#ser criston x reader

[vermithorn]

VERMITHORN’S 1K MILESTONE EVENT

CRISTON COLE + OVERSTIMULATION.

cw: nsfw, overstimulation (m!receiving).

note: first time writing for my man, i hope i get the chance to do it again <3 thank you for sending this! i want him fr. please participate on my event!

“Can you give me another?” You say sweetly, wiping the sweat of his forehead with the back of your hand. He looks up at you, breathing hard and his body twitching.

He thinks about it, his brown wide eyes on yours. He doesn’t want to, he’s tired and feel he’s gonna pass out in any minute, but he sees your sweet eyes looking down at him, hovering on his lap while he’s laying on the bed, he cannot say no to you.

“Yes, I can give you another.” He mutters, regretting his words instantly. You smile brightly at him, adjusting yourself on his thigh as your hand goes to his spent cock. His seed is all over his stomach, from coming all over himself over and over again.

Criston sighs, and violently shivers when your hand grabs the base of his cock, twitching slightly at your touch. “Show me your tits, I can get hard again.”

You roll your eyes, one hand on his cock and the other moving the strand of your dress down, your tits overflowing out, Criston gasps at the sight, gulping as you start stroking him.

He indeed gets hard again, fighting pleasure and pain, the skin of his cock raw and red. “Fuck, my lady.” He throws his head back into the pillows.

“You’re so good, this is exactly what I want from you, come on yourself again, for me?”

“Yes, my lady.”

[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.

[venusbyline]

𝑺𝑬𝑹 𝑪𝑹𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑵 𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑬 𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 ☙

❥ about me • main masterlist • HOTD masterlist

This masterlist will contain works about Criston Cole x female!reader, Criston Cole x female!OCs and some specific ships.

: ̗̀➛ REQUESTS: closed.

❥ PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!!! All possible triggers are always tagged.

❥ Many fics contain dark content/dead dove: do not eat, including dubcon or non-con.

❥ I DO NOT TOLERATE ANY LACK OF RESPECT AND ANON HARASSMENT. Spam and invasive asks about my dead dove fics will be blocked.

❥ I DO NOT ROMANTICIZE THIS BEHAVIOR IN REAL LIFE! This is just fiction.

❥ ONESHOTS reader inserts

Gift (smut, dark)

dark!Aegon x servant!reader x dark!Aemond x dark!Gwayne x dark!Criston

— summary: Your bravery to face King Aegon II would be admirable, at least if he did not humiliate you in front of his brother Aemond, his uncle Gwayne and Ser Criston.

[theurgists]

SER CRISTON COLE BRAINROT !

MDNI ! slight breeding kink.

jealous!ser criston does not like seeing you with other men. in fact, the mere thought of it has his fingers flexing — paling in color.

jealous!ser criston finds it immensely difficult to stay cemented to his position near your seat at the table, during nights of celebration where you’d be in the arms of another.

jealous!ser criston cannot and willnot let anyone stand too close to you if he deems them a threat. he claims that as your protector he has to be on guard, even if you both know that’s the highest of excuses.

jealous!ser criston gives you tight lipped smiles to suppress his mild annoyance ( and slight hopelessness ) at your public display of affection for others, forever wishing he could show every single lord and lady of the realms that you were his and he was yours.

jealous!ser criston never knew he could harbor such rage each time his jaw grows taut, chest tightening.

jealous!ser criston knows that interact and dally around as you may, he’d always be the one to warm your chambers when the moon cascaded over the hills and your sheets grew cold.

jealous!ser criston always wants to strip you bare. he enjoys the hitch in your breathing as his hands ghost over your skin as he takes his time to unlace each and every layer of fabric covering your form.

jealous!ser criston loves to mark you, especially on your stomach, your inner thighs — anywhere he can really. even-more-so when your quiet moans echo throughout your chamber.

jealous!ser criston likes to remind you who you belong to. not that you could ever forget, but hearing you say it aloud, between sobs of pleasure just makes his cock harden within his breaches.

jealous!ser criston takes his time with you. he adores the way you sigh when he hits that certain spot within you, the way his hands grip your hip bones to thrust further into you.

jealous!ser criston claims that if he could, he’d fill you with his seed, as it’d be a great joy to watch your belly swell with his child, to watch you raise a babe with a head full of dark curls.

and in truth, it’s something you too imagine when your eyes would wander to him, every single time without fail.

[ophelieverse]

“i was abed” yeah sure😒

[patheticdarling]

Her Sacrifice

Summary: The assassins had no such luck finding Prince Aemond but what were they to do when they stumbled upon the beloved wife of King Aegon instead? Her belly swollen with his heir.

Warnings: Blood & Cheese/murder/gore & blood/cursing/threats/blades/pregnancy/kidnapping/funeral/incest (reader is helaena's older twin)

Word Count: 2236

"The other lords will be accompanying me for a drink in the Throne Room. Shall you join us, Wife?" Aegon asked, a slightly eager smile on his face, anticipating your agreement.

You sighed as you began to undo the braids in your hair, "The hour is late, Husband. I must rest."

Aegon pouted, "Just a cup! We've attended to our royal duties all day, have we not earned a bit of respite?"

"Respite is what I shall get with a good night's sleep. Not drinking until sunrise with you and your comrades," you teased. You stood from seat at your vanity, walking over and placing Aegon's hand on your growing bump, "Besides, do you not wish for our babe to be born healthy? So that they may grow into formidable dragon riders like their parents."

He smiled softly at your belly before kissing it sweetly, "You make a good point, my dear. Mayhaps I should stay in with you."

You shook your head, smiling down at him, "Do not let me stop your fun. You are right. The King deserves his respite. Besides there may not be many more nights where we get to enjoy ourselves," motioning to your bump.

"You are going to make a wonderful mother," Aegon stood from his seat, "I shall allow you to enjoy your last moments of rest then." He planted a soft kiss on your lips, "I love you, Y/N."

You stroked his hair, "I love you, Aegon."

Aegon kissed you once more before giving your belly a playful squeeze and disappearing from your chambers. You summoned one of your ladies to help you finish getting ready for bed. Thanking her as you got yourself comfortable between the silk sheets of you and Aegon's bed. Finally bidding her good night as she blew out most of the candles, leaving a few on for Aegon's drunken return.

You could not be sure of the hour when you heard your chamber doors creak open followed by the shuffling of feet. You did not even bother opening your eyes, assuming you'd feel the bed indent as Aegon stumbled towards it.

"Back so soon?" you teased, "I was only being half serious about the sunset-"

Suddenly, a large hand clamped over your mouth. Your eyes shot open as two men loomed over you. You screamed and panicked as the larger man used his other arm to keep you pinned to the bed.

"Quiet!" the smaller man pulled a blade out, pressing it to your throat, "Unless you want me to bleed you like a pig."

You nodded, terrified of what these men could do, "W-Who are you? What do you want?"

"Its not our wants you should be concerned with, Your Grace."

"Who sent you? What do y-you want from me?" your voice shook.

"A life is owed. It wasn't supposed to be you. A son for a son we were told," the smaller man shrugged, "But it seems Prince Aemond isn't in the castle tonight."

Of course, you thought. This was about Lucerys. Your younger brother had taken the boy's life and that was a deed that could not go unpunished. You knew how deeply your eldest sister loved all of her children. The loss of one would be devastating. Taking Aemond's life made sense. But taking yours? And the life of your unborn child? That was not in Rhaenyra's nature. This was plotted by someone far more sinister and dark.

