made you the Hand," you eye the necklace on him, "I think my father would rise from the dead if I told his grave." You chuckle softly, "though, he is more a lord of pride than anything else."

A faint line forms between his brows, "have you come to besmirch me?"

You pull your head back, "what?"

"Do you find Dorne so dull that you leave the peace there to behold the skirmish here in King's Landing?"

Your jaw slacks. You shake your head in disagreement. You reach for his cheek, "I do no such thing, sweetheart."

Criston reels then tenses at your touch. Still, you manage to place your palm upon his face. He looks as though he is fighting to keep the hardness on his face.

"I've come to see you. To wish you well."

His mask slips. You feel him slightly lean into your touch. He sighs, "it is not safe for you here. The city does not take kindly its Crown as of late. They've grown restless," he takes your hand and squeezes it, "you m-"

"Ser Criston."

The speed and harshness in which your hand is released nearly makes you lose your footing.

Criston turns around with the haste of a guilty criminal. You both turn to the red haired woman. He addresses her, "queen mother."

She approaches, hand gripping her emerald skirt. She stops a few feet before the two of you. She turns to you and you find yourself curtsying, "Queen Alicent."

She smiles politely and turns to Cole, "there is a matter I wish to discuss with you."

"I am your servant," he steps forward, bowing in regard.

"We may speak after your-"

"Our conversation is ended," Criston does not spare you a glance.

Alicent does not betray the blank expression on her face. She turns to you, eyes darting to your necklace, "you have come from Dorne, have you not?"

You nod, "indeed, your grace."

She looks back at him. Her lips twitch, "much effort has been taken by your friend-"

"She is not my friend," Criston cuts, deeply and surely. You are rendered frozen in your spot as he glances from over his shoulder, "I have instructed her to take her leave."

You feel as though the heat of your was being pulled out from your face. You lower your gaze and curtsy one last time before leaving without another word.

Criston watches as you retreat. He feels a twinge in his chest but he wills it away with a sigh. It is much harder to do so when Alicent begins to pick a fight over his unfeelingness.

You manage to retreat to your carriage and instruct your coachman to bring you back home. As you ride through the city, your embarrassment and sorrow almost make the cries of the peasants fall deaf to your ears. However, by then time you arrive at the city gates, it is impossible to ignore, especially not when your carriage begins get rocked.

You gasp and press your hands to walls to keep yourself upright. It takes only a few moments for you to realize exit was not being allowed to the town folk and your exemption was reason for their aggression. You begin to panic when you hear a loud cry from your coachmen, then from horses.

You hear guards threatening people, then suddenly, your door was ripped open.

They were upon you. In a second, tens of people had their hands on your body, ripping your dress, your hair, your being into shreds. You could not get away. City guards manage to grab hold of you but it did you more harm than good; they now battled for your helpless form.

The pain was searing; all you could do was scream.

Though the guards were eventually able to retrieve you, though you managed to be brought back to the Keep, though maesters saw to your shredded body, Criston was unable to wish you what you meant to wish him. You had let your final breath before he could visit.

He and Alicent light a candle.

[fatherforgivethem]

Are you, are you, comin' to the tree? Where they strung up a man, they say, who murdered three. Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be, if we met at midnight in the hanging tree…

Are you, are you, comin' to the tree? Where the dead man called out for his love to flee. Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be, if we met at midnight in the hanging tree…

(Thank you to @sidraofthewildflowers for plaguing me with this idea. The movie was bomb we need to see it again!)

[br0kenangel]

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

You were seated on a plush couch, your legs tucked beneath you, flipping through the pages of a book. The air was still, the only sound the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth.

Ser Criston stood nearby, his eyes trained on you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered. And to him, you were.

You could feel his gaze on you, the way it lingered on every movement you made, how it followed the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the way he studied the curve of your neck, the delicate line of your collarbone exposed by the low cut of your dress. You knew what he wanted, what he craved more than anything. You had always known.

And you reveled in it.

You looked up from your book, catching his eye with a sly smile. "Ser Criston," you called, your voice a soft purr that never failed to make him tense with anticipation. "Come here."

He hesitated for the briefest of moments before obeying, stepping forward with that measured, disciplined grace. He stopped in front of you, towering above where you sat, his expression as controlled as ever, but you could see the tension in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched as he waited for your next move.

You closed the book and set it aside, slowly uncurling your legs and rising your feet. You stood so close that you could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his body practically thrummed with unspoken desire.

"Ser Criston," you murmured, reaching out to trace a finger down the center of his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his tunic. "Tell me... what is it that you desire the most?"

His breath hitched, and you could see the conflict in his eyes-the war between his duty and the all-consuming need that you stirred in him. "You, my lady" he said, his voice low and strained. "I desire you."

You smiled at his answer, the same one he always gave, and yet it never failed to thrill you. "Is that so?" you asked, your tone light and teasing as your fingers danced lower, grazing the edge of his belt. "And what would you do if l gave you what you desire?"

