#criston cole fic

[frost-queen]

The fall of a knight (Reader!Targaryen x Sir Criston Cole)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic  , @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve  , @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly   @denkisclown, @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23  , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr  , @swampthing07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms  , @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat   , @rosecentury  ,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn  , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

Summary: Reader dislikes Criston from how he acts towards your sister Rhaenyra. Constantly fighting with him and being sassy, till it starts attracting him. Years pass as Criston's attraction for you only grows. You still act the same towards him, not much changed over the years. When another starts flirting with you, it brings a bad jealousy over to Criston, taking you as his even though he can't have you. [R! has purple eyes just like in the books]

It was way too late when you got a sudden idea. The scenery taunting your dreams as it woke you up. Your thirst for knowledge needing to be lessened. Throwing the covers off you, you got out of bed, putting on your slippers. Your heritage of the Targaryen bloodline interesting you so much. Surely since you were the only Targaryen with lavender eyes. You had always wondered how it came.

Slightly opening the door to your chamber, you stuck your head out and peeked around. Seeing if there was anyone in the corridor.  Not being able to wait till morning, you just needed to get to the family library that withheld all of the Targaryen history. Perhaps there you might find answers to your questions. Perhaps there had been another with lavender eyes? Taking your chance, you ran out of your room, running through the corridors.

Sir Criston Cole was standing guard before your sister’s room. Making sure no one would disturb her sleep or come and harm her. Sir Criston furrowed his brows hearing rushed footsteps. Turning his head he saw you ran around the corner fast, making him tilt his head. It took him a few seconds before placing his hand on the top of his sword, coming to run after you. – “Princess!” – he said in a hushed tone to not alarm any others.

Clenching his jaw, he quickened up his pace. Sir Criston caught up with you, grabbing you to a stop. – “What are you doing out of bed?” – he questioned with a scolding voice. You were panting a bit, catching your breath. – “I need…I need to go to the library.” – you told him seeing his face change to anger. – “It’s the middle of the night!” – he shout-whispered to you.

“It can’t wait.” – you replied brushing his hand off you. Sir Criston took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. You crossed your arms, quirking your eyebrow up. – “Shouldn’t you be protecting my sister?” – you asked him. – “You need to be in bed!” – he countered crossing his arms as well.

 “Have you left her unattended?” – quirking your brow even more, just to taunt him. – “No.” – he groaned out. – “I don’t need saving. I’ll be quick.” – you said already turning round to head to the library as Sir Criston kept you in place by holding your wrist. Turning you back to him. – “Bed is where you are heading!” – he made clear, pulling you along with him.

You tried to pull your wrist out of his grip, but it was no use. Sir Criston led you back to your room, shoving you inside. – “Don’t get any funny idea’s princess!” – he scolded closing the door before him. You groaned annoyed. You hated that he had seen you. The thirst for knowledge still vivid. Unlike your sister, who was rather carefree, you were not.

You found her ignorant of her surroundings. She couldn’t even name any battle formations right. Rather spend her time with Alicent than prepare herself properly for her future on the iron throne. Kneeling down, you tried to look through the keyhole. You couldn’t see clearly, so you hoped Sir Criston Cole had left to guard your sister’s door once more. Taking the handle in your hand, you slowly opened the door, still crouched down. – “Going somewhere?” – Sir Criston commented, looking over his shoulder down to you.

A smirk on his lips. – “I hate you.” – you breathed out. Sir Criston positioned himself better in your view taking a dramatic bow at you. – “I’ll be here all night.” – he mocked just to taunt you more. Annoyed you shut the door again. He surely wasn’t going to let you pass now with him guarding your door. Pacing around, you hoped perhaps he’d fall asleep. Which was unlikely. The hours past as you felt yourself get exhausted. Eventually falling asleep sitting down, with your head down on the table.

The next day, your sister, Alicent and you were at the white tree. Rhaenyra and Alicent sitting down and gossiping. You sitting at the other end, as far away from them. You lifted your head up from your book, feeling a presence come from behind you. – “Had a good night rest?” – looking up, you saw Sir Criston Cole standing behind you. Making you roll your eyes at him. – “Should you not be watching my sister.” – you let out, focusing on your book once more. – “I am.” – he answered, still looking back at your sister.

“That the book you so desperately needed to read in the middle of the night?” – he teased with a smirk. His comment made you shut your book tight. – “Mockery, how elegant.” – you responded with a sneer while getting up. Giving him a sarcastic smile. Sir Criston Cole gave you a sarcastic smile back. – “Sir Criston!” – Rhaenyra called out to him. He lifted his head up to her, seeing her wave him over. Sir Criston jogged over to your sister to answer her plead. – “Jaos” dog you mumbled under your breath.

Sitting annoyed down, you watched how Rhaenyra wrapped him around her finger. Him doing all her bidding. Having enough, you got up, taking your leave. There was no room for you anyways. The three of them so caught up with each other, they hardly noticed you taking your leave. You made your way around the castle, ending up at the fighting court.

Soldiers practising as you stopped and stared. Observed their movement. Watched it with the upmost attention. Taking notice of their footwork. The way their muscles worked whilst handling the sword. It made you move your own foot to match their stand. Trying to get the right distance between your feet for a steady stand. Sir Criston found his way on the fighting court, seeing you watch the soldiers practise.

He got in motion heading over to you. Pausing briefly he noticed you swiping your feet over the ground setting it in a position. Making him furrow his brows. He then eyed the soldiers, making a link with what you were doing. Sir Criston made his way across towards you.

 “Found you!” – he said coming to be at your side. – “I didn’t need finding.” – you replied stoking some folds off your skirt. – “You left unattended.” – he answered making it clear to you. It made you scoff loud. – “You must’ve gotten an honour for observance.” – you mocked turning your head away from you. Criston grabbed you by your elbow a bit rudely. Turning you back to him.

“You do not leave unattended!” – he made clear, raising his voice a bit. – “Scared I’ll run?” – you replied with a teasing smile. – “Did I make myself clear?” – Criston called out pulling at your arm once more. You stared right back at him with your intriguing lavender eyes.

“Sir Criston, am I royalty?” – you asked him. – “Of course.” – he answered mesmerized by your gaze. – “Then stop bossing me around.” – you made clear giving him a little shove. Walking off, Criston kept staring at you. As you slowly started to attract him. Making him curl up a shy smile.

★゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

Sir Criston Cole entered the room, having searched everywhere for you. With a sigh of relief, he was glad to finally have found you. Asleep that was. With your head down on the table, a book underneath it. He approached you, nudging your shoulder to wake you. – “Princess.” – he said. – “Princess… Y/n wake up.” – he started to nudge you harder. – “Wake up Y/n.” – he said a bit louder.

You shot awake, hand shooting out as it him right in his nose. Criston groaned in pain, stumbling back. You got up apologizing. – “Oh sorry I thought you were someone else.” – you said until you could clearly see it was Criston. – “Oh it’s you, well that’s alright than.” – you continued with sass. Criston glared at you for the perhaps deliberate punch to the nose. Stretching out, you got up.

You saw him still cover up his nose, recovering from your little stomp. – “Oh please.” – you called out with a roll of your eyes. – “You hit me in the nose!” – Criston answered loudly. – “You’re a knight.” – you mocked that he should be used to it. Criston glared your way, as your attitude hadn’t changed over the years. – “The tournament, Y/n.” – Criston said changing the subject.

“Right.” – you answered with a sigh. Criston came by your side, walking out with you. – “Aren’t you participating this year Criston?” – you asked not with the intention to be curious. – “Yes.” – he answered. – “Then you’ll get used being hit in the nose.” – you teased with a laugh. Criston laughed mockingly loud to make clear your joke wasn’t even funny.

Getting outside, you let Criston guide you to the box. Rhaenyra already sitting down. – “Criston!” – she called out, waving her handkerchief around. She threw it at him as it fell down in the dirt at his feet. He bend down to pick it up as you left his side, coming to sit by your sister.

When Criston looked back up, he was surprised to see you gone. Looking up at the seats, he saw you sit by your sister. Criston took his leave to prepare. Rhaenyra and you were chatting a bit till the tournament began. You watched several men joist. Not nearly as amusing as you liked it to be.

Then came the one on one combat. There were two men fighting as Sir Criston and another were up next. – “Criston!” – Rhaenyra called out to him. Criston neared the box you sat, looking up as his gaze fixated on you. The other contender joined his side, looking over at you as well. – “Y/n Targaryen!” – he called out making Criston look at him. – “May I receive your blessings? A kiss from you will still my beating heart and give me strength enough to win this tournament for you.” – he said moving his hand out to you.

Rhaenyra tapped your knee enthusiastically at the attention you were getting. Criston clenched his jaw with tension. Clenching his hand into a fist. – “Fairest Targaryen, may I drown in your lavender eyes and hold your tender hands in his. This battle shall be in devotion to you.” – he continued as you stared in shock at him. – “Go on give him a kiss.” – Rhaenyra teased, pushing you to do so.

She practically shoved you out of your seat. Sighing loud, you knew she wouldn’t stop pestering you about it. You got up, making your way down to the edge of the box. Sir Criston staring hard at you, eyes widening at what you were about to do.

You tapped your finger against your cheek to let the knight know what to do. The knight turned his cheek towards you. You grabbed a hold of the frame in front of you, leaning closer to give the knight a kiss on the cheek. Sir Criston staring at it with disgust and jealousy. Rhaenyra cheered loudly from her seat, getting up to clap. You felt a bit foolish as the knight pressed his hand against his cheek.

Your gaze fell upon Criston, seeing how angered he was. Clearly fighting off demons inside of him. A battle you weren’t sure which side would win. A horn got blown as it announced the start of the next battle. You returned to your seat watching the next round. Sir Criston and the other knight you had given a kiss on the cheek.

Sir Criston sniffed loud, looking up to the seating where you sat. Smiling a bit that you dared to taunt him so much with this. With showing affection to anyone. The knight readied himself as Criston drew his sword. He called it out, running up to the man to let out all his anger and jealousy out. He was brutal and hard. Hardly leaving the knight room to breathe.

Rhaenyra stared in shock at him. Criston kept slashing his sword down on the knight’s shield. He lost balance, falling down as Criston got on him. Punching him a few times, making sure to hit the cheek you kissed. Wanting to wipe your sweet lips off him. Criston was a savage, rampaging. He wasn’t going to stop till there was death. – “Criston!” – you shouted loud, seeing that the knight below was barely giving any reaction.

“Enough!” – you made clear wanting him to stop. Criston stopped, his knuckles full with blood as it hovered over the knight’s face. The knight sputtered out some blood as Criston got off him. Claiming his victory. Having enough of this manly show-off, you got up, leaving the seats. Criston cleaned his hand, noticing you take your leave.

Without another thought, he went after you, going away from the tournament. – “Y/n!” – he called out catching up with you. He grabbed you by your shoulder, turning you to him to push you up against a tree. When your back hit the bark, you let out a gasp.

“Don’t do this to me Y/n.” – he spoke keeping his hands on your waist. – “Do what.” – you teased him making him smirk. – “Kiss another man in front of me.” – he replied grabbing you forcefully by your chin. Tilting your head a bit back as he stared firm at your eyes. It made you weak on your knees by the way he was staring hungrily at you. Criston took a step closer to you, nearing you more.

He let his thumb go down your lip, parting your lips by pressing on your under lip. Your heart was pounding loudly in your chest as your cheeks flushed with heat. – “Criston…” – you whispered as he tilted your chin aside, kissing your jawline. His touch send a warmth over you like a tidal wave. He went down, kissing you in your neck. 

It made you wrap your arms around him, scratching faintly his back. He knew he shouldn’t, but he wanted anyways. He wanted you to be his. So he simply claimed you as his even though he wasn’t allowed. Criston’s gaze met up with yours, staring fiercely back at you.

Then he smacked his lips on yours. Kissing you roughly. He immediately felt you kiss him back, diving with him into the intimacy. Criston started kissing you harder, quicker. Panting with each grasp for breath between kisses. For you were his, and his alone.

--------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

#imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #the house of the dragon #house of the dragon #hbo house of the dragon #house targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #imagine house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #sir criston cole #criston cole #criston cole x you #criston cole x reader #criston cole x y/n #criston cole x targaryen #criston cole imagine #criston cole fanfic #criston cole fic #criston cole fanfiction #with fire and blood #fire and blood

[house-strong]

— THE SHIELD and his princess ʾ ⋆

summary ; criston cole is many things – but a teacher he is not. after learning his duties as a sworn kingsguard, who is he to disobey an order from his princess?

pairing ; targaryen!reader x pre-green!criston cole

notes ; written at 2 am after i saw a sad criston/rhaenyra edit so here’s this,, also the beginning of me writing hotd imagines if this goes well?? 😏😏😏🤝

the festivities that were thrown in king’s landing was beyond ser criston. with pleasant music, girls batting their eyes and giddily running around, mixed with the loud roar of the crowd was enough for a man of his low stature to get drunk on. the feeling of adrenaline coursing in his veins as an opponent swings their sword, as metal clashes with metal and the song that rings from each weapon – it is a calling that criston knows is his.

dismounting the targaryen prince and earning the princess rhaenyra’s favor was a blessing he thought he was dreaming of. but, being summoned to court on the account of being chosen as a kingsguard – gods, that was the highest he had ever felt.

much to his delight, permanently residing in the castle of king’s landing was something he favored over the endless and scorching sands of wasteland he once called home. though the city did have a foul stench that burned his nose hairs from time to time, he had grown used to the taste of sea salt on his tongue and the terrifying roars of dragons that filled his ears.

he had also grown fond of the silvery wisps of hair of a certain targaryen princess.

ser criston was still young, merely in his twenties, when he had sworn the oath of a kingsguard. no land and no titles was an easy thing to get behind as he was a lowborn knight with little to his name, but an oath of chastity? to father no children, or feel the love of a wife? who was to say that a fleeting feeling of hope was treason?