"My uncle sent you, didn't he?" you spoke up. They both sent stares to the other, "Daemon Targaryen. He sent you to kill one of us."

The large man scoffed, "Aren't you a smart one?"

"Shame those smarts won't do you any good now, will they?" the smaller one mocked.

"Please," you tried to beg, "Do not do this. No good will-" The large hand came down on your mouth again.

"That's enough," he grunted before turning back to the smaller man, "I'll hold her down and you cut."

Your blood ran cold at his words. Not only were they going to kill you but they were going to tortuously cut out your unborn child. They both yanked you further down the bed until you were flat on your back. You tried to kick, scream, bite, thrash as much as you could but the man proved to have almost inhuman strength. The smaller man raised his blade, that same sadistic grin plastered on his face before he began to dig it into the lower part of your abdomen.

White hot pain seared through your body as he continued to slice into you. Your vision was blurred with tears and you could have sworn your throat was raw from your cries. Though the pain was so intense that you could not process the sounds that might have been leaving you. Warm blood pooled all around you, the once ivory sheets now a deep crimson. One last gasp left you as they pulled your child from your body.

Suddenly you had remembered your mother telling you about the pains of childbirth when you first married Aegon and all anyone could talk about was you producing his heirs. She had a rather negative approach that utterly terrified you. So, you decided to find comfort in Rhaenyra's advice instead.

"I will not withhold the truth from you, it truly is the most excruciating pain a woman must go through."

You groaned, "That is not what I had wished to hear, Sister."

"You did not let me finish. The process is hard, yes. And you will feel the urge to curse the Gods or even your husband and swear to never bear anymore children," you both laughed, "But the moment you hear those sweet cries and your babe is placed upon your chest, the pain is forgotten. And nothing has ever seemed so worth it. Then you will know, right then and there, that you would do it all over again if it meant you could finally find that purest form of love."

And yet, you would never discover that beautiful feeling your sister had painted so clearly. The room was almost eerily silent besides the dripping of blood onto the stone floor.

"What do you know?" the man panted as he held your lifeless infant, "A son. Congratulations, my Queen."

You could not speak as you felt your body numb itself. Tears falling with no cries as they stuffed your son's body into a sack. It was as if you could feel your heart shatter. The men finished their sinister act before fleeing through a secret passageway. You tried little to fight the heaviness in your eyes. Perhaps this was all a horrible dream and if you shut your eyes, you'd open them to find yourself in bed with Aegon's arms wrapped securely around your belly. The last thing you could muster was a small smile at the sentimental image as your vision faded out completely.

"Sister?" Helaena called out into your bed chamber, "I did not wish to wake you but Aegon is being so loud and I cannot sleep with him-" Her voice caught in her throat at the sight of your mangled body lying on the bed. Your figure lifeless and your eyes vacant as you stared at the canopy. She approached your body, a shaky hand reaching out to touch your face to be met with utter stillness. Helaena backed out of the room slowly, tears flowing down her cheeks before sprinting to find some sort of help. As if anyone could undo what had already been done.

"I-I don't know what happened. I came in and she...she was..." Helaena's voice cracked with sobs as various people filed into the royal bed chamber; the Kingsguard, the Dowager Queen, the Hand, and lastly, your husband.

They all stopped at the sight before them, their eyes welling with tears and their stomachs churning. The Dowager Queen let out a heavy sob as all their attention turned to the King. Aegon approached your body cautiously.

He fell to his knees, his hands cradling your bloodied face as he sobbed, "My wife, my dearest-"

Nobody dared say a word as Aegon mourned over you. His sobs heavy with grief as he called out your name over and over again. The Queen Mother clutching Helaena's arm as they cried with him. The Kingsguard hanging their heads low in shame at their failure to protect their Queen. Otto Hightower, known to be quick with his word, said nothing.

The council meeting that followed was one full of dread and grief. Most of the council mourned, the Hand schemed, and the King could do not but curse the Gods and swear revenge.

"Your Grace, perhaps we should speak of the funeral arrangements for the Queen-"

"No," Aegon was quick to stop the Hand, who raised a brow at his grandson's denial, "I will not have my wife's body dragged through the streets like a dog!"

"Not dragged, honored!" Otto corrected him before lowering his tone as he spoke to the King, "Y/N was my granddaughter and I loved her. She deserves the funeral of a Targaryen princess, a Targaryen queen. The small folk wish to mourn their Queen and the heir she carried. And they need to know who is responsible for this."

Aegon's face twisted in disbelief, "How could they not already know?! Who else would do this save the bitch queen of bastards?!"

"We must know for certain, Your Grace," Lord Jasper suggested, "If it was not your sister, this may prove to be an even bigger threat to the crown, to you, my King."

Aegon scoffed, "I do not care what threatens me. My wife is dead. And my child," he stifled a sob, "That cunt did this, I know it. Her and her kingdom of traitorous bastards will burn for it."

Before anyone could speak, the doors of the council chamber opened as Lord Larys entered. He bowed meekly as all eyes turned to him.

"My lords, Your Grace," he greeted the council.

All stood still, "State your purpose, Lord Larys," the Hand spoke.

"We have apprehended one of the assailants. A gold cloak, known for his brutal nature. The guards caught him fleeing the Gate of Gods. He carried the child's body in a sack."

The King hardly wasted any time, stomping over to the doors, "I shall kill him myself."

"We might retrieve further information about who is to blame for this tragedy after questioning," Ser Criston stopped Aegon from leaving as Otto spoke, "I trust in your skill set, Lord Larys."

The Strong Lord bowed before exiting the room. All eyes turned once again to the King and his Hand.

"We will hold the service for both the child and mother-"

"I said no," Aegon grunted, "My wife and child will not be put on display for the Realm."

"Your Grace, we might use this to our advantage in the war you wish to march into. Your people need to know the depravity that Rhaenyra is capable of. The great houses of Westeros will see that she is not fit to rule given her cruel nature. They will flock to your side and with them, their armies and bannermen."

Aegon continued to shake his head. He could not just let them see you or your child like that. They did not deserve it.

"Mother," he turned to the Dowager Queen for support.

Alicent approached Aegon's chair, "The Hand sets on a difficult path, my darling, but it might be the right one."

The King could not muster anymore fight, "Have the Silent Sisters prepare the Queen and child for their journey. Behind them will be Princess Helaena and the Queen Mother."

"No, I do not wish to be a spectacle," Alicent argued but her father would not hear it.

Your husband visited your body as the Silent Sisters began to prepare it. They had cleaned the mess and dressed you in one of your favorite dresses, the emerald color complimenting your skin and hair.

"Your Grace, it is ill-fated to look upon the face of death," Maester Orwyle warned.

"That is not the face of death, Maester. That is my wife," Aegon spoke, "Leave me with her."

Maester Orwyle and the Silent Sisters bowed before leaving the King with your body. He softly stroked the hair from your face as he broke into sobs once again.

"I am so sorry, my love," he cried, "I-I should have been there to protect you. And our son." Maester Orwyle had informed His Grace that the child you carried was a prince, a perfect heir, "You truly would have been the most wonderful mother. You were already a perfect wife and Queen. Motherhood would have come naturally."

Aegon recounted how well you did with Rhaenyra's last two babies, the ones she had with his uncle Daemon. As much as he did not care for his half-sister, he knew you did. Always quick to defend her, even against your own family. So, he was forced to ask himself, how could she do this to you? To your child?