He swallowed hard, his hands twitching at his sides as if fighting the urge to reach out and pull you closer. "Anything." he whispered, his voice rough with desperation. "I would do anything."

You leaned in closer, so close that your lips brushed against his ear as you spoke. "Anything?" you repeated, your breath hot against his skin.

He shuddered, his control slipping just enough for you to see the raw hunger in his eyes. "Anything," he rasped, his voice thick with need.

You let out a soft, almost mocking laugh, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "You poor, loyal hound" you purred, your hand sliding up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his lips. "So devoted, so willing to please... but do you ever wonder if l'm just playing with you?"

His breath came faster, his eyes darkening with desire. "I don't care," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't care if you are."

You smiled at that, a dark, knowing smile, and leaned in, pressing your lips against his in a kiss that was both tender and cruel. He responded immediately, his hands coming up to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him deepened the kiss, pouring all of his pent-up longing into it.

But just as quickly as it began, you broke the kiss, pulling back with a soft, breathless laugh as he let out a low, frustrated groan. "Easy, Criston," you teased, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "You wouldn't want to lose control, would you?"

He was breathing hard now, his eyes wild and filled with a desperate, almost maddening need. "Please," he whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of his desire. "Please, my lady... let me have you. Just this once."

You tilted your head, studying him with a look that was equal parts amusement and pity. "Oh, Criston," you sighed, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair, your touch gentle but laced with cruelty. "You know that can never happen. You're my sworn shield, my obedient dog. You're meant to serve, not to take."

His grip on your waist tightened, his knuckles white with the effort of holding himself back. "But I love you," he confessed, his voice raw and desperate. "I've loved you for so long..."

You felt a flicker of something deep inside一something close to pity, or perhaps guilt-but you quickly pushed it aside, focusing instead on the power you held over him. "I know' you whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against his again, just enough to drive him mad with longing. "And that's why you always stay right here, at my feet, ready to obey my every command."

He let out a low, anguished groan, his hands trembling as they gripped your waist, but he didn't push you away. He couldn't. He was trapped by his own devotion, his own obsession, and you knew that no matter how much you tormented him, no matter how much you dangled what he wanted just out of reach, he would never leave.

Because in the end, he was yours- completely, utterly yours.

You pulled back, a satisfied smirk playing on your lips as you looked up at him, your fingers still tangled in his hair. "Good boy" you purred, your voice dripping with mock affection. "Now, be a dear and fetch me some more wine."

His expression was a mix of anguish and resignation, but he obeyed, stepping back and bowing his head before turning to do as you commanded. You watched him go, a dark satisfaction settling over you as you reclaimed your seat by the fire.

And as the night wore on, you knew that

And as the night wore on, you knew that no matter how much you toyed with him, no matter how cruelly you twisted the knife in his heart, Ser Criston would always come back. Because for all his strength, all his honor and duty, he was hopelessly, irrevocably bound to you.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[shuichiakainx]

[sublimitymp3]

for yandere aemond, aegon, daemon and criston, maybe how do they deal with their love having a lover they are not willing to give up even after marriage? Thank you very much for time you are amazing👀❤

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Aemond fell in love with you instantly when you two met. He never particularly liked the idea of being wedded to someone he did not know, but once he saw your sweet face, his worries drifted away. However, he had noticed your reluctance and apprehension to be around him. He thought nothing of it, chalking it up to you having the same opinions of arranged marriages as he once did. Aemond was sure that by the time you two were wed, you'd warm up to him

He was extremely wrong.

You were never cruel or particularly cold to him, you just never gave him any affection or attention as he would. You would dodge his kisses, wipe the ones he did leave on your cheek off, and you treated him more like an acquaintance rather than a husband. He had noticed you would receive letters from time to time, keeping them close to you and being overtly protective of them, and how flustered you'd look after reading them. This only served to make him even more curious about their apparent special contents. One night, Aemond would find the little box where you had stashed the letters. Curiosity got the better of him, and he began reading the various pieces of parchment. A silent rage began to fill him as he discovered they were love letters, exchanged with someone from the Riverlands, your birthplace. He would burn each letter that night, hatching plans to separate you from this secret lover. He'd intercept each and every letter your lover would send to you, reading them with annoyance before burning them in the fireplace. He could see the emotional toll it was taking on you. Your lover had abruptly ceased their communications with you, with no explanation. You wondered if they had grown tired of you, or if they were incapacitated. You were growing sad, and Aemond was always there, though you tried your best to brush him off in hopes another letter would come for you. Eventually, when three months had passed and no new letter was sent, you'd come crying to Aemond, and he'd welcome you with open arms.