“ser criston?” your voice breaks the young knights trance. he blinks rapidly, fingers drumming the helm of his kingsguard armor that rested at his side as he tries to remember what you were saying – did you ask him a question? was it about the upcoming celebration of princess rhaenyra’s marriage to laenor velaryon? or, perhaps if it was about taking a stroll through the red keep?

he clears his throat and looks down at his feet, clearly ashamed, “forgive me princess, it seems that my mind carried me away.” ser criston peeks up from behind a stray wisp of brown hair, only to see a bright smile directed at him. he can’t help but swallow the queasy feeling in his stomach and smile right back.

“i’m rather curious about swordplay,” you reiterate, glancing down at the massive book that rested upon the table in front of you. you take a moment to uncross your legs and recross them, getting comfortable into the seat. your hand tenderly touches the parchment, “it says here that it’s a bit like.. dancing.”

a look of confusion sweeps across ser criston’s face as he takes in your words, “now that you say that, yes, it is quite a bit like dancing.”

you hang for a moment, deciding your words carefully. being a princess had its downsides, and right now, being unable to attain swordplay as a hobby wasn’t gratifying. even at your command, the other kingsguard would have asked permission from your father.

“would you show me?”

ser criston opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. to refuse an order given by a member of the royal family could have consequences, but to injure a princess would possibly be even a worse fate to imagine. he winces at the thought. he exhales slowly as he weighs his words carefully, “i’m sure you would find actual dancing more attractive than swordplay.”

you unfold your legs and rise from your seat. your black gown falls back into place around your legs and moves with grace as you approach the knight. dark fabric peaks up at the sides of your shoulders and gathers near your collarbones, highlighting the bone underneath. he sucks in a breath. your hands clasp behind your back and heels click against the smooth stone of the floor. ser criston is still as you approach, but watches you carefully with black, beady eyes.

“if i wanted dancing, i would have asked for dancing.” you say, voice clear and almost commanding. almost. his knees feel weak when you stop merely a length away – he can smell your perfume wafting in the air and filling his scent glands with pure delicacy. he almost sighs at the scent. after a moment of silence, “do i need to command you, ser criston?”

the kingsguard feels a blush creep up his neck and crawl into his cheeks as he comes to a realization, “no, you do not, princess.”

you beam triumphantly and rock side to side in place, “it’s settled then.” you turn on your heels and return to the abandoned book on the table. at the same moment you settle back in the chair, a handmaiden walks in. “i shall see you tonight, ser criston.”

ser criston watches the servant carefully before returning his attention to you. he bows slowly at the hip, maintaining eye contact as he rises. he mutters the word princess as he does and turns heel to exit your personal quarters.

between being summoned to escort princess rhaenyra and attending a kingsguard meeting, along with guarding the door to the kings private quarters, ser criston is constantly thinking about what the night will ensure. so much so that the day passes rather quickly and night had befallen the capital.

with a full, warm belly and aching limbs that are screaming for more rest, ser criston returns faithfully to your quarters with two wooden swords in his grasp. he is not surprised to see ser arryk guarding your door.

“ser arryk,” he greets, giving a momentary dip of his head as a sign of respect. the other follows suit but with a curious gaze casted towards the mock weapons, mumbling ser cristons own name on the brink of a yawn. “be at ease, i’ll be with the princess tonight.”

with another head dip, the former kingsguard wordlessly departs from your door and strolls down the hallway. ser criston watches him leave before entering into your quarters.

he enters and smiles at the silhouette of your figure against the castle walls. he shuts the door behind him and approaches, his boots offering a soft thud in the silence. he rounds the corner and finds you in front of a mirror that is angled away from him.

“ser arryk, i thought i said i wished to not be disturbed,” you say without turning around, running a comb through the locks of your silver hair.

“i’m offended that you mistake me for ser arryk,” ser criston says, enjoying the way that your face lights up with happiness once you turn around and eye the two wooden swords he had brought. “although, i’m not quite sure how we’re going to dance in your room.”

your hands quickly twist your hair into a plait, binding the end with a leather bind before rising from your seat. it’s then that ser criston notices that you’re wearing your dragon-riding attire. he smiles to himself and follows you into the main chamber of your room.

“i have a place in mind, follow me,” you say, tidying up your perfumes and oils before leading the way out of your door. you exit the royal apartment courtyard, smiling at any servant or lord or lady that passed your path. you lead ser criston to the castle wall that bordered the harbor. waves crash against the rock and sends salt flying into the air, giving the air a less-than-pleasant taste.

“this isn’t secluded, princess,” ser criston says with uncertainty. you, however, shrug carelessly and smile at the obvious nervousness that radiated off the young knight. you move forward and gently take one of the wooden swords from his hand. it feels odd in your grasp and the handle is surprisingly rough against your palm, but the balance is easy to manage. you give it a small twirl, trying your best to show control.

“never mind that, ser criston. where do we begin?” you stand straight, wooden sword hanging limply by your side. you watch him with curiosity as he sucks in a breath. ser criston should have prepared himself for this night of teaching.

“let’s see your stance.” at his words, you try your best to shuffle into a mock fighting stance. however, your legs are bent awkwardly and your position is open. ser criston almost lets out a small guffaw. you glare as he stifles his laughter. “here, allow me.”

ser criston moves closer and adjusts your position. he fixes your legs and squares your shoulders, putting your hands in the right spot on the handle of your sword. he pauses for a moment and meets your eye, and it’s then when it’s noticeable how cool it is outside and how much warmth radiates off your bodies.

he clears his throat and shuffles away, “how does that feel?”

“a bit better,” you admit, relaxing into the stance. you twirl the sword once more, careful to not hit the kingsguard, and notice how it actually feels a lot more smooth in your hand.

“let’s try basic maneuvers,” ser criston says. he begins showing you some movements and remarks what each movement is. a forward slash, a parry, a sidestep, and a block. watching him move is enrapturing and the book you read earlier was exactly right – it was a dance and ser criston made it look flawless. he had light steps and quick movements, magnificent enough to draw you into a trance. he concludes his tutorial with, “my princess.”

“you make it look easy, ser criston,” your voice is on a borderline whine, but you ready yourself and mimic his movements the best you can. your movements are wobbly and unrefined, years of practice not as obvious as it was with ser criston’s movements.

“i’ve had years to learn, my princess, and i’ve fought in more incursions than i want to count.” his voice is almost reminiscent as he confesses towards his experience in swordplay. “you will learn, in time.”

“you will teach me?” you ask, your brows raising in surprise at his words. he stays silent for a moment, but then nods after some wordless contemplation.

“if that is what my princess wishes, then yes, i will.”

warm, brown eyes meet yours as you two share a look for what feels like a century. ser criston debates whether or not that was appropriate to say, whilst you fight the tears that well in your eyes. years after begging someone, anyone, to enlighten you about sword fighting and being turned down, all of a sudden has changed within the night. you drop your sword and rush forward, wrapping your arms around the light armor that ser criston wore. you feel him tense, but he soon relaxes into your hold and returns the hug with a hand on your back.

“thank you, ser criston.” you say earnestly. though it’s supposed to be serious, ser criston enjoys the way that his name rolls off your tongue in this moment and finds himself blushing. he thanks whatever gods there are for the dim, warm lighting of the torches lined on the walls.

he clears his throat and readjusts his grip on the handle of his practice sword, “pick up your sword and we’ll start from the beginning.”

#criston cole x reader #criston cole imagine #criston cole fic #hotd imagine #hotd fic #hotd x reader #ser criston cole #ser criston #ser criston x reader #hotd fanfic #criston cole fanfic #asoiaf imagine #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #*mine: writing

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Fashioned for Love

Summary: It’s never clear what he’s thinking – and you’re not sure if you want to know.

Notes: I wish I could see him as the incel he is, but Fabien Frankel is just too hot smh. If u guys want, I could write a happy sequel to this.

Warnings: reader and ser criston are both a little delusional, smut, angst, forbidden love

Masterlist | Part 2 | Requests are OPEN! | Let me know if you want to be added to a taglist!

He slinks through the backdoor in the middle of the night. A kingsguard in the Street of Silk – it would be unseemly, and even though he doesn’t come to the brothel for the whores, you know that he hates walking these parts of the city.

Instead, he comes for you – the maid that clears the rooms after noble lords are done spending their coin and themselves. He doesn’t pay you, you’re not a whore, but you don’t mind that. And anyway, you’re not sure whether you’re in a position to refuse him.

Most nights, he comes to fuck and leave as soon as possible. Tonight is not one of those nights. Instead, he sits in your only chair, silent.

You walk to him cautiously, like a mouse avoiding a cat. When he lets you approach, you begin to take off his armor. He stares at you like he wants to kill you. Sometimes, you think he’s about to.

“You’re losing weight.” Is the first thing he says to you. You pause, before you continue taking off his vambrace.

“Not much coming in these days.” You answer finally. He nods. If he cared about your empty stomach, he would give you money, or food, but he does neither.

When his armor is gone, he pulls you to your cot and sits you down. A moment, you’re not sure if he wants to fuck you, but then, he begins to undo your braid. From what you’ve gathered, he had a little sister when he was young. Maybe this was how he spent evenings in his childhood, taking care of his sister before going to bed.

“Would you leave this place with me?” he asks suddenly.

“Can’t get much worse than King’s Landing.” You reply dryly.

He gives a dry scoff, and you dare to look at his face. Deep shadows lie under his eyes, and you’re sure it’s the crown prince’s doing. Or, more likely, the fact that Princess Rhaenyra is in the city. You don’t know what happened between the two of them, only that Criston mumbles her name in his sleep and spits it out like venom during the day.

You take his hand, resting on the edge of the cot, and he rips it away. This is how it always is – balancing a line between aggression and adoration. The two things you know from him, the two things he does best.

Moments later, his lips are on yours and he’s devouring you like you’re his first meal in days. Mid-kiss, your stomach rumbles, and he pulls away, rolling his eyes.

You think he’s going to leave when he walks towards the door, but he grabs something out of his bag instead and returns to you, holding out bread and cheese. Cautiously, you take the bread first, savoring each bite while he cuts the cheese with his knife.

When you’re done, Criston tells you to lie down on the cot, taking of your clothes before he begins kissing and worshipping your body in a way that would seem whole if there wasn’t a bitter look in his eyes. Occasionally, his teeth scrape against your skin, keeping you from floating away in your thoughts.

Normally, he’s the one on the receiving end, but tonight, he’s intent on serving you. It’s probably Rhaenyra. You don’t know much about the princess, only that you’re about the same age, and that she exhausts Criston.

You don’t hate her because of it, he’s a complicated man, and you don’t love him. Or so you tell yourself. But Criston is a good lover, a rare commodity around these parts, and no gossip comes from him.

Heat pools in your belly when he reaches your thighs, sucking on soft skin until you know a bruise will appear there. It’s the only way he can make you his, and he exploits it. There are already dark hickeys on your breasts and stomach, where your clothes will cover them, but on your thighs, where there’s no possibility of anyone seeing, he takes his time.

By the time he touches your cunt, you’re a mess, melting at his touch. Blindly, he caresses your waist, before he grips it tightly, licking a stripe up your cunt. You let a moan slip, and he glares at you with fear in his eyes. Fear for his honor, that he will be found out, not out of fear for you and your position.

But he’s too good at it, and you can’t help but let out a muffled moan as he sucks on your clit, plunging a finger in. He knows what he’s doing as he hooks it upward, finding that spot. He’s relentless, in this as he is in the few fights you’ve witnessed.

He doesn’t care about your pleasure, but making you cum gets him off. You can feel him digging into your leg, and without warning, he’s buried in you to the hilt. Before you can moan, his hand is clamped over your mouth as he snaps his hips forward. The switch in his gaze is so quick you almost miss it, but suddenly, his gaze softens and he flips around so that you are on top.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers.

“It’s alright.”

“No. I’m a Kingsguard, I shouldn’t even be here, and if I were it’s my duty to-“

“Stop it. Don’t do this.” You interrupt him. His hands, one tangled in your hair and the other steadying your back, come to a halt.

He knows what you mean, and he feels guilty for it. You hate that look in his eyes, so you roll your hips to make him stop. It works, and the pit in your stomach tells you that you wish there was a love confession instead of this.

It’s silly, but you can’t help dream it. The runaway bride of a knight in shining armor. That could be you, if he loved you, if you loved him. If his cloak was any color but white.

Instead, his hands grab your hips, guiding your movements until his head falls back. Ser Criston Cole is handsome, untouchable, unattainable, but this Criston, your Criston, is beautiful.

There’s silence except for small grunts and moans of pleasure, so quiet that they’re swallowed by the walls. If his honor allowed it, he would make you scream, but this way, he swallows the louder sounds with kisses.

You can tell he’s close when he begins to thrust upwards, and his breathing grows erratic. He pulls you off of him when he’s done, uncaring whether you’ve had your release or not. He makes you cum mindlessly, rubbing your clit until you’re there and tears prick your eyes.

Shame heats up your cheeks as you feel his seed drop out of you and turn sticky between your thighs.

“What did you mean earlier?” he asks. He’s staring at the ceiling, unable to look at you and what he’s done. He wants clarity from you.

You pull your blanket over your shoulder, trying to hide your guilt somehow. It clings to your sweaty skin, only making you feel worse.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“When you interrupted me.” He sounds like a commander, not a lover.

“You get so…” you stop yourself, looking for the right words. “Sometimes you make me think you care for me.”

He doesn’t answer you. Instead, he sits up, pulling you into a sitting position. You lean your head against his chest, the cool pendant of his necklace pressing against your cheek. Sometimes, you pretend you’re only a doll with no emotions. It makes things easier than illusions and dreams.

“I can’t,” he begins, his voice cracking. “care about you.”

“Wish you did.” You blurt out. He looks at you, meeting your eyes for the first time tonight.

It feels like he’s seeing you.

“I’ve hurt you.” He states. You scoff, and it sounds too harsh for him. He’s never hit you, or hurt you physically, but for a split-second you think you’ve gone too far.

“Talk.”

“I’m not sure whether you hate or love me. Same goes for me.” You say after a while.

“Could you? Love me?” he asks quietly. He sounds like a shy boy.