"They will pay for what they have done," your husband muttered to you, "I will win this war. I will win it for our child. I will win it for you. With fire and blood. Your sacrifice will not be for naught, my Queen."

[shuichiakainx]

🤟😂🖤

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere Team Green w/ traumatized reader—

Yandere Alicent: "It's okay, sweetheart; you're safe. You don't need to dissociate. No one is going to yell or put their hands on you ever again—as long as you listen. Listening is very important."

Yandere Aemond and Aegon in the next room over.

Yandere Aemond: "You are an imbecile. They refused to talk to anyone except for Helaena until today! You took that as a chance to grope them, you perverted fuck!"

Yandere Aegon: "You're just mad they like me better. They have never let you grope them."

Yandere Aemond: "They didn't let—You know what? When darling chooses me over you, you'll know why. At least I know my limits."

Yandere Aegon: "I have had that same expression on my face many nights. Whores and wine always soothed it. They'll come to appreciate my ways of helping them."

Yandere Criston Cole waiting outside the door, listening to Aegon and Aemond's conversation so he can report it back to Queen Alicent.

Yandere Criston Cole: "If you weren't the king and the son of the queen, I swear to the gods, your head would be at their feet right now."

Yandere Helaena standing in the corner, knowing that darling likes her the best because she shows them her bugs and respects their boundaries.

[thekinslayed]

This Heaven Gives Me Migraine

summary | The revelation of your betrothed's involvement with your half-sister sends you straight into Criston's arms. Harwin is shown what he has been missing out on.

pairing | criston cole x legitimized bastard!reader x harwin strong

tags | 18+, minors dni, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), oral sex (m), cuckolding, threesome, Harwin's monster cock, daddy issues if u squint, reader is loosely based on shiera seastar

wordcount | 4.6k

note | lmao this gif is the only one i've found of them in the same frame 😭 don't ask how old anyone is, idk either <3

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

song rec | Natural's Not In It - Gang of Four

(dividers by @zaldritzosrose)

When Lyonel Strong offered his son Harwin to the Princess Rhaenyra, King Viserys merely laughed in his face, stating his son was not good enough for his heir. He was, however, good enough for you, the king’s legitimised bastard. The King sired you with a Lyseni woman, whom he was introduced to by his brother Daemon and his then-lover Mysaria. That night was merely a lapse in his judgement, he had let his cock hold authority over his head. The King was determined to erase any evidence of his wrongdoings by having you sent to the Sept, but then, your mother had died, and the young queen Aemma could not find it in her heart to send a babe like you away. You were taken in a year before Rhaenyra was conceived, having served as the Queen’s temporary comfort when she struggled to produce an heir. It was the will of the good queen to have you legitimised, though despite being formally named a Targaryen, you felt like an outsider in your own family. 

You had all your father’s Valyrian features, but only half the love he bore for your half-sister Rhaenyra. In some ways, you understood. You were the walking reminder of Viserys’ mistakes, and the King was adept at pretending you were invisible. The thought did little to quell the hurt in your chest as you longed for an ounce of attention Viserys bestowed on Rhaenyra.

However, you made this work in your favor. With the order of succession having skipped you, all the attention was on your younger sister. This allowed you more freedom, you took on numerous lovers, dabbled in creating potions and elixirs, and flew across the realm on your dragon as much as you wished. You grew more distant from Rhaenyra as you enjoyed the joys that came with your autonomy, while she held the pressure of being the King’s heir.

Despite the pleasures you had freely taken for yourself, you were still a princess with duties to uphold. And so, your hand was offered to Ser Harwin, as a gesture of good faith with the Strongs.

You liked Harwin. Good, honourable Harwin. He was courteous, a man of good breeding. He would clutch your hand at his elbow when you walked through the gardens, listening to every single detail you shared. His sweet words often rendered you blushing like a maiden, tugging on your heartstrings in a way no man ever had. You would often find him awaiting you in the Dragonpit when you returned from your flights, a kiss planted upon the back of your hand when you approached him. With some convincing, you would succeed in persuading Harwin back to your chambers some nights, where you sat upon his lap, grinding on his thigh while he claimed your lips. Nothing more, of course. 

“We cannot, princess. Not yet,” he would whisper, stopping you from taking things any further, much to your frustration. You were dying of curiosity to learn what he was like in bed. Surely, the name Breakbones didn’t only apply to his physical prowess on the battlefield. On the nights he would be away with the City Watch, a fresh vase of flowers would always be sent from him, awaiting you on your nightstand. 

And when Harwin was away, you would find yourself in Criston’s arms.

Your trysts with the Kingsguard started not long after Rhaenyra sent him away from her midst with a broken heart. He was but a dog with his tail stuck in between his legs when you had set your eyes on him. At first, you were apprehensive about taking what you thought were your half-sister’s scraps, but it did not take long for you to realize you had struck gold. Criston fucked, hard. He would take you with an air of desperation in his thrusts, as though you would disappear once he failed to satisfy you. The knight was eager to please, taking you any way you liked, however many times you wanted to. The maester was surely suspicious about how frequently you requested for moon tea on the mornings following your nights with Criston, but you made sure to remind him of your knowledge of the whores he would sneak into the Keep for his own debauchery, something your father would surely not appreciate. 

You should be thankful for Rhaenyra, really. If it weren’t for her, you wouldn’t be lost in the dizzying haze of your nights with Criston, free to claim him as you wish, while she carried her and Laenor’s first. Hells, even Alicent didn’t mind you whisking away her sworn shield the second he was relieved of his duties. While no plans about your marriage to Harwin were set yet, you enjoyed your last bits of freedom with your lover, while imagining the moment you would finally be claimed by the Strong knight in your marriage bed.

Your brows furrowed as you stared at the babe that lay in the cot. Beside you, your father cooed, tickling the boy’s nose with his fingertip. Pale skin, brown hair. How in the Seven Hells did this happen? Your eyes met that of Alicent’s, who held the same glint of confusion in her big, round eyes. 

You flashed Rhaenyra and Laenor a fake smile as the King showered them with praises for producing an heir. Words of good wishes fell from your lips, to which the couple responded with their gratitude. The babe stirred from the voices surrounding him, opening his eyes to reveal a vivid blue. 

No.

It couldn’t be.

You’ve heard of the whispers circulating in court about your sister and your betrothed, though you had paid them no mind. The lords and ladies often had little to do to entertain their boring lives which often resulted in forming insipid rumours about the royal family. Once, they had speculated you bathed in blood to preserve your beauty, which you only scoffed at in response. You had only turned five and twenty! 

But this… this was hard to deny.

You left your half-sister’s chambers with the Queen, speaking in hushed whispers as you both walked through the halls while Ser Criston trailed behind you. “I cannot believe this! Do you think…” Alicent trailed, careful with her words as she looked at your troubled expression. 

“My sister, s-she… She would never bring such shame upon my name. Wouldn’t she?” You asked, turning to both Alicent and Criston. Your shoulders sagged when they said nothing but only exchanged doubtful looks. A pit formed in your stomach at the realization.

“It is too soon to say, dear girl. Do not fret, the truth will reveal itself soon, yes?” Alicent reassured you, rubbing your shoulders comfortingly. 