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Aegon adored you. You were everything he was not, dutiful, kind, and cheerful. He admired you, and he genuinely felt so much love for you, despite you not knowing each other for long. While you were always friendly towards your new husband, you never were quite affectionate with him. He would try to win you over, stealing kisses from you and spoiling you with lavish gifts. He tried for months it seems to charm you, but to no avail. It was clear you had no romantic interest in Aegon, and he found himself slipping into old habits.

It was a brisk night, the cold breeze causing most people to wear heavy cloaks made of wool. Aegon was drunk in some alehouse, drowning his sorrows in his cups. In his peripheral vision, he could've sworn he saw you, huddled in the corner with a large cloak draped over you, and with some man. But he brushed it off as his drunken mind playing tricks on him. He focused back on his cups, but he couldn't shake how similar that woman looked to you. He fully turned around, squinting his eyes in an attempt to clear his blurry vision. Once his eyes were focused and clear, he saw that it was indeed you, with another man. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head when he saw you sharing kisses and loving touches with this stranger. It finally started to make sense to him why you insisted on keeping your relationship with Aegon strictly platonic.

Aegon would go classic Yandere at this point. He'd confine you to your chambers so you wouldn't be able to meet this man anymore. He would probably have his more...sketchy acquaintances deal with the man, eliminating him completely. You would cry and plead with Aegon to just let you go, to allow you to continue to see your lover, but your attempts to sway him were futile. He'd kiss you, whether you liked it or not, and he'd breed you until he was certain you were pregnant, simply another way to keep you anchored to him. Aegon was never much of a patient man, but he'd gladly wait until you accepted him as your one and only love.

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Daemon was no stranger to marriage, having been wedded twice already, to Lady Rhea Royce and Lady Laena Velaryon. He was quite sad over the manner in which his second wife had died, and he had truly loved her. Though, he didn't show his sadness, preferring to keep up his appearance of indifference. But then, he couldn't help but let his eyes linger on you at her funeral. You were the daughter of a wealthy merchant who resided at Spicetown, and he was quickly smitten with you.

You were wedded to Daemon not long after, as your father was ecstatic when Daemon asked for your hand. Your father had considered it a great honor and blessing that a Targaryen prince had asked to wed you, and he didn't care to take your feelings into consideration when he accepted the offer. Daemon had observed you were rather closed off and reluctant toward him, but figured your apprehension was either due to how your father wedded you off like it was nothing, or maybe even his reputation as the "rogue prince." When you came to Daemon one day asking to visit Spicetown so you may see your father, he agreed. He wasn't going to keep you from the only family you had, and he somewhat enjoyed the seaside town and its simplicity. Once there, your behavior changed. You were acting a bit shifty, and you weren't even spending much time with your father, instead staying out and about, always disappearing off. Daemon decided to follow you one day, not caring if you discovered him and got angry at him for doing so. he watched you go to a pier, and talk with some fisherman. Maybe he was an old friend or a friend of your father's? But jealousy began to hinder his judgment, and even more so when he saw you kissing the man.

Daemon clearly thinks little of the consequences of his actions, and so he'd stride over, cutting the man down with Dark Sister. He'd drag you roughly by your wrist back to your father and have you say goodbye. Once back home, do not think your actions would go unpunished. Like Aegon, he'd lock you in your chambers, slowly taking away freedoms and making you dependent on him. He didn't care if you hated him, in time he'd make you understand his actions.

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Ser Criston had quickly taken notice of you, a new serving girl. You were always timid around him whenever he tried to make idle conversation, something he found adorable. As the queen's sworn shield there were not many times he could speak to you, but at night when he was posted outside her door, you would walk by, holding various cleaning supplies. Then he would stop you to make friendly conversation. Slowly but surely, he was falling in love with you.

One night, Ser Criston would stop you once more. You had assumed he would make more conversation with you, but you were surprised when he dragged you off. He would sneak you both out of the Red Keep and into the city, finding some drunken Septon and forcing him to wed you two. You were so in shock, that you barely protested, and you were now his wife.

Ser Criston was so fond of you, and how timid you continued to be around him. He had forsaken his vows just to be with you, and he would not so subtly remind you of this, in some way to guilt you into keeping quiet about your marriage. And you did feel guilty for having a lover when Ser Criston had risked his integrity and honor to be with you, but you didn't ask to wed him, and that was his own doing and of no fault of yours. One day, while Ser Criston was making his way to his own quarters for rest, he saw you stealing kisses with some lowly stable boy. After all he had risked to be with you, this is how you repaid him? No, Ser Criston wouldn't stand for it.

The next night, when you were approaching the hall where the queen's chambers resided, and where your dear husband was stationed, you noticed how...angry he looked. You would slow your footsteps down, dreading approaching him, but it was inevitable. He would roughly grab you when you finally were near, making you drop your cleaning supplies to the ground. He'd hold your face tightly with one hand, threatening your position as a serving girl, your only source of income. He would make you swear that you'd never see the stable boy again, lest something terrible should happen to him. All you could do was helplessly nod your head in agreement, and hope Ser Criston would spare you both.