“Maybe. If cruelty wasn’t your nature, then you’d be easier to love.”

He pushes you off, anger blazing in his eyes.

“I am not cruel.” He snarls.

His hand tries to grab your hip, trying to push you off, but he misses, grabbing your thigh instead. You can see the moment he feels it in his eyes.

“I am not cruel.” He repeats, wiping his hand on your blanket.

“You pretend to be, at the very least. You leave me here, stewing in guilt. You speak cruelly about the princess because of something that happened years ago. Your anger directs every move you make.”

He looks ready to kill you now. “You’re quite eloquent for a lowborn.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about this matter.” You fire back.

“I can be kind.” He argues, but the way he says it makes it sound like a challenge to himself. You allow him to wipe you clean, to pull a clean shift from the hook on your wall. You can’t bring yourself to tell him that you haven’t cleaned the other shift and need to wear that one until it is dirty first.

Criston sits back down. You can feel the bed dip under his weight, but you continue staring at the ceiling across from you. The clean shift feels nice on your skin, a taste of the luxury he doesn’t even question.

“Please.” He whispers, his arm hovering above your waist. It’s the first time he’s said that word to you. Normally, he takes. You can’t resist him.

His hands trace your body, untangle your hair. It’s a pure touch, but it’s sullied by the things that happened minutes ago.

“I would run with you.” You say.

His eyes roam the room, landing on the white cloak tucked under his armor in an attempt to forget about it.

“I was made for love.” He says, sounding so sure of himself it almost makes you smile. “I didn’t know what I was giving up. I thought the honor of it would sate me, but it doesn’t.”

“That doesn’t make you bad.” You reassure.

His hand rests on your stomach, and you can almost hear his thoughts.

“We could run away. Sellswords make good money, and I can work as a barmaid or such if you want.” You offer again.

You crane your head back to see him, and his eyes are closed. He looks peaceful, as if he’s imagining it and it’s good.

“I’d get too jealous. Bar patrons are horrible.” He responds.

“What would you have me do then?” you say jokingly. His tone is serious when he answers.

“Take care of the house. The children.”

“Children?” you ask, and the notion tugs at your heart. You have no family, never had one. The whores have a bond of their own, but you’re not one of them, only a shadow that slips in and cleans away the unpleasantness of their work.

“As many as possible.” He nods. You can’t help but chuckle at that. You never took Criston for a family man.

“Then why don’t you take me with you. You could kidnap me while I’m sleeping and I probably wouldn’t mind.”

His smile falls, and his usual mask returns to his face.

“It’s too late for that.” He replies flatly. His arm wraps around your waist almost possessively. You close your eyes, pretending to fall asleep. He does before you, and you listen to his heartbeat, slowing in his chest.

You try to stay awake as long as you can, trying to commit his features to memory once more, but eventually, your body takes over.

The next morning, Criston is gone. Only a bag of silvers tells of his presence.

#ser criston cole #criston cole #ser crispin #ser criston #crispin cole #ser criston cole x reader #ser criston cole x you #ser criston cole smut #ser criston cole fanfiction #criston cole x reader #criston cole x you #criston cole fic #house of the dragon #criston cole x fem!reader #ser criston cole x fem!reader

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

I made a list of pairings, but now I've got titles and summaries for you! Headers will be added as I make them.

12/14: Patience, Zaldrīzītsos Hand holding & dry humping with What is Broken!Aemond x Fiancee/Sister!Reader

At their pre-wedding tourney, Aemond sits in the stands with his sister – his betrothed – and holds her hand to help calm her while they watch the fighting, and continues to do so all through the dinner. He escorts her back to her chambers to kiss her goodnight, but kisses turn into something more…

12/15: After the War Dreams & Dirty Talk with Tom Bennett x Reader

The night before Tom is sent back to his ship, he spends one last night with his best girl and makes plans for what they'll do when the war is over.

12/16: With No One Around In Nature & Deep Throating with Aemond x Wife!Reader

When you and Aemond need to relax, you have a secret spot where you can go and be all alone.

12/17: Okay? Okay. Reassurance & Car Sex with Modern!Aegon x Girlfriend!Reader

You end up needing to run a few errands at the same time Aegon has his weekly therapist's appointment, so you decide to drop him off and pick him up. But when he gets back in the car, he's desperate for affirmation. It seems the topic of his appointment was his parent's marriage

12/18: Enclosed Letters & lingere kink with Tom Bennett x Reader

When he's far away at sea, Tom finds himself infinitely grateful that you found work at a photography studio.

12/19: One Day... Future & Face Sitting with Billy Washington x Reader

After months of recovering from Cranstead, and even more months of job-searching, Billy has finally been hired. And he knows exactly how he wantsto celebrate.

12/20: Presents Wrapped in Black Sharing a Drink & Toys with Daemon x Sugar Baby!Reader

Unfortunately, Daemon was the only one home when his Christmas present arrived, and even worse, there was no wrapping on the package. So, you spend Christmas Eve experimenting with his very extensive new collection of fine spirits and liquors. And since he got his present early, he thinks it's only fair that you do too. Of course, he can never resist spoiling you...

12/21: Dusky Pink Sunset & Orgasm Control with Studious!Aemond x Wife!Reader

Y'all'll get this summary once Studious VI is out... 👀

12/22: Hold Your Breath Swimming & Face Fucking with Tom Bennett x Reader

When Tom takes you to the beach for your first holiday since the war, you quickly begin to suspect he has an ulterior motive. But as long as you can watch his muscle moves as he swims, you can be okay with that.

12/23: The Princess at the Inn Bed Sharing & Accidental Stimulation with Ser Criston Cole x Aegon's Twin!Reader Yes I'm a simp for Cole, fucking sue me

For the first time in years, Ser Criston Cole is not guarding his Queen. Alicent has sent him on a covert mission to retrieve her wayward daughter, who has fled from the prospect of marrying her twin brother. It was supposed to be simple, but he quickly finds that the girl he thought to be so like her elder half-sister is in fact quite different.

12/24: Office Christmas Party A Fancy Party & Praising with Modern!Aemond x Reader

You totally aren't worried about making a fool of yourself at your boyfriend's office Christmas party. Why would you be? It's only hours of socializing with people richer than you, better dressed than you, and probably smarter than you. It's only the first time you would meet Aemond's famous family (who you may or may not have heard telling him how 'beneath him' you are whenever Aemond forgets you're home and has his phone on speaker). What about that could possibly make you nervous?

12/25: I'll Be Home for Christmas Promise & Phone Sex with Osferth x Reader

Your fiance, Osferth, has been gone far too long. The two month trip - to see all the holy sites from the New Testament - was already long enough as it is. But now, a massive blizzard has stranded him at the airport. It's Christmas Eve, and you might very well be spending your favorite holiday alone.

#12 days of smuff #aemond fic #aemond targaryen fic #aegon fic #aegon ii fic #aegon ii targaryen fic #daemon fic #daemon targaryen fic #tom bennett fic #billy washington fic #osferth fic #what is broken #studious #criston cole fic

[marihoneywk]

Duty and Flames

Ser Criston Cole x targaryen original female character

Summary:

Daenys Velaryon, oldest daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and, allegedly, Ser Laenor Velaryon.

Hair white like moon, eyes bright like the sun. Many say that she's the copy of her mother in her younger years, with an ethereal beauty and a kind but wild soul.

After six years in Dragonstone, Rhaenyra and her family have to travel back to Kings Landing to secure Lucerys position as heir to Driftmark. What happens when the chaotic members of the Targaryen family reunite again and a particular Lord Commander of the Kingsguard takes a more dark interest in the sweet Daenys?

Chapter 3 - Through halls and gardens

Ser Criston froze. No no no no.

He could pretend that he hadn’t listened and just kept walking, but his stop near the door gave him away.

Before he could turn around, Daenys had already stood up and walked up to him.

“Well, let’s go?” She asked impatiently.

Criston nodded and started walking while breathing heavily as he got anxious, not waiting for the Princess to follow him.

Daenys hurried her step not understanding the weird behavior of the knight. She quickly caught him and tangled her arm in his, as she would often do with her own guard.

As soon as Ser Criston felt her touch, even with the thick layers of his armor, he had to close his eyes for a few seconds to help himself calm down.

With such proximity he had the urge to trace her profile with his eyes but Daenys would certainly notice his inappropriate stares, so he just stared at the long corridor in front of them.

Daenys on the other hand, didn’t hold back. She had never stood that close with Ser Criston, though they lived in the same place for years. They were so close that she could smell the sweat under his armor.

It was odd but Daenys wasn’t disgusted with the smell like she would when her brothers came up to her all sweaty from training. In Ser Criston the smell had a more masculine appeal that intrigued her.

Her eyes slowly observed his features. His lips were plump with a pink coloring, and she kind of wanted to touched them just to see if they were as soft as they looked.

His dark thick hair was shinning, making more visible the few gray hairs that started to grown.

His beard was well trimmed, but would still tickle if a hand or other parts of someone’s body touched it. Daenys wanted to put her hand on his cheek, just to be certain it would tickle, but she didn’t, obviously.

Her face started to get hot, as she was getting red from all the thoughts about the man next to her.

She blamed her behavior on the wine she had drank at supper. Daenys was used to have some adventures with a few boys on Dragonstone, so having these types of thoughts was not a weird thing to her, but Ser Criston wasn’t an ordinary boy. He was a man much older than her, that had a close and almost weird relationship with a woman her family despised.

Ser Criston was so focused on the corridor in front of him and not looking at Daenys, that her flushed and embarrassed face passed unnoticed to him.

“So…is this what you do everyday? Protect the Queen and then go back to your little chambers to sleep a few hours, just to wake up the next day and do the exact same thing?” The silence was killing Daenys, so she tried to strike up a conversation, asking the first thing that came to mind.

It wasn’t the most gracious question, but she had always been curious about kingsguard’s routine.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I do Princess.” Ser Criston was taken aback, not expecting Daenys to engage with him, but he still tried to answer in the most polite way. “And i do not have little chambers. My apartment in the White Sword Tower is very spacious. I’m the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard after all.” He said the last sentence with a smug look, not hiding how proud he was of himself.

Daenys hold her laugh as she mocked Ser Criston in her head.

He only got promoted to Lord Commander because he kisses up Alicent’s ass. He really is a great fighter, but his obedience and submission is what got him there.

Hurried steps were heard, as someone was walking at full speed towards them. Ser Criston immediately got in a defense position, waking from the relaxed trance he had entered.

Ser Lyonel Bentley appeared in front of them, calming as soon as he noticed Daenys’s presence.

“Princess you had me worried. I thought you were just taking your time choosing a book, but then too much time had pass.” His relaxed state disappeared as he realized who was accompanying the princess.

As loyal man to Rhaenyra and her family, Ser Lyonel didn’t like or trust Ser Criston.

He held out his arm for Daenys to take while casting suspicious glances to the other man.

Daenys could smell the tension, felling Ser Criston move uncomfortably in place.

She also felt bad for making her own guard worried, so she took his arm and gave Ser Criston a small smile.

“Sleep well Ser.” She waved her hand gracefully and fluttered her big eyelashes to him.

Ser Criston remained in place, watching Ser Lyonel and Daenys depart. Only when they disappeared down the hall, did he turn walking finally to his room in the White Sword Tower.

As he lay down, feeling free of the heat of his armor, he felt a desire he hadn't felt since Rhaenyra.

He was twitching, and a part of him begged to let his hand go inside his breeches.

After all, he has his own apartment, no one would know.

But he would. His honor would be ruined again. No. He was a respectful knight. The Lord Commander. A little girl wouldn’t destroyed him, again.

Daenys Targaryen was a whore, she knew what she was doing. Fluttering his eyelashes to him like some cheap woman of the Street of Silk. Its all part of a plan from Rhaenyra or Daemon he was sure. If they brought him down, they would be one step closer to Alicent, and she was his Queen after all. And duty was above everything, especially above Targaryen bitches like Daenys.

-

In the morning, after Daenys had shared her breakfast with her brothers, she decided to go for a walk in the Red Keep’s gardens.

It used to be one of her favorite places in the castle, as she loved the colors and shapes of the flowers.

She was exploring the new plants that had grown, when she heard strange noises coming from behind the bushes.

She followed the noise, and as she got closer to it’s source, she finally understood what she was hearing. It was moans.

Embarrassed, Daenys decided to walk back, but when she turned around, a bird flew right in front of her face, scaring her and making her gasp.

“Daenys?” Someone called.

She knew that voice.

When she looked again, she found Aegon but he wasn’t alone. A maid was on her knees, right in the middle of her uncle’s legs.

Of course.

She rolled her eyes at him, moving her feet quickly, dying to get out of there.

She didn’t understand how a boy that once was fun and adoring, had become so depraved.

“Dae wait!” Aegon was running trying to catch her while tying his breeches at the same time.

Using her nickname wasn’t fair, Daenys thought.

Stoping in her track, the princess waited for Aegon to explain himself, not daring to look down from his face.

Aegon had grown into a man, a very attractive one. He was taller and bulkier, but Daenys could not look away from the dark circles under his eyes. For a few seconds she felt for him, remembering how he used to be her best friend, not enjoying the sight of the man in front of her.

But then she recalled the day Aegon had stopped playing with her, and how lonely she had felt at losing her friend and uncle to older women and wine.

“Hm…you look different, beautiful but different.” He said.

Aegon was mesmerized by Daenys figure. He obviously could still notice some of her childhood features, but overall she was a brand new person. The dress she wore that day accentuated her womanly silhouette, showing the top of her breasts, and drawing attention to her waist and hips.

His eyes glued to her body like honey to a spoon.

Daenys notice his stares but honestly, she didn’t mind it. She knew she was charming, and after being obsessed with Aegon pretty much her whole youth, she was okay with him felling the same way about her now.

“Are going to explain yourself? Or can I go?” She questioned.

“There’s not much explaining to do. You saw what you saw.” Aegon scratched his neck, in a nervous mechanism.