The truth did, in fact, reveal itself during the feast celebrating the birth of Rhaenyra’s heir. Jacaerys Velaryon, future King of the Seven Kingdoms. You were sat beside young Aegon, who looked unamused by the whole affair. You felt him tug at your sleeve, making you lean down. “Why does he have brown hair?” He asked.

“I am not quite sure, my sweet, but don’t you think he has his father’s eyes?” You said, smiling at him sweetly. When he merely shrugged his shoulders, you caressed his silver head of hair, before directing your gaze to the crowd, unconvinced by your own words.

While the lords and ladies cheered for the introduction of the babe to the court, you watched your betrothed. His eyes lit up with joy, shimmering blues under the light of the Great Hall, though they were not looking at you. His gaze was directed at your sister who sat beside your father. 

Your chest panged with hurt, your jaw ticked in anger at this shameless display. You turned your head to meet Rhaenyra’s gaze, which met yours for a second, before looking away to avoid your sharp stare. A scoff left your lips, rising from your seat to leave the Great Hall. The sound of your shoes shuffling against stone echoed through the empty halls as you returned to your chambers, slamming the door behind you. 

A cup of wine was poured in haste, and your shaky hands brought it to your lips, chugging its contents down. You slammed the cup back down onto the table, before pouring yourself another. Some herbs were crushed and added to the cup of red, with the hopes of soothing your aggravated state. Behind you, you heard the sound of your door opening, followed by quiet footsteps and the clinking of metal.

“Princess,” You heard him say. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked, not facing the man who stood by your door. “I came to make sure you were alright,” he responded softly. Your head dropped as you sighed, your ringed fingers clutched the end of the serving table, weight leaning on the wood.

“How could they do this to me? My own sister, my future husband?” you trembled with anger. A gloved hand clutched your elbow, prompting you to turn around to meet the Dornishman’s gaze.

Criston looked at you with worry while you shook your head, an incredulous laugh leaving your lips. “Gods, what a fool I am.” 

“Don’t say that,” he interjected, frowning at your words.

“But I am,”you asserted, stepping away from him to walk towards the chaise with the cup of wine in your grip. “Fucking Harwin. I let him convince me what an honourable man he is, what a fine husband he would make,” you grumbled before you took a big swig from your cup. Criston silently listened, standing with his hands clutched together at his back. “I could care less if he took another to bed, the gods know I am not innocent of that either,” you pointed out, to which your lover gave you a look.

“But my own sister,” you fumed, tone heavy with incredulity. “What will the court say of this? Of me?”

A silence passed through the room, the only sound being the crackling of the hearth. After a moment, Criston took a step towards you, tugging off his gloves.

“Do you love him?” he asked, making you turn towards him. You pondered on his words. Though you bore good feelings for the Gold Cloak, it was too soon to call it love, and after this debacle, you could hardly consider him worthy of your affection. 

“No,” you answered with conviction, your gaze upon Criston unwavering. “Not with the utter humiliation the birth of this bastard shall bring me.”

The hard metal of his armor is cool against the skin of your back as your knight pressed his front against your clothed behind. He dipped his head to kiss the exposed skin of your shoulder, nuzzling his face into the base of your neck. The stubble on his face tickled, his familiar scent wafting into your senses as you leaned your head against his.

“He is not worthy of you, none of them are,” Criston rasped. His hands slithered to embrace your waist, a sigh leaving your lips when you finally relaxed into his arms. “Harwin is an imbecile, blind to his fortune of having the most beautiful woman in the realm promised to him.”

A breathless chuckle left your lips at his words. You turned in his arms to face the knight, cupping his stubbled jaw to stare into his eyes. 

“You are so good to me,” you tell him, nudging your nose against his. Criston’s heart thumped against his chest, and for a moment he worried you would hear it knock against the metal of his chestplate. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against yours.

Oh, the things he would do to make you all his.

Criston hated sharing, especially with that dolt Strong. If he could, he would take you away from all of this madness, and fulfill the promise of a life of freedom and love. But he cannot let himself hope, not again.

“I would do anything for you, my princess,” Criston whispered lowly, a kiss planted to the skin of your wrist to seal his vow. 

“Anything?”

“Yes, yes. Anything, ask and it shall be done,” he affirmed, looking at you with sincerity in his eyes. Your heart warmed at his words, his unwavering loyalty to you something you feel completely undeserving of. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t spent many nights imagining what life would be like with Criston as your husband. Rhaenyra had told you of his promise of taking her away to Essos, for a simple life forged with love. Your sister thought the prospect entirely ridiculous. But you, you could do it. There was little keeping you here, no father who gave you love, no duty to tie you down, no throne to bleed you dry. But you cannot, not yet at least. The moment shall present itself in the future, this you knew in your heart. And when it does, you shall ask Criston to go with you and you shall never look back. For now, you settled with planting a kiss on his lips. 

“I do not ask for much, just you,” you said against his lips. He cupped your chin to pull you back against his lips, deepening the kiss as his tongue pried your mouth open. “You have me,” he breathed out.

Kissing turned into gnawing as Criston all but devoured your mouth. You fumbled to undo the knots holding up his breastplate. One by one, you both worked to remove his armor, the metal plates falling on the fur carpet with a soft thud. Now clad in only his gambeson and breeches, your lover pulls you to his chest, relishing in the giggle that left you as you found your way to your bed. 

He sat on your bed, turning you around to quickly undo the laces of your gown. Once the dress fell and you were clad only in your shift, Criston pulled you into his lap, your thigh caging one of his, arms snaked around his neck. You ran a hand through his recently shortened locks, biting your lip as he regarded you with a lovestruck look.

“I told you it would look better shorter,” you commented, earning a rare smile from the usually reserved knight. Your lips captured his once more, tongues twisting against each other. His large hand cupped your breast, earning him a moan. The neckline of your shift is pushed down to reveal your chest, your nipples pert against Criston’s breath as he nuzzled his face into the plump flesh. Another moan escaped you when he took one of your tits into his mouth. A gush of arousal dripped from your core as your lover played and toyed with your mounds of flesh, your hips ground against his thigh mindlessly. Throwing your head back in delight, you blindly reached down to find the lace of his breeches, haphazardly untying them to dip your hand to stroke his cock. He groaned against your breast as you started to touch him, dragging your hand up and down his hardened length. Your hips continued to ground against his muscular thigh, smearing your essence on the fabric of his trousers. Your jaw fell open as he lifted his thigh higher, directing you to the edge of his knee. A whimper left you when your pearl rubbed deliciously against his kneecap, grounding your hips harder into his leg as the coil in your core threatened to snap. A chorus of grunts and whines echoed through the room as you both chased release. Criston’s hips started to thrust into your hand as you stroked him in rhythm with your grinding. The growing heat in your belly indicated how close you were to the precipice, hips growing desperate as you hurled yourself to the end. Before you were thrown over the edge, however, the door to your chambers flew open, and Harwin’s hulking figure entered. 

“What is the meaning of this?” His voice boomed, blue eyes widened after having caught you and Criston in such a precarious position. You hid your surprise at his intrusion, turning to face Harwin but made no move to rise from Criston’s lap.

“What right do you have to barge into my chambers, Ser Harwin?” you reprimanded, looking at your betrothed angrily. Blue eyes raked from your exposed chest down to where your hand disappeared in Criston’s pants. The Gold Cloak gulped, before straightening up to meet your displeased gaze. 