“I was expecting at least an apology, you know. After all, me, an innocent girl, just saw a very impure and pervert conduct.” The irony in Daenys’s voice was clear, and even though Aegon was a little taken back that his beloved niece caught him in action, he managed to pick up on that detail.

“You right princess, the next time I put some maid between my legs I will make sure you’re very far away from us. So please, tonight guarantee you don’t pass close to my chambers.” He smirked. “Theirs noises usually tend to spread to the halls.”

Daenys’s face got hot and not knowing what to respond, she gave her uncle a last look before turning back and returning to her room.

When she reached her chambers she found her guard with an annoyed look on his face, as someone was leaning relaxed against her the door waiting for her.

“Aemond?”

Note

Sorry for taking so long my dears ❤️‍🩹 I will try to be faster and publish the next chapter in a few days.

Taglist: @iamavailablesstuff

#criston cole x oc #criston cole x you #criston cole x reader #house of the dragon #ser criston cole #Criston Cole fic

[itsmeimtheproblemitsme]

Rain of Fire Chap.1~ Criston Cole x Fem!Lannister reader

Prologue Warnings- Violence, smut, angst, angst, and more angst, mentions of death, 18+ Wordcount- 2k+ A laugh escapes your throat at the retelling of one of those very tales when a throat clears behind you. Your hand quickly covers your mouth as you turn on your heel, eyes meeting with Ser Criston Cole. You feel a blush creep over your cheeks, your hand falls to your side and a nervous smile creeps across your mouth. “Hello, Ser Criston," your voice wavers, your brother laughs, coughing and stumbling when he feels your heel hit his shin. Your hands toy nervously with your dress, eyes cast down to the floor. Even though it had been years since you had last seen each other it hadn't seemed like he changed much at all.

"Lady Lannister," he greeted you, a small smile gracing his mouth.

You freeze, unsure of how to continue the conversation, hands clutching your dress so tightly that your knuckles turn white. Criston asks if you are well and your mind takes you back to the last time you met when you had left King's Landing.

A ray of the sun blinded you as your lady-in-waiting pulled back the curtains from the windows. Rolling onto your stomach you clenched your eyes shut, "It is far too early, can I not go back to sleep?"

Shaking her head she grasped your shoulder turning you to face her, "No my lady, do you not recall? Today is the tourney, your Father would be very cross with you if you slept the day away," she turned opening the closet, pulling out several gowns.

"I know Daphne, but I truly do not care what my Father wants. All I wish is a few more hours of rest."

She huffed, laying the dresses on the bed, all different variations of your house colors, crimson and gold. You pondered at the choices, the only difference in the gowns being the patterns. You frowned a strong dislike for always wearing the same colors, with mostly the same patterns. You longed to wear a different color, perhaps a light lavender or forest green, but alas, crimson and gold were the only colors your Father allowed. Closing your eyes you spun in a circle and threw out a finger in the direction of the dresses.

"My Lady?" Daphne questioned, her voice filled with a mixture of amusement and confusion.

"Is there not a better way to choose a dress?"

"Not when they are almost exactly the same, the only difference being the pattern of course," you said calmly, eyes still firmly shut.

"Well, wouldn't it help to open your eyes and see which dress you have chosen?"

"Yes, I suppose it would, would it not?" you whisper eyes opening and glancing at the dress your finger had landed on.

She placed her hand on your shoulder guiding you to the vanity and beginning to comb through your hair.

"Any style, in particular, you'd like for today, my lady?"

"No, you style it however you'd like," you say your eyes following a bird as it flew across your window.

After readying yourself for the day a sharp knock sounded on your door, calling out it opened revealing your older brother Tyland an absent look on his face as you step forward.

"Is it time for the tourney?" you question him, hands behind your back as you followed him out into the hall.

"Not quite, Father wanted me to assure that you were ready. To not have a repeat of the last tourney."

You send a glare at him, the last time had certainly not been your fault. You had somehow managed to get lost on the way there and had almost been escorted out of the palace if it hadn't been for the help of some stranger. One who you had secretly hoped to meet again. You sighed, you hadn't even caught his name as when you turned to leave he was gone.

Shaking your head you turned to your brother, about to ask him where your Father was when the sound of the crowd reached your ears. You smiled as you took a seat next to your Father, who quickly turned to give you yet another explanation on the etiquette of tourneys, how to sit, greetings, and more.

"Father, you have taught me etiquette so many times, I could write a book on the matter."

He sighed, "I will explain the matters of etiquette to you until you can fully grasp the concept, which you clearly haven't," he snapped looking down at your necklace, you could feel your face heat up as you quickly tucked it into your dress.

Before your Father could continue with his tirade Jason quickly interrupted him, making a snide comment about the knight that had just been knocked from his horse. Your eyes followed along as the second knight tumbled from his horse and drew his sword, slashing the man across his stomach. Falling forward he lifted his sword and brought down the pommel onto the man's skull. You turned away, bile rising in the back of your throat as they announced the victor.

Your head fell to your hands as they dragged the man away, and announced the next contesters. Your ears perked up at the names, Prince Daemon, and a Ser Criston Cole. The latter didn't seem familiar, but perhaps once you saw him, you would recognize him. Hearing Prince Daemon's name on the other hand made you nervous. You had met the Prince exactly one time, and it had left you somewhat terrified. Sitting up in your seat you tried to shake the thought from your head, and instead focus on the two men now racing toward each other. You gasped at seeing Daemon knocked from his horse, his shield knocked from his hand. After which he is dragged along the metal fence, you cover your ears, the screeching of his armor defeating you.

"Prince Daemon Targaryen wishes to continue in a contest of arms!" the announcer shouts as Daemon grabs hold of his sword.

You watch silently, holding your breath as Cole swings his Morningstar towards him, but Daemon dodges and lands a blow on Cole. They continue exchanging blows to the point Daemon's shield is turned to splinters. Cole sweeps his Morningstar against Daemon's legs knocking him to the dirt, when Daemon suddenly gains the upper hand, knocking Cole to the ground.

He points to the crowd in victory, but a gasp leaves your throat as Cole stands behind him, and swings his Morningstar at him knocking him to the ground. At which point Daemon stabs him in the leg.

"Yield," says Cole wielding his Morningstar in preparation to swing to towards the Prince.

"Yield," he repeats, reaching for Daemon's hand.

Daemon slaps him away and stands.

You watch as he approaches the Princess and asks for her favor. She smiles and turns to grab the laurel, tossing it to him and wishing him luck.

You turn as you feel your Father's hand on your shoulder, forcing you to stand. You stare at him, a look of confusion coming over your face, letting him lead you away. You glance back to the tourney, your eyes meeting with Ser Cole.

*** You sit in your room, contemplating if you should still await your Father, or roam the halls looking for a brief reprieve from him. For he had decided that you would be leaving King's Landing in the coming weeks. You glance out the window, the sun high in the sky to the point it nearly blinds you.

Letting out a sigh you move to your feet and quietly open the door. A strange silence welcomes you as you move through the halls. You noticed that everyone had seemingly disappeared. You quickly move through the courtyard stopping in front of the godswood.

"How strange," you say to yourself, taking a seat by its roots and wringing your hands nervously.

"How strange indeed," a voice interrupts your reverie.

Looking up you meet the eyes of Ser Criston Cole. You quickly stand, averting your eyes.

"Apologies, I, thought I was alone."

He gives you a reassuring smile, "It's alright, my Lady."

You frown, twisting your gown in your hands, as you move to re-enter the palace, but pause, "I'm afraid we haven't been acquainted," a blush spreads across your face as you regard him, "I am Lady Lannister, daughter of Lord Tymond Lannister, and my Mother, the late Late Lady Dyanna Stark. And you are?" You say with a small curtsey.

"My name is Ser Criston Cole," he replies.

You give him a small smile and turn to leave, "I should hope we meet again someday, Ser Criston. It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"A pleasure to meet your acquaintance as well my Lady."

You quicken your pace, your face so warm you feel you could feint as you re-enter the halls of the palace. As you make the journey back to your room, you can't help but get the feeling you had seen Ser Criston before. Your thoughts however are interrupted by your strange surroundings. You look at the walls, various tapestries and portraits hanging along them, and realize that somewhere you had made a grave mistake. You were completely and utterly lost. Letting out a sigh of frustration you decide to turn back from whence you came.

However, retracing your steps made the ordeal of being lost worse. You were now somehow on the outskirts of the palace, being once again questioned by a member of the Kingsguard. You tried explaining to the man that you were simply lost and had no idea how to return to your chambers, but alas he was convinced that you had somehow snuck into the palace.

"And who are you? What business have you here?" he questions you, and it feels as if he's staring straight into your soul.

"As I have told you time and time again, I am the Lady Lannister, daughter of Lord Tymond Lannister! I am simply lost and cannot find my way back to my chambers!"

You flinch as he grabs your arm to drag you into the city when a hand stops him.

"Are you aware of who this is?" a familiar voice asks, forcing your eyes to open.

They are met with the sight of Ser Criston Cole, whose hand is now by your side, hovering over your waist. His warm eyes check you for any sign of injury as he questions the Kingsguard. The guard turns away sheepishly and gestures for you to go back through the gates.

"Are you alright?" he asks as he guides you back to your chambers, eyes full of concern.

You frown, you supposed you were, but the thought of being lost in the city of King's Landing had scared you quite a bit.

"I suppose so," you nod, coming to a stop in front of your door.

Criston pauses as if searching for the words to say before you stop him by placing a kiss on his cheek. You turn away, your face on fire, "That was my thanks for your, assistance, Ser Cole."

You smile, opening the door to your room and sliding in, quietly closing it behind you.

You smile, opening the door to your room when you feel his hand on your arm pulling you towards him. Your eyes flutter shut when you notice him leaning in, your lips meeting. His hands grab your waist as you lead him back into your room, the door slamming shut behind you.

His hands find the laces of your gown, quickly undoing them, tossing it to the side, to reveal your bodice which he undoes just as quickly, gently lowering you to the bed. Your back hits the soft quilt as his lips roam your neck and now bare chest. You felt a chill run down your spine as his hands reached your inner thighs his eyes reaching yours asking for permission you nod, breath hitching as he inserts a finger into your entrance, a high-pitched moan leaving your mouth, eyes clenching shut.

You feel a tightness in your stomach as he adds two more fingers, a bright light blinding you as you reach your high screaming his name, your hands clenching the sheets as he places a chaste kiss on your swollen lips. Your face heats up as you feel him lining up against your cunt, a gasp leaving your mouth as he bites and sucks on your throat, sure to leave marks in the morning.

"C-Criston," you stutter, eyes fluttering as he slowly sheaths himself in your warmth. You moan as your legs involuntarily wrap around his waist, nails digging into his back.

You feel a familiar coil tightening as he moves faster, his lips meeting yours as your eyes clench shut once more, as he spills into you. You collapse onto the bed, your breathing ragged as he gently pulls the covers over you. You feel yourself slip into a dreamless sleep as his lips meet your forehead, the door quietly closing in the background.

---

Your mind is returned to the present when you see the concerned look on Criston's face. You shake your head of your reminiscing and give him a courteous smile, excusing yourself.

You quickly make your way into the halls and rub your eyes, willing yourself not to cry. Taking a deep breath you begin to nearly sprint back to your room, tears blurring your vision when you slip bracing yourself to fall face first into the floor.

A fall that never comes, as you feel a hand on your shoulder. Looking back you see Criston's warm eyes now filled with even more concern than when you had fled the throne room. You shove his hand away and attempt to stand, but wince at a sharp pain in your ankle.

"My Lady, it appears you have hurt yourself, allow me to escort you to your chambers," Criston says grasping onto your arm once more.

You shove him away again, voice full of venom, "I do not require your assistance, Ser Cole. I can make it to my chambers of my own accord," you begin, taking exactly three steps before faltering to your knees.

Criston quickly steadies you and wraps an arm around your waist, as you struggle against him, but realize that your attempts to have him leave you be will result in nothing. So you resign yourself to letting him half carry you back to your chambers, your head turned away.

"We have arrived to your chambers my Lady," he says slowly opening the door and walking you through.

Your eyes fall to the the ground as he quietly places you onto the bed, his hands lingering for a small moment before he turns to the door.

"I shall call someone to tend to your injury," he whispers taking a step forward, if it weren't for you grabbing his hand.

"Will you not apologize?" your voice is a hoarse whisper as he turns to face you.

He sighs deeply, "And to what do I owe you an apology for, my Lady?"

You send him a glare and point towards the door, "Out," you snap the tears you held back now running down your face in full force, "Out now."

He turns before you can read his expression, the door slamming shut leaving you to sob into your pillow.

---

Hey! It's me, itsmeimtheproblemitsme, and I just realized I literally left out three or so paragraphs of this chapter somehow. It must've got lost when I was transferring it from google docs. Sorry!!

The second chapter should be posted by the end of the week.

Hello! Thank you for reading this I hope you enjoyed, here is a link to my masterlist if you want to read more like this!

Thank you again so much, and requests are open!

Also, if you'd like to be tagged for this fic, comment and let me know!

Taglist-

#criston cole #criston cole x reader #criston cole x you #criston cole x y/n #ser criston cole #criston cole imagine #criston cole fic #mels fics #mels rain of fire

[targaryen-jpg]

i am taking requests for house of the dragon! specifically harwin, daemon, criston cole, aemond, and jace!! i am also working on a multi part aemond fic right now

feel free to send me an ask anytime and i'll see what i can come up with ;)

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fic #harwin strong #harwin strong x reader #harwin strong fic #criston cole x reader #criston cole #criston cole fic #jaecerys targaryen #jace velaryon #jace velaryon x reader

[wackyharpy]

Just have an urge to point out:

Since the moment of the trailers' release, I've already met people who are arguing and humiliating others who don't like the characters they do, or who aren't at the side of the team they like. I understand that you may tend to be more at the side of team black or green, but let's not forget that this is a show, and the characters are fictional. Any person can have fav characters, whoever they like and that's incredible, that's what the show is created for. So, please, you may cheer and support anyone, but don't forget to be respectful and mind others' business. Eventually, I don't think we should be divided, we are all the fans of the same show, we are all united here by one story. So, let's enjoy this adventure together.

Thank you for your attention

#aemond #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #prince aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aegon ii targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #alicent hightower #otto hightower #queen rhaenyra #criston cole #helaena targaryen #prince jacaerys #lucerys velaryon #house targaryen

[author-morgan]

Title: Rise by the Birdsong Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!Reader Rating: M Summary: In which you soothe Daemon's wounded ego and pride after he loses in a tournament. Warnings: Typically Westerosi shenanigans.

HE SUMMONS YOU to his chambers in the hours after the tourney and feast —the taste of defeat still bitter on his tongue. Hubris cost him the victory. He had the Merryweather boy cornered. It should have been easy, yet he was forced to yield the champion's title and purse. Daemon Targaryen drapes his arms over the side of the tub and thinks of who he would have named as the Queen of Love and Beauty had he won. Certainly not Rhea Royce —the old bronze bitch. He’s more apt to name one of the sheep before her. The thought fades when the doors creak open, his guards letting you pass into the prince’s chambers.

Steam fills the room, as does the scent of Myrish oils. Your skin prickles with heat for reasons that have nothing to do with the warmth of the air when your eyes settle on Daemon at the center of the room. You wondered where he’d gone so quickly after the feast. His eyes flash open as your footfalls echo on the stone floor until you stop beside the tub and kneel. “My prince,” you greet. He’s always liked how you say his title, sweet and taunting, nigh like a songbird. Glancing away from his face, your gaze follows the line of his arm and the planes of his chest. He’s all lean and lithe muscle, sculpted from years of training and battle —the most seasoned warrior in all of the Seven Kingdoms.

Daemon takes your hand, reclaiming your attention. His fingers curl around yours, then he shifts and leans toward you, head dipping down to press a soft kiss to your knuckles —a knightly and unexpected gesture. He lets your hand go and settles back in the tub, and the look of an arrogant prince reclaims his expression. “Take off your dress,” Daemon demands, flicking the surface of the water. Ever the dutiful lady, you rise and reach for the ties of your nightdress —shedding the pale linen, baring yourself to Prince Daemon Targaryen.

He's been soaking for nigh half-an-hour, and the water is still warm —fire cannot harm a dragon, he told you once whilst he held his hand above a candle, toying with the flame. You sink into the water and find the space he’s made next to him, head half-resting on his shoulder. Daemon drapes his arm around your shoulders, and wordlessly, you begin tracing mindless patterns on his chest. “You fought well today,” you tell him after a while, thinking of how handsome he looked in his dark steel suit emblazoned with the sigil of House Targaryen and decorated with rubies.  

“I lost,” he reminds you, no lack of bitterness in his voice. He’d find a way to best the Merryweather boy, somehow.  

You reach for his hand, and he lets you take it, curious brows raised. “Yet they all speak of how commendable your effort and skills are” —your fingers find the scars on his knuckles, the calloused pads of his fingertips. “Reputation is its own victory,” you tell him, placing a kiss to the center of his palm before he retracts his hand. 

Daemon looks down at you. “Trying to mend my broken heart?”

You trace a curving line over his breast and up his neck, caressing his smooth and sharp jaw. “It’s I who am heartbroken, Daemon,” you say, smiling. He cuts his eyes at you, something dangerous lurking in his stare. “You told me you’d gift me a crown of roses upon your victory, and here I am, crownless.”

His lips quirk upward. “Dare speak to your prince with such impertinence?” His touch against your cheek is gentle, but you can still hear the slightest hint of a laugh in his voice. It’s the look in his cool eyes that speak of danger, though —he’s always been as wild and unpredictable as his dragon. You hold your breath as you look at him, expecting his kiss when he careens forward in the water, and when he leans in to meet your mouth, you’re struck by how desperate it feels in comparison to all the other times.

You’re impatient for more —always more— feeling his smile growing as he kisses you again, and you’re happy to give the Rogue Prince whatever he wishes. He always brings out your worse impulses. Sighing against his mouth, his tongue brushes against yours. He tastes like the spices from dinner, warm and enticing, and there’s still a hint of sweet wine lingering on his lips. Not even a maiden could refuse Daemon Targaryen after a single kiss like this —you hadn’t been able to either, but now all that is in the past. His fingers run along your neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and the little moan you make is music.

“Who else would keep you on your toes if not I?” You question, breathless. Daemon hums his agreement against your neck, lips trailing further down your pulse.

He pulls you close against him until you’re nearly in his lap —his cock twitches against your leg, but he brushes you off when you try to reach for him. He’d not summoned you tonight for a quick fuck. Daemon’s hands trace along your ribs to cup your breasts and feel your nipples stiffen in his palm, and his slight hum of approval makes your thighs squeeze together instinctively. Tonight, he’s more interested in having his hands on you instead —reparations for his failure to give you a rose crown.

“Open your legs,” he orders, a hot whisper at your ear, and you do so without a second thought. His hand slips between them, teasing briefly over your inner thighs before he’s touching you. Your voice is a breathy whimper as you feel him stroke slowly over the folds of your cunt and up to circle your clit. He doesn’t enter you yet, not until he can get his fill of watching you squirm and shudder from such simple attention. “What would Lord Mooton say if he could see precious his daughter like this?” Daemon relents to your soft pleas and slips two fingers into you. You shudder against him as he works in and out of you, breath catching. Your father is the last thing you want to think of with Daemon’s fingers buried in your cunt. “You like this?” He asks, well aware of how quickly he has you rutting into his hand for more stimulation.

“Yes, Daemon,” you insist, wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck to draw his lips down to yours. His thumb rolls across your clit, and your head falls back.

His kiss is less fierce this time, deep and slow until your lungs ache. You can sense his mood improving as he fucks you with his hand, relishing all the little noises you make for him. “You’re mine, little dove,” he breathes in your ear, and you can’t disagree when your cunt is already squeezing so tight around him. He brushes over your clit again, and you lean your head forward to his shoulder this time. “I won’t let you wed another.” You know he speaks true.

You whimper when he nibbles at your earlobe. Cautiously, you move to touch him and slowly trace down his stomach and past his navel, earning you the smallest laugh of amusement from him. Permission enough to touch him. You take his hard cock in your hand, and he lets out a pleased sigh as you begin to stroke him. Watching him is mesmerizing, his movements as graceful as ever even as he rocks his hips into your touch, though his own rhythm between your thighs stutters momentarily with distraction. “Yours,” you agree between long kisses. The Seven and the Old Gods be damned, you’d made your bed among the dragons and intended to lay in it.

Both of you stay like that for a while, enjoying the feel of your bodies as you work to get each other off. He’s better at it than you are —this Lord of Flea Bottom— and it doesn’t take long to have you panting hard with every brush of his fingers inside you. He can tell you’re close from the way you’re clenching around his fingers, his tongue muffling greedy moans.

“Let me see you,” he says, and you’re powerless to deny him when you lift your head from his shoulder. His thumb brushes over your clit harder, and the tension in your body snaps, your arms wrapping around his back and holding him to you in a desperate need to ground yourself as you come on his fingers. Daemon’s fingers keep moving inside you, teasing you through your orgasm until you’re a dazed mess for him. You give yourself several long moments to recover, breathing in the perfumed steam of the bath to slow your frantic heartbeat. He withdraws his hand from between your legs, and you can’t hide your disappointment at the newly empty feeling inside you.

Daemon rises from the water —his cock hard and straining against his belly— and offers his hand to help you out of the tub, leading you over to his bed. You lay back as he wishes, and he parts your thighs again, rubbing along the wetness he finds there and lifts his fingers to his lips to taste you. The noise Daemon makes is a promise of next time, but you’re given no time to dwell on the thought when he crawls over you and settles between your legs, the head of his cock just pressing into your cunt —unexpected, he usually takes you like a bitch in heat.

Your hips rut up towards his impatiently, and a moment later, he’s inside you. He hisses sharply but can’t stop the roll of his hips, pushing his cock deeper into you. It’s a newfound boldness you do not wish to relinquish. “Behave,” Daemon scolds, but there’s none of the usual annoyance or ire in his voice. His mouth eager on yours as he guides your arms up to pin your wrists above your head. “Stay still.” You do. Relaxing into the down blankets and pillows while he laves your neck and breasts with affection.

His thumb brushes over your nipple, and he hears how you stutter out his name, and it only spurs his need to have you like this. “What a good little dove you are.” Daemon smirks, and you have to look away, almost ashamed of how red your face turns at his praises, but you squirm beneath him as he strokes along a sensitive spot inside of you.

You feel his lips ghosting over your closed eyelids, and you peek one open to watch him. There’s the faintest flush across his face as he stares down at you with such raw hunger it feels like you’re going to burn up from the heat of your bodies —like Caraxes has bathed you both in flames. You want to touch him, to run your fingers through his silver hair and down the toned muscles of his shoulders and back. You flex them impatiently but keep your hands obediently where he’d placed them.

He pinches a nipple between his fingers, and you jolt, letting out a shaky moan that has his cock throbbing inside you, and it rips a harsh groan from his lips. You reach for him without thinking, dragging your nails across his scalp before he takes your wrists and presses them harder into the bed. You wriggle under him and only earn a quick nip to your earlobe. “Told you to behave,” he reminds you sternly, but his scolding only makes you clench around him tighter. Daemon curses and his next kiss is hot and demanding, and you part your lips for his tongue without a moment’s hesitation.

“Please, Daemon,” you whimper, and he knows what it is you want and gives a small nod of agreement. You reach for him again, going for his silver locks to bring him back down into another kiss. You hold tight to him when he tries to separate, keeping his chest flush against yours, whispering and whimpering his name like sacred prayers as he presses himself deeper into you —his pelvis grinding against your clit.

He thrusts into you harder while stroking your clit, and you unravel for him, tension running through you like dragonfire until you’re unable to do anything more than shudder beneath him. “Daemon,” you whimper, muscles twitching uselessly as he teases you through it. You’re too focused on your blood pounding in your ears to fully appreciate his reaction to you, his breaths ragged, and pupils blown wide with his own arousal at how you spasm around his aching cock. It’s a sight you’re not like to see again —you very well may never see your prince like this again.

You try to wrap yourself around his waist and pull him further into you —wanting to help him find his release— but instead, your legs are pressed firmly into the bed. “No,” he says through rough kisses, the last one nipping sharply at your bottom lip. He groans, feeling his cock twitch in anticipation of release. 

Daemon pulls out of your cunt and leaves you empty. You almost complain, but he shushes you by dragging your hand down to his cock —slick and throbbing from all your efforts— and you follow his lead without instruction. His fingers are warm around yours as he guides you. He looks tragically beautiful when he comes, his head tilted back and mouth slightly open in a sharp gasp at the shiver running through his body. His cock twitches in your grasp, coating your hand and stomach in his sticky seed —he won’t risk a bastard child.

He moves to lay beside you, more relaxed than he’s been in a fortnight. You roll onto your side and look him over. This is far from your first time entertaining the prince in his bed —even being of noble blood, you know how this works. All the Seven Kingdoms know you are his mistress, even true love perhaps, but he is already sworn to another, and you must act as though the whispers and rumors are lies. It always hurts when you must leave, but you’d been foolish enough to cast your heart to the son of the dragon, and now you must suffer the price. “Do you require anything else, my prince?” You query.

Daemon turns his head to look at you, flushed and glowing. “Mmm” —he reaches for you, fingers trailing along your cheek and back into your hair— “stay.” The request surprises you, but you’ll indulge him and your own heart. A comfortable silence lingers until Daemon shifts, gathering you up in his arms to lay you down on the bed properly and offers a rag to clean yourself with as he does the same. When he returns to your side, Daemon rests his head on your breast and lets you hold him, humming sweetly as the songbirds, to an age-old lullaby. We'll sleep when the morning comes, and we'll rise by the sound of the birdsongs. And the morning will come too soon.

[ taglist: @mrsragnarlodbrok @erzsebetrosztoczy @certifiedlittleshit ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

#Daemon Targaryen #Daemon Targaryen x Reader #Daemon x Reader #Daemon Targaryen Fanfic #House of the Dragon #Matt Smith #my writing #setting for this fic is before HotD and the DotD begins #he came for me y'all and i cannot help it #between him and Criston Cole woo boy #if i wasnt sold on the casting i am now #soon to be everyones favorite bastards

[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.”

#vermithorn's 1k milestone event ! #criston cole x reader #criston cole x you #criston x reader #criston cole x fem!reader #criston cole x female reader #criston cole smut #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon #criston cole #ser criston cole #ser criston x reader #ser criston cole x reader #ser cole x reader #criston x y/n #criston x you #criston cole x y/n #ser criston x you #ser criston x y/n #ser criston cole x you #ser criston cole x y/n #ser cole x you #ser cole x y/n #criston oneshot

[kckt88]

House of the Dragon Master List.

Aemond Targaryen x O.C -

Series -

Dynasty

Drowning Inside You

Take My Breath Away

Breath of Doubt

The Picture of Aemond Targaryen I

The Picture of Aemond Targaryen II

The Lost Dragon

One Shots -

Love Me Harder

Nepenthe

Cruel Intentions

Sytilībagon

Closer

Closer II

Aemond Targaryen x Y/N -

Don't Mess With My Mind

Moth to a Flame

Moth to a Flame Part 2

Kickstart My Heart I

Kickstart My Heart II

Let It Be Me I

Let It Be Me II

You Really Got Me

Alternate Universe -

Dynasty

Three Hearts, One Breath (Take My Breath Away)

Three Breaths, One Heart (Take My Breath Away)

Breath of Love (Take My Breath Away)

Don't Mess With My Mind Alternate Ending

NSFW Alphabets -

Dynasty NSFW Alphabet ft. Aemond.

Take My Breath Away What If! NSFW Alphabet ft. Aemond & Aegon with Vaeryna.