“You disappeared from the feast, princess, I was sent here to fetch you. I heard noises from the hall, I thought you were…” he trailed off, eyes shifting to Cole who had a smug look on his face. Harwin’s fists clenched as the urge to smash the Dornishman’s face threatened to overwhelm him. You scoffed at your betrothed, pulling away from Criston to rise to your feet.

“You need not worry about me, Ser, so please, leave us,” you ordered, earning an incredulous look from the taller man.

“I am not leaving you with him! This is the most improper,” he contended, standing his ground. Your eyebrows raised at his words, a smirk on your lips rose upon hearing him. 

“You are one to lecture me on what is and what isn’t proper. Tell me, don’t you have other pressing matters to attend to? Your newborn son, perhaps?” you questioned. Harwin glared at Criston when he snickered at your words, before turning to you with an apologetic look.

“Princess, you have to understand, I did not intend to–”

“No? What, did your cock just accidentally found its way into my sister’s cunt? Spare me the excuses, Harwin, I have no need for them,” you seethed. Harwin reached out to you, but you stepped away from him before he could hold you. His eyes flickered to where Cole still sat on your bed, then back to you. “I am not leaving,” he repeated, standing his ground.

“Fine, watch then,” you ordered, turning around to walk back to your lover. You resumed your previous position in Criston’s lap, cupping his face in your hands. You stared at each other, communicating silently. The knight’s contempt of your betrothed was something you were aware of, and you did not wish for this to evolve into something messier than it already was. Criston was the one to smash his lips onto yours, taking you by surprise. A low moan left you at the familiar taste of him against your lips. 

Criston ordered you to rise, which you obeyed, pulling your shift off as you did so. The knight turned you around, facing your bare body to your betrothed who still stood by the door. Harwin’s eyes visibly darkened at the sight of you, blue orbs trailing down your naked flesh. Heat stirred deep within you, cheeks warming at the hungry look in his gaze.

“Best make yourself comfortable, Strong,” Criston spoke up, a mischievous glint in his eye. The hands on your waist urged you to sit back down on his lap, spreading your thighs wide to give Harwin a good view. Your betrothed settled on the chaise faced directly to your bed. You caught how he visibly gulped at the sight of your weeping slit. Criston’s fingers lowered to circle your pearl, a gasp emitting from your lips at his touch. 

“Princess,” Harwin started. He fidgeted in his seat, his crotch was starting to strain in his trousers uncomfortably.

“Sit still and be quiet, Harwin,” You commanded, followed by a whine that reverberated from your chest. Criston dipped a finger into your core, groaning when your rear squirmed against his bulge. You started to pant when his middle finger started to fuck you in earnest, eyes fluttering when the pad of his finger rubbed on a particular spot in a way that made your toes clench. Both your hands gripped his muscular bicep when a second finger entered your cunny, filling you in a way your fingers never could.

“This is where your mistake is, Strong. You’ve gone around other women’s beds when you have denied yourself to indulge in what could have been all yours. See how well she takes my fingers?” Criston chided, smirking at the glaring man. His fingers continued to thrust in and out of you, scissoring and rubbing your clit simultaneously with his thumb. Harwin’s fists gripped the armrests of the chaise tightly, almost to the point of breaking. He would have shot up from his seat to drag Cole to the floor if it weren’t for the desperate moan that echoed from you. You paid little attention to whatever was going on between the men, focusing on chasing your release. Your eyes locked on Harwin’s, gaze staying on him as you spilt around Criston’s fingers. Your mouth fell into an ‘o’ while your thighs shook from the weight of your climax. 

As you chased your breath, you pulled away from Criston’s lap to rise on wobbly legs to walk to where Harwin sat. His icy blues were glossy against the blaze of the hearth, jaw slightly agape when you stood in front of him. Your hand cupped his jaw, making him tilt his head upwards.

“Will you be good?” you asked, still breathless. Your betrothed wordlessly nodded, letting you grab his hand to lead him to your bed. Criston stared at you questioningly, opening his mouth to voice his defiance. You give him a look, giving no room for argument. The loyal dog that he is, the knight obediently stood up from your bed to stand off to the side. 

You ordered Harwin to clean you up with his mouth. He obliged all too eagerly, licking and slurping up your essence with a wet smack. Your eyes rolled back to the back of your skull, humming in delight. You gripped his curls, they felt soft in your palms, in contrast to the rough beard rubbed in between your thighs. Your head turned to the side, and your eyes met Criston’s, who still stood frowning like a kicked dog. You reached out an arm to beckon him over. When he was close enough, your fingers reached for the laces of his breeches to pull out his still-hardened cock. You begin to pump his length, rubbing at his flushed tip with your thumb. Criston threw his head back and groaned, hips canting forward to chase your touch. With Harwin still devouring your cunt diligently, it took little time for your second release to overwhelm you. Your thighs caged his head, and the pace of your hand on Criston’s length faltered. 

When Harwin stood up from his knees, your eyes fell to the bulge straining tightly against his breeches. You allowed him to unlace them, eyes widening at his massive cock. His tip was flushed red, almost purple. The cockhead wept a clear liquid, a sight that made your mouth water. 

Seven Fucking Hells.

Your eyes shifted between both men and an overwhelming wave of desire washed over you, tainting you red from your cheeks down to your chest. Looking back to Harwin, you watched as he slowly stroked his cock, eyes silently asking. 

“You better fuck me like you mean it, Strong,” you said, eyes hungry.

“You won’t wish for another man’s cock after tonight, princess. This I promise you,” he vowed, an air of arrogance now present as his eyes shifted to Cole who scoffed. 

“I wouldn’t be so confident, Ser, not when she aches for mine every night,” the other knight retorted. Your eyes rolled at their display, cunt achingly waiting for either man to stop whining about their cocks and fill you with one of them. 

“Well, so far one princess has already taught mine better than yo-”

“Enough,” you cut them off, huffing. You positioned yourself to your knees, awaiting who would start fucking you first. 

Criston shoved Harwin out of the way, slipping his cock in before the taller man could protest. A whine left your lips at the familiar stretch, a dull pain so delicious. Criston gave you little time to adjust, thrusting into you brutally. He had a point to prove, and you were responding to him beautifully. You fisted the fine sheets, moaning unabashedly from the way your lover abused your cunt. 

You barely registered Harwin standing on the side of your bed, his cock standing tall and proud against his taut abdomen. You lifted yourself to take him in your mouth, sucking in as much as you could. His cockhead hit your uvula with barely half of his length in your mouth, a slight gag squeezing his tip. Your hand stroked whatever length couldn’t fit, pleasuring him in tandem with your mouth. Moans vibrated on his cock, causing Harwin to groan loudly. Behind you, Criston’s pace never faltered. Your body jerked from how hard he was thrusting into you, your walls squeezing him as another wave of release threatened to wash over you. 

You took your mouth off of Harwin’s length when your third climax had you whining like a wanton whore. Your hand slapped on his abdomen to ground yourself, and your nails dug into his pale skin. Your release triggered Criston’s, the Kingsguard letting out a broken moan as he spilt into your walls. 