The Lost Dragon NSFW Alphabet.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd aemond #aemond x oc #aemond fandom #aemond fic #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #alicent hightower #otto hightower #aegon ii targaryen #hotd smut #criston cole #helaena targaryen #aemond smut #aemond one eye #prince aemond #hotd fic #aemond #prince aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #alys rivers #hotd #aegon the second #aegon ii #hotd aegon #alicent

[bucknastysbabe]

Ser Criston is OC Princess (Rhaenyra’s younger sister) sworn protector & is in love with her but he knows he shouldn’t but he can’t help being obsessed and Rhaenyra hates it because it’s her little sister & so one night she asks Ser Criston to sneak out for a walk and they kiss & get caught by Rhaenyra idk

Hi yes I totally got carried away bc Criston has me in a chokehold rn. I hope you enjoy, I love the obsessed aspects. I also got to explore the other indications in F&B that insinuated Cole rejected Rhaenyra. Thanks for the ask🥰🥰 I don’t usually do OC’s but since it’s a Targ I mean I can only leave so much up to interpretation! But it was fun and diff

Rating: Mature

Tags: Forbidden love, unreliable narrator, Criston’s POV, oc-ish Princess reader, Sorry I made Rhae a bitch ugh, Criston’s snappy ass, Alicent is his bestie, masturbation, fantasies, dark Criston, virgin reader, clit orgasm, open ending, angst and pining galore, Religious Guilt, Harwin doing his best okay?, character study-ish, obsessive/possessive Criston

Word count: About 6k

@aemonds-holy-milk @aemonddtargaryen

Lucerra Targaryen, called Cerra, was oft said to be the spitting image of the late Queen Aemma. She retained more of her father’s demeanor, none of the resolute strength of Aemma and the fiery nature of young Rhaenyra. The fire that had entranced Criston once. He was told all of Cerra’s quirks when they made him her sworn shield.

He so much did not glance Rhaenyra’s way now, the burly Ser Harwin towering over the heir. They shared a kiss once, Criston ran, their close bond was severed. He knew down deep she coveted her uncle. It burned him, but he did his duty. The duty hanging around his shoulders like a lead weight— just cloaked in white wool. Criston found himself bewitched again.

The sweet Cerra, her gentle innocence and piousness. Something unmarred, not yet tainted by the world. The knight wondered if she was the maiden reborn, sent to test him. He prayed and prayed and confessed repeatedly to get rid of the wicked sin in his heart. Usually after touching himself.

Criston had always been weak when it came to the fairer sex. He’d fall madly in love like a boy and his first fuck. Just no fucking, more of the merest scrap of appreciation and touch had him by the vulnerable throat.

He coveted the young princess badly. Sometimes she would grab his palm when frightened, or on a walk to the Sept. Criston felt disgusting wondering how that soft hand would feel around his cock, the pale flesh clashing against ruddy. Cerra didn’t know, couldn’t know how weak he was.

Rhaenyra obviously knew of the metaphorical chink in the armor. She was becoming increasingly nosy of her sister’s doings as of late. He sourly thought to himself, ‘spoiled cunt couldn’t have me, of course she’ll make sure I part from her sweet sister.’ He frowned in annoyance at the elder’s recent interruption.

He’d merely helped her up to reach a flower in a tall bush. Certainly didn’t expect chaste Cerra to be so…close. She had wrapped her arms around his neck, startling him as she sighed, “You’re too kind Ser Criston, my white knight. What would I do without you?” She didn’t mean anything licentious, the Princess never did. Once a lordling flirted and she blushed to her ears and called for Criston to escort her away.

He preened about that for days. He’d heard the idiot boy scoff, “Stupid Dornish mutt.” Criston grinned and leaned toward the shorter lad, keeping his voice low. The princess shouldn’t hear such filth. He hissed, “This mutt would be glad to cave your fucking skull in with a Morningstar. Don’t come near the Princess ever again.” That was that. Back to his original thought.

At the moment Criston couldn’t help but sink into her soft gesture, pale white waves and lavender eyes gazing up as she laid her head on his chest. The brunette laid a chaste hand on her waist, but the moony look on his face was likely brighter than the Hightower’s beacon.

“My lady is kinder, no need to praise your sworn shield, merely doing my duty Princess.”

His cock was full to bursting at her sweet scent and wide eyes, framed by pretty lashes. Cerra closed those lavender orbs and inhaled gently, relaxing in the center of the Godswood. Criston’s hand thumbed little circles into her waist, feeling the princess relax more, leaning into his stronger frame, lips subtly parting.

“Cole! This is an unseemly position to be seen in with my sister if Larys’ spies are about,” Rhaenyra called with a smile and cocked head. Lucerra stepped back with a gasp, flush flooding her cheeks. She stammered, “R-Rhaenyra, no no, I w-was simply.”

“Simply what?”

Criston cooled his expression to state, “The princess was expressing her gratitude for me. Nothing more.”

Lucerra nodded, gesturing to the knight, cheeks still flaming and eyes downcast. She certainly wasn’t acting as if this was innocent. Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes and stepped forward to grab her sister’s hand. Casting a glare toward him she hissed, “I need her for the afternoon, you can wait outside the door.”

He stiffly nodded, anger flaring up in his chest so violently Criston feared he would yell at the heir. Instead he murmured, “Yes princess.” From a distance he trailed the two blondes, aggravated as all Seven Hells. Rhaenyra never paid attention to Cerra, especially since having her first babe. Damned bitch. Where was her loyal whore Harwin?

Waiting outside Rhaenyra’s chambers, Criston thought over her precious sister’s actions. He wondered what it would be like to touch her more. Graze over her sensitive neck, breasts, lower belly. She’d probably squeal if he suckled on a pretty tit. He inhaled sharply, catching himself on a low moan. Repentance would be in order soon.

Maybe he was being punished now— waiting outside like a mangy dog.

For hours.

Cerra came back out with a strange look, apologizing, “Sorry Ser Criston, that went longer than expected, I didn’t think my sister would want that much of the day. Shall we head to supper?”

He nodded, extending an arm forward. The princess was quiet, eyes flicking toward him a couple of times. Criston asked, “Yes princess?” Lucerra stopped on a dime and faced him, face close to tears. She warbled, “You’re not mad are you? I- I can’t deny family. Rhaenyra actually uh- helped. I was acting imprudent in the Godswood, I apologize for being wanton and brazen Ser.”

Oh. Criston blinked a couple of times. She was expressing more than mere affection? He wiped away her tear with a gloved hand, sighing, “No princess, I could never be mad at you, what’s in the past is in the past. You are anything but wanton, the picture of the maiden to me. Don’t let her scare you.”

She smiled, tipping forward on her feet some, eyes entrapping Cole easily. Then he was engulfed into a hug again. What had brought in this madness? He couldn’t complain, yet.

She breathed, “Oh, oh I was so worried you’d be mad. We should go to the sept tomorrow, yes?” The knight’s lips quirked up as he replied, “That sounds splendid my Princess, we shall go in the morn. Now let’s get you to dinner?”

She grabbed his hand again, practically skipping, chattering now about her time with ‘big sister’. Criston listened, he always did, but he needed to go jack his cock before going mad. Then wallow in guilt about it all night at the edge of Cerra’s room. She preferred him taking watch from inside her quarters. Such a frightened little lamb.

Wallow in guilt did he. While the princess slept in her grand bed, Criston couldn’t help but replay the shame in his head. As soon as he’d escorted her to dinner, he went to his quarters and stripped down heavy armor and pants. The man shuddered at the sensation of cool air hitting his achingly flushed cock.

He pictured the pristine Targaryen underneath his tanned body, writhing with pleasure. Criston spat on his hand and worked his prick, panting softly. Cerra’s doe eyes would be teary, overwhelmed with the pleasures of the flesh. She’d whine while he’d pump into her virgin cunt, “Oh, Criston, oh gods! Don’t stop!” The knight gasped and shuddered at the thought, groaning as he spilled all over his hand.

He blinked again, running a hand through his hair. Lucerra was awake, hair shining like silver under the moonlight. She spoke in a soft rasp, “Ser Cole, are you still here?” He laughed at her silly question, replying, “As always, can’t trade me out like the Cargylls.”

“Oh, good,” she pulled the covers off the bed and stretched, white nightgown pulling in the right wrong places, “I had a horrid dream. I can’t possibly go back to sleep yet.”

Criston frowned at her admission— it pained his heart to have her upset. He questioned, “A bad dream? What was it about?” She stepped onto the cold marble floor, shivering, shrugging on a thicker robe hung nearby. His eyes followed her smaller form come closer, curling up in a plush chair adjacent to his position. She wiped a hand across her face, still groggy.

“I can hardly remember now. I was alone, so alone, not even my dragon was around. I k-kept calling out for someone, probably you,” she pulled the robe tighter, “I don’t know. Maybe it was the wine.”

Cerra’s lips were drawn tight, brows pulled together. Criston wanted to pull the pretty girl onto his lap, she was still shivery. He thought of a decent response, something comforting. The knight settled on, “It was obviously a dream, I’d never desert you my Princess. That big white beast wouldn’t either.”

Her lips curled up to let out a tinkling laugh— making Criston’s sick heart skip a beat. Cerra replied, “Cloudwing is not a beast! She’s a good girl.” The brunette chuckled along with the Targaryen, smiling helplessly, such a lovesick dumb dog was he.

A beat of silence grew over them, heavy with something. The earlier revelation of Lucerra behaving with romantic intentions still lay undiscussed. Criston suggested gently, “You will catch a cold if you do not get back under the covers, princess. You won’t be alone, I swore an oath.”

One he would break if she just asked. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted that truly or not. He’d gotten quite far being the son of a common born steward.

She bit her lower lip and shrugged, “I’d much rather sit with you Ser Criston. I’ll be okay as long as I keep my feet off the dreadful stone.”

“Lucerra, please, shall I pick you up then? You need sleep, the Sept remember?”

Her gaze locked onto the white knight’s intensely. Lucerra fidgeted with her robe, the damn air growing heavier. Criston found it hard to think when she was being so confusing. She finally spoke, a meek whisper, “Yes, that would be nice, thank you.”

Lifting the blonde was easy, her squeak and grasp onto his shoulders adorable. Criston had to bat away more thoughts about how simple she was to handle. He laid her down gently, taking the coat she shrugged off. Lucerra grabbed onto his hand with a fervent tightness as he turned back to his chair.

“Please, don’t leave me so alone, I don’t care what Rhaenyra says. Just keep me warm?”

Her pretty face was achingly raw, open, eyes tinged with fear. Criston swallowed heavily. He was weak. He couldn’t run away this time. Didn’t want to run away, bask in the sweet sin. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe it was a test from the seven.

“Criston?”

“Yes, just, just- give me a second to get my armor off.”

Now he was shivery with want, warring with trepidation. Ridding his body of armor was horribly slow. The awkward clank of each piece coming off. Each heavy noise reminded him what he was potentially giving up. Soon Criston remained in simple breeches and a linen shirt. Lucerra pulled back the covers and smiled nervously.

He climbed onto the soft bed, pulling the blankets back over their frames. Unsure of what came next, Criston simply laid on his back and gazed at her. Lucerra murmured, “Must you be the pious one now?” He raised an amused brow at the bold comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean princess?”

She frowned and nestled into his side, wrapping an arm around him and tucking soft hair into the crook of shoulder and jaw. Criston exhaled sharply, unused to such intimate touch after donning the white cloak. He reached over to grab her leg, pulling it snug across his lower belly, thankfully out of the way of his swelling prick.

Cerra gasped against his neck, giggling, “Good, now I don’t feel like a concubine.”

“Concubine? Pfft. You’re white as snow compared to my cloak,” he replied.

“It’ll be our secret, I’d fear I would perish without my white knight. I swear it upon my heart.”

He couldn’t respond, lest it be something out of control. Instead he rubbed her back and knee, squeezing once in agreement with Cerra’s statement. Soon she fell asleep, softly puffing against his neck. Criston joined soon after, utterly content and warm.

The simple action of cuddling up couldn’t slake the thirst that grew within him for the lovely princess. They had remained chaste and he arose early every morn to get dressed and step back outside the wooden door. Lucerra would seek out touches in secret, holding pinkies with him, laying her head on an armored shoulder in the Godswood.

She would share smiles with the knight across the throne room, Rhaenyra’s calculating look upon the utterly obvious pair. Criston knew one could see into his bleeding heart if they looked into his eyes. The way Princess Lucerra grew tighter and tighter into his side around the keep, lavender eyes sparkling aroused many curious onlookers.

Rumors began to swirl. Criston reluctantly stood outside her chambers a couple nights a week. One night he encountered a poorly prying Harwin Strong. The fellow knight had made one too many passes and he called out, “Get your big ass over here!” He didn’t mind Harwin, but did mind being spied on.

The hand’s son looked sullen as he walked up to Criston, flicking down a dark hood. He gave a sheepish smile, apologizing, “Uh, you know, the girls want what they want.” Criston crossed his arms and deadpanned, “Your girl wants me expelled from King’s Landing on account of rumors”

Harwin gave him a look, disgusting pity lacing his features. Criston reiterated, “The girl remains pure, she looks to me as a protector, you know how easily frightened the princess has always been.” Somehow he felt like a liar. Still her pretty lips and cunt remained untouched.

“Sure Cole. Just be careful, you know what the punishment is of breaking your oath.”

Criston’s temper flared to life, taunting Harwin with a fake smile, “You be careful too now, two Valyrians making some beautiful brown haired babes is a bit strange no?”

Harwin shoved him into the door with a snarl. Breakbones’ power at full force knocked the wind out of Criston, but he wheezed a laugh. He was no better than him— just another lovesick fool. Strong rumbled, “Keep your damn mouth shut and I’ll stay on my side, but I know you got the princess primed for your dirty lowborn cock.”

Criston didn’t want to get his face pummeled in. The raucous already probably woke his sweetling. He gave another smarmy look and hummed, “Noted, Strong.” That earned the knight another shove and the burly man stomped off to lick the bitch’s teats.

The door opened behind Criston, a bewildered Lucerra in her robe. She questioned, “W-what was that? Are you alright Ser Criston? Come in, please.”