You barely get a moment’s reprieve to recover when your cunt is filled once more. Harwin grunted as he took his turn with you, your oversensitive walls still pulsing from your last orgasm. You bit your lips hard at the delicious stretch, his cock filling you differently than Criston’s. His thrusts were short and hard, and his tip kissed your cervix in a way that made your eyes squeeze shut. Curses fell from your lips, tears beading at the corner of your eyes. You moaned out his name in a sob, before pressing your forehead into the mattress to quiet your moans. The noise in your chambers could equal that of a brothel, no doubt able to arouse suspicion in whoever would have the misfortune of passing by. You were a babbling mess, the amalgamation of all the ways you had been ravished by both men robbing you of your usual wit and headstrong demeanor. You felt Harwin grab your wrist, pulling it back towards him to lift your body at an angle. His cock hit you even deeper than before, your ridged walls squeezing him so tight it made it difficult for him to move. Another peak was ripped from you, the hardest one yet. You fell forward onto your mattress, completely boneless. Your mind barely registered the warm spurts of Harwin’s seed that painted your back, lost in the dizzy haze of your pleasure.

When morning came, a cup of freshly brewed moon tea and a bright arrangement of flowers greeted you when you awakened. The memories of the night tainted your cheeks red, the delicious throb of your core the only evidence of what had occurred. Harwin felt a weight lifted off his shoulders when you allowed him to accompany you for your morning walk in the gardens, any previous contempt for him discarded, for now. What he did was still unforgivable, but if you were to marry, you wished for no ill will to taint your union. 

As for Criston, your nights with him were unaffected, though he did seem to fuck you even harder than before. He had even gone so far as to give Harwin a cordial nod when they trained.

​​Perhaps he should lay off on Strong for a while, a silent truce, if you will. He had you, and that was what mattered most to him. He held his tongue from spitting out his usual nasty remarks about the heir’s brown-haired firstborn and his stark resemblance to the Gold Cloak. Everything was peaceful, good, even, especially with the new arrangement that benefit all three of you.

That peace, however, did not last long, for a year after Jacaerys’ first nameday, the Princess Rhaenyra gave birth to yet another brown-haired babe, Lucerys.

[ireneispunk]

How They Hold You x HoTD Men

i saw these photosets and could NOT refuse! so here are the HoTD men and how (i imagine) they would hold you included: aemond, daemon, jacaerys, aegon, criston cole, harwin strong

+bonus

[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!

[rottenfyre]

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.

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Waters

summary: Your existence is an insult to the woman you serve, Alicent Hightower. As Viserys Targaryen's bastard, you should not be serving his lawfully wedded wife - and Ser Criston knows this. Still, he can't seem to stay away...

notes: criston cole x targ!bastard!reader (reader is the daughter of viserys, but not one of his wives bc I am a viserys hater at each turn and opportunity) ALSO criston is extremely mean in this for no reason lmao

tagged: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @levithestripper @cookielovesbook-akie  @a-beaverhousen @hightowhxre @dahlias-and-marigolds (msg me to be added/removed)

masterlist | based on this request

In all truth, Ser Criston scared you. Queen Alicent, whom you served as a handmaid, may have cherished her protector, but to you, he was a terrifying shadow, one that judged you for your birth whenever your eyes met.

You were putting away the queen’s jewellery when he practically appeared behind you.

“Are you stealing, Waters?” the kingsguard snapped. You jumped, dropping the Queen’s favorite ring. Quickly, you picked it up, placing it back to its rightful place.

“No, ser. I was only… I only needed to clean this for the morrow.” You stuttered. Criston scoffed behind you, a firm hand gripping onto your shoulder.

“You are a disgrace to the Queen’s household.” He snarled, his voice right at your ear. You shuddered, only ever nodding. You knew that you were a thorn in her eye, a servant that also served as a reminder of her husband’s infidelity. But you’d never chosen where you were. If you could, you would have left King’s Landing with your half-brother, Daeron.

“Apologies, ser.” You finally said. “I shall take my leave.”

For a moment, you were stupid enough to believe that Ser Criston would let you leave. It was only when he blocked the door that your stomach dropped. He smirked down at you, white armor and Dornish beauty making him a sight to behold.

You hated that it made you blush, your head fuzzy,

“Bastard.” He spat. You tried to shift around him, but he never let you, instead pinning you to the wall next to the door. “Did you steal something?”

You shook your head quickly, feeling tears prick at your eyes.

“I shall not ask again.” Criston said, his next words punctuated. “Did you steal something, Waters?”

“No.” you replied. “I swear it.”

The pressure on you relieved itself a little bit, and you took a small breath of relief.

“Perhaps next time, I shall search you.” Criston mumbled idly. You said naught in return, ignoring the thought of I don’t know if I’d mind that all that much.

Your eyes flickered to his lips, and lower, almost automatically. Quickly, you looked back up at his face, before giving a small curtsy. You prayed he hadn’t noticed.

“And what would you be looking at now?” Criston asked. You didn’t answer, didn’t dare, until Criston tipped your face upwards, forcing you to look at him.

“Speak, girl.” He spat. There was so much rage in his eyes, so much anger that you felt yourself crumble, your throat dry as you answered.

“I was looking at your lips, ser.”

Criston laughed cruelly, his hand tightening around your jaw almost painfully.

“Would the little bastard girl like to kiss me?” he asked. You never answered. It had been beaten into you by septas. If you’d lied, you were just like all other bastards. Your silence was enough, and Ser Criston smiled at you so coldly that you wished you could disappear.

It surprised you when he kissed you, but not that his kiss was methodical, devoid of love or affection. And yet, you craved it so much that you leaned into it, allowing his hand to ruck up your skirts and grab your thighs as he pleased.

As his hand travelled up your smallclothes, you were suddenly reminded of the fact that Alicent, your Queen, the woman your father had humiliated, the most powerful woman of the Seven Kingdoms was asleep in the room next to you.

“Please, Queen Alicent is-“ you began, but Criston shushed you.

“You’ll have to shut your mouth.” He said simply. As he dropped to his knees, you closed your eyes, knowing that he wasn’t doing this to pleasure, but to humiliate, to degrade you. As his kisses, this was cold too, but Gods was it good.

Your hand flew to your mouth, covering it in hopes of stopping any sounds from escaping. When a whimper left you, Criston paused, his fingers sinking into you as he looked up at you from his spot on the ground.

“Shut your mouth, you slut.” He insulted, and despite the feeling of humiliation in your gut, you nodded, closing your eyes shut and pressing your hand to your mouth, praying to the Gods that it would be enough.

Criston’s tongue lapped at you, and if you didn’t know better, you would have said that he felt like a starving man trying to sustain himself from just you. Gods, he was good, too good for a bloody kingsguard, and he was doing it all to humiliate you.

Ser Criston was out to get you, to leave you alone in the dark, and the both of you knew it. His hand returned to your thigh, squeezing it tightly, running down your skin and making you feel cherished while the dark look in his eyes did the exact opposite.

Your free hand slowly, cautiously, touched his hair. Carefully, you let your fingers twist into his dark curls, pushing him down to where you needed to be. Had he sprung up and murdered you in that moment, you wouldn’t have been surprised.

He would have done exactly what you expected of him.

Instead, Criston only laughed at your desperation, the hum of his voice making you squirm under his grip. Criston took that as a sign, pushing you further onto your queen’s vanity, skirts rucked up to your waist and cunt exposed to him.

If anyone, guards or the queen walked in in this moment, you were absolutely, royally fucked. Not even your father would attempt to save you then, not that he had ever cared about you all that much to begin with.

Your orgasm washed over you with a cruel intensity. It built itself too quickly, Criston’s movements harsh and unforgiving, and when he pushed you over the edge, it made you feel as if you were truly falling. Your hand still over your mouth, you could feel yourself beginning to truly bite down on it as he kept on going.

Stars exploded behind your eyes, but instead of focusing on how you felt, your only thought was that you could not let the queen hear, could not alert the guards, make any sound at all. Perhaps, if your brain had not turned to mush the second Ser Criston had pushed you up against the wall, you would have told him to stop now.

Of course, there was no guaranteeing that he actually would have stopped. Somewhere in the back of your mind, that thought thrilled you, too.

And when you fell over the  edge, Criston kept going, spurring your pleasure on until it became to much and you tried to scramble away from him on the small vanity space that the Queen usually occupied. Your heart dropped as one of her rings fell to the ground, the sound of it making it seem like the loudest thing in the entire world.

Your heart thumped, waiting for the worst to happen. Instead, Criston paused his assault, sneering at you.

“Dumb whore, watch what you’re doing.” He said, and you looked down, ashamed. The folds of your rumpled skirt only served as a reminder as to what exactly you were doing.

“What, don’t have anything to say for yourself?” Criston asked. Your silence seemed to enrage him just as much as when you spoke, and he stood in front of you. Traces of you glistened on his face in the dark, your thighs already aching from his grip, but it seemed that this was not enough for him.

“Get on the floor.” He commanded. You could have left now, made a run for it for somewhere where guards would think that you hadn’t done anything yet, that it was the kingsguard who was dishonouring you, and not you yourself.

Of course, they still probably would have let it happen, but at least, you only would have been sent away from court with rumours following you.

Yes, you could have left. Yet, your feet planted themselves to the ground, frozen there, and you remained, staring at Criston with the smallest bit of defiance. It crumbled under his cold gaze, and you felt yourself dropping to the ground for him.

He didn’t even have to ask you to open your mouth for him, and so, it was your own mind that taunted you for it. His hand threaded through your hair almost gently, slowly guiding you before he picked up a quicker pace. His cock hit the back of your throat, and you gagged around it, but he seemed to relish that feeling, too.

It appeared as if he got bored with you like this, though. Perhaps he was used to seeing you in such positions of servitutde, kneeling for your queen to straighten out her dress, doing anything and everything to please the people around you like the loyal bitch you were. Just like now.

Criston’s hands wrapped around your hips, holding you in place as he bent you over. Your own hands scraped against the wooden floor, trying to find some sort of stability as you tried to find something to anchor you between the ache in your knees that came with kneeling, your pleasure and the absolute humiliation that only served to make your pussy drip even more.

He entered you without warning, and though you had felt his size in your throat just moments before, it still punched the air out of you as he sheathed himself in your cunt. There was a stretch, though you were ready, and though you thought you’d been prepared, but the sting of it still made you bit your lip in an attempt to stay quiet.

One hadn remained on your hip while the other, his swordhand, the one he used to kill, wrapped around the back of your neck Calmly, Criston pushed your head down to the floor, and there was no need to humiliate you verbally, his actions were enough entirely.

Slowly, he began to move, the hand around your hips moving down to your clit, an arm keeping you locked in place. There was nowhere to run, and, even if Alcient herself had walked into the room in this instant, you knew that he wouldn’t have stopped.

A part of your humiliation was soothed by the fact that the perfect, pious Ser Criston could not resist you, a plain bastard. That part of you was drunk on power, quickly beginning to overtake the parts that had been afraid, and you felt brave enough to let a small sound slip. Only a quiet one, one that was sure to be swallowed by thick walls and myrish tapestries.

Ser Criston’s face curdled into a snarl, and his movements picked up, his pace so burtal that you could ee your skirts rocking across the floor. Still the feeling of it was better than most things you had experienced as Ser Criston’s hand feverishly circled your clit. You could feel your second peak approaching, a wave building within you that had one of your hands leaving the floor and going back to your mouth.

You bit down on the back of your hand as you came, walls helplessly clenching down on Ser Criston’s movements. He did not relent, hips jerking into you almost uncontrollably.

There was no warning when he had his release, moaning quietly as his seed covered your walls. With a few more thrusts, Criston pulled out, leaving you panting. Your hair stuck to your forehead with sweat, wrists and knees aching from holding up your weight, but none of it compared to the soreness of your thighs and cunt.

You knew you would not be able to walk the next day.

A small part of you hoped that Ser Criston would show you some affection, perhaps kiss you gently or take your hand, but none of that ever came. Instead, he stood after a few moments, pulling his breeches back on and walking out of the door.

You sat slowly, trying to straighten out your skirts. Still on your knees, you put Queen Alicent’s fallen jewellery back onto her vanity, before you tried to stand on shaking legs. As his seed dripped down your thighs, you had the sinking realisation of what he had just done to you.

If you did naught, there was a good chance you’d soon be carrying his child…

[venusbyline]

Gift ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 16, oct.

— pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x servant!reader x Aemond Targaryen x Gwayne Hightower x Criston Cole

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: punishment + exhibitionism

— summary: Your bravery to face King Aegon II would be admirable, at least if he did not humiliate you in front of his brother Aemond, his uncle Gwayne and Ser Criston.

— word count: 1.9k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 16th day, female!reader, dark!Aegon, dark!Aemond, dark!Gwayne, dark!Criston, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, punishment, exhibitionism, rape/non-con, nipple playing, degradation, non-consensual touching, blood, face slapping, face punching, implied gangbang, dacryphilia, public humiliation, public nudity, crying, breast worship, body worship, sexism, oral (male receiving) mentioned, curse words, dom!Greens, sub!reader, canon divergence (Pre-The Dance of the Dragons), porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole @badger-reads @turdettethefirst

— crossposting: AO3

You had not been working at the castle for a long time. Alicent had hired you just days after the coronation of her firstborn, Viserys' second child, Aegon II. She needed more servants to deal with her son's stupid demands.

You would rather have gone to the Red Keep to serve the Queen Consort, Helaena, or specifically care for hers and the new King's children. You would rather have been chambermaid to other members of the royal family, any task that you did not have to deal so directly with Aegon.

However, it was impossible. Alicent had specified that you take care of the King's private chambers. Not the matrimonial chambers, where he rarely went to sleep with the Queen, but the room where he took the Ladies, the prostitutes or even some maids. The room that was always stinking of wine, sweat and male fluids. Sometimes even his urine. You hated your work and you hated Aegon.

Alicent ordered you to clean Aegon's chambers even though he was still asleep that morning. She had not explained the reasons why you needed to clean with the King's presence still there, but you did not dare question her. You loosened the ties on your uniform as a precaution, as you already noticed how Aegon always smirked when he saw your curves accentuated by the tight fabric. Even though it was Alicent who gave you the clothes on your first day in the Red Keep, you knew very well that it was probably Aegon who demanded his mother that his servants wear only smaller and tighter sizes. After all, where would the fun be for him if they always dressed appropriately?

Upon entering the room, the smell of wine immediately hit your nostrils. You had nothing against drinking alcohol, but the strong stench present inside the room made you hope that all the wine from Westeros would one day run out.

"You look angry." The King's deep husky voice caught your attention, and you swallowed hard as you approached with the two buckets and some rags.

You ignored his words and lowered your head, positioning the buckets on the floor to begin carrying out your task. "Excuse me, Your Grace. Your Lady Mother has ordered me to clean your chambers immediately."