His dark eyes scanned down the hallway once more before stepping inside, sighing as she enveloped him into a warm embrace. Criston spoke lowly, “Big sister had sent her own shield to spy on me. We should be more careful.”

Lucerra frowned, lips setting into a pout. She murmured, “We’ve done nothing horrid. Yes, unseemly, but I’m intact. Turn around, let me get off this dreaded armor.” Criston appreciated her desire to learn how to discard his Kingsguard armor— although he averted guilty eyes from the way the Targaryen would carefully hang his cloak, like it still meant something.

As they laid together, she complained into his neck, lithe fingers playing with his inky hair, “You’re right, we should be more courtly, take more precaution. Of all of my sister’s misgivings, why does she care?”

Criston played dumb, it’s what he was anyway. Lied again and said he had no clue why Rhaenyra took such a deep distaste to the pair’s relationship. He sighed, “It will work out, more careful, yes. C’mon, to sleep, sorry about the noise.”

Another night in her arms was a blessing to Criston. He would be reluctantly busy the next day. The king needed a whole retainer for his appearance in public at the Dragonpit. It was the anniversary of Aegon’s landing. Luckily the princess would be in his peripheral. Along with the conniving heir and her other eyes.

It was a banal affair, King Viserys smiling and waving to the crowds. Queen Alicent held her youngest child, Daeron. Rhaenyra and Laenor were surrounded by her bastard brood, holding her own babe Joffrey. Named after that flimsy knight who Laenor was fucking. Poor sap died in the city under strange circumstances, likely Daemon’s doings.

Criston met eyes with Harwin, vaguely disguising a sneer. He ignored the brute and turned his vision back to the crowds, the smallfolk staying relatively easy. Lucerra stood next to her elder sister, holding Lucerys, her namesake. Her smile was gorgeous, a couple of boys cheered for her, throwing a flower.

After the public spectacle, the princess gave a shy smile to Criston on his horse, cheeks rosy pink before the door was slammed shut by the cunt Daemon. He raised a brow and hopped onto the front of the wheelhouse, offhandedly commenting, “Cunt struck and you haven’t even defiled my niece, Ser Crispin.”

The Dornishman clenched his jaw so hard he feared it may crack a tooth. He rode ahead, staying silent, Daemon didn’t forget a slight and surely hadn’t forgot when Criston embarrassed the rogue prince in tournament. Pompous ass.

More annoying feast and merriment kept the knight from his pretty girl. Lords and ladies filled the grand dining hall, dancing to and fro. He stayed put against a column, watching her. Lucerra wasn’t much of a dancer, but she let the old Sea Snake guide her around some turns.

A body sidled next to him, a familiar face and scent. The Queen herself, Alicent smiled softly up at him. She stated, “You’re distracted Ser Criston.” He sighed in return, “I’m sure you’re quite aware of the rumors. Seven cursed my weak heart.”

“Lucerra’s harmless,” Alicent glared toward the non-green side of the table, “It’s her lying sister, you remained truthful. I’ve been trying to stifle the rumors. Have you stayed chaste? I hope you have on account of your neck, my dear Knight.”

Criston leaned down to murmur, “Agonizingly so. I fear I’ve been bewitched yet again. Harwin Strong was sniffing around the other night.”

Her lips turned to a foul grimace at the mention. Alicent hissed, “The realm’s delight is carting around her bastards like trueborns and she’s deadset on potentially ruining her sister’s reputation to get at you.”

“Always been selfish, hasn’t she,” Criston laughed.

Alicent smirked, placing both of her hands over the knight’s. The green queen spoke plainly, “Please be careful dear heart. You’re a valuable asset to our proud dynasty.” The long-suffering redhead disappeared into the throng of people, ever an ally for him.

Back to scanning the surroundings. Daemon was spinning with Rhaenyra, likely talking horseshit in High Valyrian. He scanned for Lucerra, finding her cornered by the tables with a noble clad in the colors of House Darklyn, known bootlickers.

His chest tightened with jealousy. Criston seethed to himself, chanting internally, ‘I will not make a scene, I will not make a scene.’ The Darklyn lad was too close for his liking. It suddenly felt too hot under his heavy armor. He was close to the brink, gripping the pommel of his sword until his knuckles whitened.

Lucerra seemed uncomfortable, face uneasy and body stiffening. The Darklyn fuck was leaning into her space, lips undoubtedly spewing disgusting things a lady shouldn’t hear. The princess gasped at something he said and turned away, getting yanked back towards the man.

That was enough.

Criston stormed forward, shoving through the nobility, snarling in anger. He yanked the uncouth prick by the collar and dragged him far away from his princess. Parts of the crowd stopped to stare, Rhaenyra perking up to look. The princess blushed and excused herself, quickly finding another dance partner in the more palatable form of Tyland Lannister.

“What are you doing? I have done nothing to the King!,” the black haired teen spat. Criston continued to haul the boy past the columns to a quieter place, anger clouding any sort of judgement. He shoved the noble bitch against an alcove, gauntlet pressed against twitching neck.

Darklyn gasped and writhed for air, eyes wide with fear. Criston hissed, “The Kingsguard protects the family and the king. You should know better than to touch the princess like that. I ought to gut you, throw you onto the spikes of Maegor’s Holdfast and watch you rot.”

The stinking reek of piss filled Criston’s nostrils. He looked down in disgust, muttering, “Weakling piss-ant. Don’t dare come near her-,” his threat was unfinished as he was whirled to face Lord Commander Westerling. His face was hard and eyes flinty— obviously disappointed.

“Come Cole, we need to have a word.”

The walk was quiet and unsettling, only the clank of their gear and footsteps sounding off as they reached the quieter area of Maegor’s Holdfast. Criston apologized immediately, “My temper Ser, I apologize, he was manhandling the Princess.”

Harrold Westerling shook his head with a resigned sigh. He rumbled, “You’ve already toed the line Ser Cole. I don’t want to have a capable fighter like you dismissed or facing the black, gelded at that.”

Criston’s roiling emotions died down into a despairing state— his chest fluttering with fear. He nodded and held his head down in obeisance. Westerling continued, “You must take a step back. You’re of the most elite of elite men, a big step from your beginnings. Princess Lucerra is an enchanting girl, I know this is hard, but as soon as you took the oath— this is your life. You must cease all feelings for the girl or request to be transferred to another.”

Criston fought back the warble in his voice. He wanted to rip his cloak off and shout his love, make someone understand. He swore, “I know Lord Commander, I know. I have never defiled the girl, I would never. This is my calling and I’m shirking it. I’ll think about requesting an exchange.”

Harrold clapped him on the shoulder and regarded him with kinder eyes, “Good. I was struck too once. I had many princesses to tend to with Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s litter of dragons. Just, please, pray on it and keep it in line Ser Cole.”

“Yes sir.”

He sulked about, Harrold ordering him to his chambers until the was called to his usual watch over his Lucerra. Criston hoped she was alright. He guiltily turned dark eyes onto his shrine of the seven. The small flail and beaded necklace awaited. He had been ignoring the faith, so entrenched in sin Criston could hardly bare to look at the Mother’s cold face.

He prayed and prayed to the mother for relief of his twisted desire, depraved lust, uncontrollable need to consume a sparkling untainted virgin. Then to the warrior to ease his temper, make Criston a calm knight, not blinded by rage so he may protect accordingly. Down the list he went until the dead skull relief of the Stranger awaited.

“If I fail, take me into your arms and punish me accordingly,” he whispered, a couple tears leaking onto his armor, shining by the candles. He would confess another time and receive his penance. Bloodletting seemed fit. Flagellation made him think clear, the pain taking away sickness in mind and body.

A sharp knocking snapped Criston out of his religious wallowing. He called out, “I’m coming.” The door opened to the queen and Ser Rickard Thorne. They both were cloaked and Alicent’s doe eyes looked worried. The younger knight questioned, “What? What is it?”

Alicent shushed him and murmured, “Our dear Lucerra and…the heir,” she spat the word like it was bile on her tongue, “Had some intense words after the feast. Ser Thorne escorted Cerra to her chambers.”

Thorne’s gravelly voice was low, “It was quiet and I checked in as she was in quite the state. She’s not in her chambers and the servant’s passage was left slightly ajar.”

Alicent frowned, “I know she’s upset and frightened. I would rather you find her. No one knows of this. I doubt she would leave the keep but gods forbid. We checked underneath the keep and Thorne most of the passageways. I will keep this at utmost secrecy, dear Criston.”

He nodded, quickly gathering his gear and a dark cloak to cover the white of his garb. While fastening his belt he quickly thanked the pair, “I will find her now. Thank you my queen, Ser Thorne. You may rest now. She will be returned.”

He chastely kissed the queens ring, patting his fellow knight on the shoulder and strode forward, urgency at his tail. Criston was fearful, dreadfully so. What did Rhaenyra do? He bit his lip, worked his jaw, making his rounds around the shadows of the outer courtyard. The goldcloaks were obviously not doing their job, playing cards up in a tower.

He worried she finally broke the princess, told Lucerra of the past. She would be heartbroken. He sped his pace, deciding to check the Godswood. Somewhere she would still feel safe. He knew Cerra wouldn’t run anywhere outside the walls, she’d have a fainting spell.

Speeding up he decided to take a turn and clamber up the wall into the Godswood. He must not be seen. Especially after tonight’s mishap. Swinging a leg over the thick red stone, Criston shimmied down and landed with a dull thud. The clouds covered the moon— making it dreadfully dark. Lucerra must truly be upset. He swallowed down a tightening throat. He needed to be the protector, not a weeping craven.

He scanned around the dark trees and arches to the left. It seemed empty. He moved forward, keeping to the brush, listening. Closer towards the heart tree he heard the familiar little hitching of breath. His Cerra. The fear of what came next shivered his spine.

Criston called gently, “Princess, Princess, is that you?”

He slowly approached, holding out a hand like he was soothing a skittish foal. He could barely see her, just the white of hair and a shadow of a figure. He took another step, stopping when she wept, “No Ser Cole, go away, I wish to be alone.”

All of his fears had come true. She’d turned against him. He shook his head. No. This wouldn’t do. The knight would change her mind. Lucerra Targaryen needed him, not Ser Cole, not the loyal dog, just Criston Cole of Blackhaven’s marches.

“Ser, please, I cannot bear this,” Cerra warbled.

He came to her side, kneeling, swallowing another agonized noise when she turned from him. Criston begged, “Sweetling, what’s the matter, why are you distraught? It pains me.” She sobbed, hands wrenching into a now-dirtied dress.

The brunette engulfed her tinier frame into a tight grip, her back plastered to his. Much like they slept many a night. She fought and tried to wrench free, crying, “No! Let go! I’m just a replacement for her! I always come second! Ser Cole!”

He held tighter, exploding, “I love you!”

Her writhing stopped, eyes turning to him, confusion on fine features. Criston swore, “Bythe Seven and my oath, I love you more than anything Lucerra.” She shook her head, confused, “No, no you don’t, Rhaenyra told me why y-you became my shield.”

He hissed, “No, she lied, she lied lied lied! I kissed her yes, but I ran, I knew it was bad. I was an idiot— she merely wanted a fill in for Daemon. I swear it to be true,” he continued in a softer voice, “I never thought I would love so strongly and deeply as I do with you, it’s more than lust. I would worship you until my last breath, chaste forever.”

Lucerra bawled again, curling into him, soft thighs straddling his own as she wept. He held her and shushed and coddled, praising the perfect maiden’s presence. He dumbly reiterated, “Never, never has anyone taken my heart like you have.” Her bejeweled hands gripped into his cloak.

Her face was dangerously close to his, sweet scent filling the knight’s nose. She whispered in a rasp, “Do you mean it? You love me? I love you, it nearly broke me to hear Rhaenyra tell me.” Criston frowned, pressing his forehead to her own. He murmured, “I was dumb, I bolted after it was initiated. I didn’t tell you, b-because, I didn’t want to lose you princess.”

She placed a hand over his rapidly beating heart and said, “I believe you. I forgive you.”

Criston was so relieved he didn’t realize the tear leaking down his cheek, kissed away by impossibly soft lips. She whispered fervently, “Kiss me Criston. Kiss me like you love me, like you said.” He carefully caressed her jaw, peering into those adoring orbs.

He closed the gap, lips finally meeting, the Princess sighing into him. She clung to his chest still, passively letting Criston take the reins. He chastely shared tender pecks, letting Cerra get into a rhythm.

Her lips opened as the kisses got more desperate, boiling tension rising. She whimpered when Criston lapped into her mouth, moaning himself. She tasted like sweet wine and cinnamon, opening for him beautifully. Cerra wrapped her arms around his neck, thin fingers gripping his long locks. He moaned again, lashes fluttering. All guilt was out the window when in the embrace of this goddess.

He tilted her head to intertwine their tongues, Lucerra shivering helplessly, whining his name. She was shy, better for Criston to take her warm mouth. The princess plastered herself tight to his body, breasts pushed up from the movement.

He’d be good. He will not stain her maidenhead, as much as the dark part of him sought to claim every inch of her. The brunette slid his hands down her waist, squeezing soft hips. She mewled again, feverishly smacking her lips against him. Criston felt her overwhelmed trembling, eyes teary just like he fantasized.

She pulled away with a string of drool, panting, “I- Criston- it aches.” His cock jumped at what the implication of that was. He pressed little kisses down her jaw and neck, basking in her cute noises. He purred, “What aches Princess? I shan’t dare to hurt your heart again.”

She blushed so heavily he could see it even in the pitch of the night. Criston smiled gently, breathing hotly against her ear, “You can tell me, sweet love.” The princess shivered again, hips bucking fruitlessly against his garb.

“Y-you know. M-my,” she looked away, “My flower.”

The dog in Criston grinned at that, the innocent little thing. He hummed, “Have you soaked your linens Lucerra? I don’t have to breach your maidenhead to pleasure my sweet girl. Would you like that?”

She practically sobbed, “Please, my knight, Criston. Our little secret.”

“Always,” he said, taking off his gloves and Cerra’s trembling hands undoing the heavy gauntlets. He slid warm palms up her plush thighs, so soft yet strong from dragon riding. She desperately sought his lips to cover an indecent sound.