Still lying in bed, Aegon's sleepy eyes fell on your kneeling figure, your delicate hands cleaning the wine stains spread across the floor. Aegon did not remember very much about the night before, only that he had drunk a lot and ordered the guards to bring him some random maid for him to have fun with before bed. He wanted to ask for you, order the guards to bring you even if you were dragged by your hair.

However, he was so drunk that he could not even say the order correctly, then he had to fuck the servant his men brought. She was pretty. She was hot and had a tight cunt. But she was not you.

"You look so fucking beautiful when you are angry..." Aegon continued to tease, making you take a deep breath and look up at him. His milky white skin remained covered by the silk sheets, his blond hair was messy and probably tangled, his lips were still reddened by wine and there were dark circles under his eyes. He was quite a sight, even if you hated admitting it to yourself.

"I am not angry, My King." You went back to mopping the floor with the wet cloth, trying to ignore your thoughts and the fact that his cock was so marked under the sheet.

"Yes, you are." He chuckled, especially when you got up to clean some other part of the room. The glimpse he saw of your pretty breasts pressed into the neckline of your uniform was enough for Aegon to grab your hand, stopping you from moving to the other corner. Preventing you from continuing your task or continuing to ignore him. "Do not play that fucking shit with me. Do not you dare ignore me."

As harsh and angry as his reprimand was, you could not help but look at him with contempt. Those fingers that were inside another servant's cunt during the last night now held your wrist as if he wanted to mark you. The smell of alcohol and sex around became even stronger. "I am not ignoring you, Your Grace. I am just doing my task."

A humorless laugh escaped the King's lips. "Your task? And what would it be, uhm? To look with disgust at my chambers? Or perhaps to loosen the ties on your uniform because you know I am always looking at your body like a hungry man? Is your task to hate your King?"

Your gaze moved away from his hand squeezing your wrists and shifted to his violet eyes, his pupils so dilated when you stared at each other that you could not tell if he wanted to push you onto the bed and fuck you rough or if he he wanted to order the guards to send you to the guillotine. Perhaps both.

"My task this morning is to clean your chambers, something you, My King, are not letting me do properly."

Aegon's jaw clenched at your boldness. He was not used to receiving sharp words from his own servants. It stressed him out and turned him on with equal measure. The way you were staring at him like you wanted to kill him, the way you did not flinch from his grip, the way you ignored his other questions, and most of all... The way you did not deny that you hated him and did not even beg for forgiveness.

Aegon felt his heart accelerate with anger and his cock begin to throb with arousal. He released your arm from his hands, and brought his calloused fingers to your cheeks, caressing the soft flushed skin for a few seconds. "You are a brave little thing, you know that, my dear?" He purred, lips pulled into a dark smile, before silencing what you were about to say with a slap.

The sound of his palm hitting your face left you in disbelief and fear, your eyes wide and filled with tears as Aegon shouted for Ser Criston Cole, who was doing his daily patrol in front of the outside of the King's private chambers.

"Yes, Your Grace? What does the King desire?" Criston asked, positioning himself and looking curiously at the sight in front of him, you with a redness mark on your cheek, Aegon's fierce and at the same time sarcastic gaze. It was clear what had happened.

Aegon let out a slight chuckle before saying. "I have some things to sort out with my brother and my uncle Ser Gwayne in the Small Council room. Please take this girl there when she finishes cleaning here." Aegon murmured, getting up from the bed, letting go of the sheets and starting to walk to the washbasin, his bare ass and his boner catching your attention when he looked at Ser Criston one last time. "Take her naked, preferably. Aemond and my uncle need some distraction and fun. Just like me"

When Criston pushed you into the Small Council, a weak whine escaped your swollen cut lips from the punch he had given you a few minutes before when he had to drag you through the corridors. You flinched as you held the tray with three glasses of wine, entering the room with red cheeks, the gazes of the three men sitting at the table landing on your naked and vulnerable body.

"Your Grace..." You murmured with a sad and shy reverence, walking over to them and placing the tray on the table, handing the largest glass to King Aegon, who smirked excitedly at your presence.

"Oh, finally! My most beautiful servant!" Aegon clapped his hands before taking the drink and taking a sip, admiring the view of your ass when handed the other glasses to Aemond and Gwayne. The prince looked at you with the same cold gaze as always, although he was enjoying watching your shivering body, completely vulnerable. The knight, Aegon and Aemond's uncle, widened his eyes, taking the drink and whispering an embarrassed thanks, your breasts so close to his face. "You can sit with us, Ser Criston. I am sure my other guards will not mind."

Criston nodded silently, sitting on the chair, but remaining with a severe face as he looked at the hairs of your cunt.

The awkward silence followed for a while, despite Aegon's amused smile when he saw you standing naked next to him, your hands clasped in front of your body, waiting for any more orders.

"What did the girl do to deserve a punch on those pretty lips, Ser Criston?" The King teased, the tip of his thumb rubbing circles on your waist, an involuntary sigh escaping and making you squeeze your thighs together reflexively. Your reaction did not go unnoticed by any of the men.

"She tried to refuse to walk naked through the castle halls while I brought her here." Criston looked at you with a little anger and you lowered your head so as not to see their reactions, but Aemond let a low 'uhm' escape coldly, along with Aegon's laugh as if the royal guard had told him the best of jokes.

"Oh, I see... She is a pretty stubborn little whore. Sometimes too brave for her own good." Aegon's mockery was like a knife spinning inside your chest, further adding to the humiliation when even Gwayne Hightower smirked too.

As much as you wanted to take the dagger from Criston's armor and stab the King to death, until his blood ran all over the marble table and permanently stained the green robe he wore, you forced yourself to look at him with false regret. "Forgive me, Your Grace."

It was an absolute lie and everyone knew that, but Aegon did not address your insincerity words. He caressed your bare waist again, moving his large hand up until it rested on your nipples, playing with them for a few minutes, enjoying your pathetic whimpers and the way your body twitched, without even trying to move away. It would be worse for you if you fought his sadism.

"Do not you think she is beautiful?" Aegon's smile was macabre, his thumb and forefinger wringing the small buds becoming hard like rocks, quite reddish and painful.

Aemond and Criston let out a similar scoff, but nodded in agreement. "She is pathetic." The prince added, looking your body up and down. "But she looks better than most of the stupid maids you fuck."

Aegon chuckled and nodded too, turning to Gwayne. "And what do you think, uncle?"

Gwayne looked at you, his red hair matching his flushed cheeks as he gave his nephew a mischievous smile. "She is quite a sight, My King."

Aegon laughed again, moving his fingers away from your breasts and scratching his chin to think of something that could humiliate you a little more. He knew this would be crossing the line and would make his mother reprimand him furiously, ashamed of the firstborn that came out of her womb. However, it did not matter anymore. He was the King now, and a King should decide how to punish his own people.

"I think you would like to receive some pleasure after the tiring journey to King's Landing. Right?" Gwayne seemed a little shocked by the suggestion from Aegon's words, but it did not take long for him to agree.

"Yes, my nephew. It would be very useful." Gwayne ignored the tears that streamed down your face when Aegon forced you to kneel in front of his uncle, lifting your face so you could see the lust on Gwayne's face.

Aegon petted the top of your head like a puppy, before smirking and whispering. "Well... then take her as your welcome gift, uncle."

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[winnysplayground]

i need to be in between them

[ophelieverse]

Otto on his way to Dragonstone to apologize to Rhaenyra after dealing with Aegon bullshits:

he regrets everything