One greedy hand spread open a thigh, the other swiping thick fingers through her slick cunt, dragging upward to graze her swollen bud. The princess shrieked into his swollen lips, Criston doing his best to cover the noise.

He offered his free hand up, half-groaning, “Suckle on my fingers sweet girl, can’t have you waking half the keep up.” Lucerra shyly opened her swollen lips to let Criston’s calloused fingers in. He pressed slightly on her tongue, earning a cute little garbled whine.

“Now be good my love, I’ll make you feel better, always will,” he promised. Gathering more wetness seeping from her cunt, Criston circled his fingers around that bud, teasingly thumbing too, dragging the roughened digit against her tender untouched flesh.

She seized and cried around his fingers, drooling and sniffling. Criston cooed, “Mm, feels good Cerra? Made for me, swear it, keep singing for me.” He picked up the speed of his fingers, circling and pinching to make her squeal and writhe on his lap.

Soon the princess was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, unable to stop crying and shaking, thighs trembling. Criston suddenly realized his cock was throbbing and twitching, ready to fill his garments like a green boy.

He desperately rambled, “C’mon my love, let it go, let the pleasure take you, I’m so close, together yes? Kiss me, yes, yes!” They gnashed teeth and noses against each other, no finesse in these last moments, the little death.

She gushed over his fingers first, Criston swallowing her suprisingly quiet keen. His belly tightened, balls drawing up, whining out of his nose at the ecstasy. Cumming absolutely untouched, so intense and powerful. They continued to sloppily kiss, stop to pant, kiss some more until the climax passed.

Criston withdrew his hands from her cunt, wiping them on his cloak. The princess was sapped of energy, head tucked under his scruffy jaw. She murmured, “I think I saw the stars.” He smiled, the giddiness of cumming warping his senses, “Mhm, me too sweetheart. But we need to get you back to your quarters.”

He carried her, sharing more intimate pecks and nuzzling in the darkness, all the way back to her quarters. Ser Thorne seemed to sigh in relief before taking in their debauched state and quickly leaving the scene. Criston placed her down and looked around once more before pressing her into the door, taking her bee-stung lips.

“I love you, I love you,” she sighed.

“I love you more, my princess,” Criston praised.

“Do you listen sister? What will they think when they find your maidenhead shredded?,” Rhaenyra stepped out of the gloom. The bitch took a servant’s route. Lucerra’s face reddened in anger, “Like yours was? Good thing Laenor prefers the company of his pretty squires.”

Criston balked at the brazen comment, lips curling up. The elder sister’s hands balled up, pale skin blotching up in anger. She hissed, “Enjoy your night Lucerra,” pointing at Criston she added, “I’ll see you gelded and sent to the wall.”

The future queen whipped around and left with a furious curse. Lucerra looked to Criston for comfort, getting picked up and led into her bedroom. He grumbled, “The Queen won’t allow for that. Rhaenyra has her own secrets to deal with. Relax, relax, let me get you ready for bed.” His lovely girl did so, quiet but still affectionate. Criston ignored the feeling that this would be the close to the last night.

His gut was right. Within a fortnight he stood next to the Queen, tears in his dark orbs. Rhaenyra was absconding to Dragonstone, as she was the heir. Viserys obliged her request to take her sister, indicating she would begin the processes to marry her off. Lucerra gave her goodbyes, hugging the queen, her father, and then him.

“My heart lies with you always, I love you my white knight,” she whispered gently before stepping away to climb upon her white dragon. He remained stony, utter hate in his heart for Rhaenyra Targaryen. He would make sure she never saw happiness, just as she took his.

Alicent grabbed his hand and promised, “Criston, you will have her again. I may not be her, but I will be good to you as my sworn shield.”

He would tear through bone and marrow to get that chance. For now, he would wait, wait as long as needed. Criston Cole always got what he wanted, just had to work for it. There was a war brewing and she would be on the right side. His side.

#hotd fanfic #ser criston cole x reader #criston x reader #criston cole x reader #hotd fic #hotd smut #my shnookums incel knight #incel knight

[alicentsultana]

Calling all besties to debate with me!

Hotd modern!au, what would Criston work with?

I particularly see him in something like military official or a firefighter, lieutenant or capitan, something that involves fighting and security of some sorts.

In the same au, what would Alicent do?

In my head, she probably would divorce and have to redo her life, she's very clever, and I believe that she well versed in history, culture, knows a little bit about language and dialects, so I see her as either a professor or a tourist guide, I totally can see her showing monuments and explaining it, and I also can see her doing a slide presentation and telling students to write an essay for next Tuesday.

I also think about the children, Aegon would totally try to drop out of high-school and give up college, furthermore as a way to help his mother after the divorce. However, Alicent would force him to finish school and tell him to get a half-period job (maybe in mctargaryen), but I think he would try to take care of his siblings so his mother wouldn't worry.

Helaena and Aemond would clean the house and attempt to make some food (pasta, that's a lazy home alone sibling food), and I picture they would fight over who's turn it is to change Daeron's diapper (he only begin to walk recently).

Anyway, tell me you guys opinions and hc, I need some ideas.

#future fic? maybe #there's a draft #there's a potential #alicole #pro team green #alicent hightower #aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen #aemond targaryen #ser criston cole #daeron targaryen #modern!au

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

12 Days of Smuff Line-up

This December, I will be participating in the 12 days of smuff challenge by @madmax8603 ! I’m so excited that I’ve already decided on the pairings and basic plot lines! There’s two fics in here that will be companion pieces to my existing series (What is Broken and Studious)!

Here’s the schedule:

12/14: Hand holding & dry humping: What is Broken!Aemond x fiancée Wifey

12/15: Dreams & dirty talk: Tom Bennet x reader

12/16: In nature & deep throating: Aemond x wife! Reader

12/17: Reassurance & car sex: Modern!Aegon x reader

12/18: Diary/letters & lingerie kink: Tom Bennet x reader

12/19: Future & face sitting: Billy Washington x reader

12/20: Sharing a drink & toys: Daemon x reader

12/21: Sunset/sunrise & orgasm control: Studious!Aemond x Wife! Reader

12/22 Swimming & face fucking: Tom Bennet x reader

12/23: Bed sharing & accidental stimulation: Criston Cole x Aegon’s Twin!Reader

12/24;A fancy party & praising: Modern!Aemond x reader

12/25: Promise & phone sex: Modern!Osferth x reader

Can’t wait to write and share these with y’all!!

#12 days of smuff #studious #what is broken #hotd #aemond #aemond fic #Aegon fic #osferth fic #Tom Bennet fic #criston Cole fic #daemon fic

[criminalamnesia]

I Think I’ll Miss You Forever

warnings: angst, criston cole being a little bitch, death, not proofread, targaryen!reader

summary: harwin will always protect your honor, no matter the consequences.

author’s note: fuck a bitch named criston cole. immature little baby. anyways I’m still sad about Harwin’s death so here’s this.

You knew that entering a secret relationship with Harwin Strong would be difficult, and that it would most likely end in tragedy.

But that didn’t stop you from falling for him. It didn’t stop you from seeking him out in every room you entered; from savoring stolen glances and the brush of his hands on you; from sneaking him into your chambers late at night.

You fell hard for him, and he fell harder for you. He was fiercely protective over you, and would do anything you asked of him. But his protectiveness was his downfall.

Ser Criston Cole, who had hated you ever since your sister, Rhaenyra, denied him, had taken to insulting your family whenever he could. It just so happened that he chose to do so in front of Harwin one afternoon.

Criston was speaking to another kingsguard in the yard when Harwin happened to walk by, on his way to your chambers. It was then that he heard the unmistakable voice of Criston Cole say:

“Both Targaryen sisters are cunts,” he laughed. “I’ve heard the younger one sleeps around. It’s no wonder she hasn’t married yet if she opens her legs for any man–”

“What did you say?” Harwin stopped in his tracks, standing still behind Criston and the other kingsguard.

Criston turned with an amused expression on his face. “Nothing, Ser Harwin.”

“Say it again,” Harwin insisted, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“Say what again, Ser?” Criston said, eyebrows raised in mock confusion.

“What you said about the Princess. Say it again.” Harwin told him.

“Oh, right. I said she’s a whore–”

Before Criston could even finish speaking, Harwin attacked. He slammed his fist into the other man’s face, causing Criston to fall to the ground. Harwin followed him down, climbing atop him and continuing his assault; blow after blow landing upon Criston’s face.

Nearby kingsguard sprang into action, two of them running forward and pulling Harwin away by his arms. The knight roared in protest, struggling against the men holding him.

“Say it again!” He shouted as the kingsguard pulled him away.

Criston laughed from where he laid upon the ground, his face now swollen and bloody from Harwin’s fists.

—

“Princess.”

One of your handmaidens entered your chambers, obvious concern upon her features. You had been at your cluttered desk; books about Old Valyria were opened and spread around you.

You glanced up from your reading, noticing the solemn look upon the other woman’s face.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, fear creeping up your spine. Maybe something had happened to your father– maybe his sickness was at its peak. Or maybe the Queen was summoning you for another meeting to chastise your procrastination towards marriage.

“It’s Ser Harwin, Princess. There was an incident in the yard.”

You stood abruptly from your seat, hands gripping the edge of the wooden desk.

“Is he alright?” You refused to look at the other woman.

“Fine, Princess, but he has been barred from the city watch, and his father means to take him back to Harrenhal–"

“Where is he?” You interrupted, moving towards the handmaiden. Your hands were shaking as you clasped them together, trying to conceal your emotions.

“He’s on his way here now, so I’ve been told. I just wanted to let you know, Princess.”

You nodded and gave her a quiet thanks. She nodded in return and turned to leave, just as a knock sounded at the door.

You knew instantly it was Harwin, and your heart jumped in your chest as the handmaiden moved to the doors. She pulled them open with haste, sidestepping around Harwin and leaving you two alone.

“Princess,” his voice rumbled as he stepped into the room and shut the doors behind him.

You wasted no time, you were walking towards him and throwing your arms around him before he could register what was happening.

“You are a fool, Ser Harwin,” you told his, your voice shaky as you felt tears begin to prick at your eyes.

“I would not change anything I did,” he told you, one arm encircling your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. His other hand found itself in your hair, running slowly through the silver strands.

“I couldn’t let him insult you like that. He deserves to be hanged for the way he speaks of you–"

“Harwin,” you breathed, pulling back to look up into his eyes. His hands stayed where the were, as did yours. “I don’t care what he says. He is a liar and a child. All that matters is you and I, and now you are being sent away because of what you’ve done.”

His lips pressed into a thin line as he looked down at you. Your hands cupped his cheeks as you held his gaze.

“I would not change it,” he repeated to you, and you sighed in knowing. It was who he was– and as much as you wished he hadn’t done what he had, you couldn’t blame him. Harwin was fiercely loyal, and his protectiveness of those he cared for was unmatched by any other.

Silence filled the air between you as you looked into each other’s eyes. There was so much you wanted to say, but you feared that if you began, your tears would fall.

“When do you leave?” You finally whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck as you rested your head in the crook of his neck.

“First light tomorrow.” His voice was heavy with sadness, but there was no trace of regret.

“I expect you will not be able to stay tonight, then,” you replied, struggling to blink away tears.

“You do not know how badly I wish I could, Princess,” he told you, resting his head atop yours.

You inhaled deeply, remaining in his arms for another moment before you stepped away. “Will you come back?”

“I’ll visit when I can,” he confirmed, reaching out a hand to grab yours. “And I’ll write every day. I promise.”

You gave a small, watery laugh as you intertwined your fingers with his.

“Is that funny?” A small grin spread across his lips, his thumb caressing the back of your hand.

“Ser Harwin Strong, the strongest man in the seven kingdoms, writing to his love every day. You continue to surprise me, Ser.”

“I can be romantic when I please,” he replied, his grin forming into a smile. You smiled back, the familiar playfulness easing your sadness.

“You certainly can,” you agreed, stepping towards him once more. “Remember the first time we kissed?” You giggled at the memory while Harwin scoffed.

“I would argue that was romantic, Princess.”

“I was covered in muck after falling off my horse and you had been laughing at me. I do not think much romance was present then,” you teased.

“I kissed you although you were filthy. That is plenty romantic.”

You snorted, standing on your tip-toes so that your lips brushed his as you spoke.

“I think your idea of romance is not the same as mine.”

He chuckled. “How about this, then?”

His pressed his lips softly to yours. You sighed into the kiss, your arms entwining around his neck as one of your hands moved into his hair. His hands were on your hips, gripping you firmly but not uncomfortably, just to remind you he was there– that this was happening.

You eventually pulled back for breath, panting slightly as you rested your forehead against his.

“I think you’re learning,” you jested, and he grinned.

You both fell silent once more, wanting the moment to last as long as possible. You shut your eyes tightly, trying to imprint this moment into your mind. It may very well be the last time you see him for a long while.

“I love you, Princess,” his voice was quiet as he spoke, and you almost thought you’d misheard him at first.

Neither of you had spoke of love since you’d been together. You certainly did love him, but you hadn’t spoken it– secretly afraid that he would slip away. Afraid at what could happen if you loved each other. It seems that all your fears were for naught as he whispered those words.

“I love you, Ser Harwin,” you responded instantly, kissing him once more.

It was him that pulled away this time, brushing a lose strand of silver hair behind your ear. You smiled up at him, your eyes locked with his.

“I will see you soon.” He told you, and you nodded. You knew that as soon as he could, he’d come back. Even if it was just for a night, Harwin would come back.

“Until then,” you spoke, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly. He squeezed yours back before dropping it and stepping away.

“Until then.” He replied, watching you for one last moment before turning and opening the door, disappearing into the hallway.

When the door pulled shut behind him, your emotions crashed down onto you at full force. You sunk to the ground, tears causing your vision to go blurry as you finally let what was happening sink in.

Harwin was leaving, and there was nothing you could do about it. You couldn’t leave King’s Landing, not unless he was your husband. Your relationship wasn’t even public– following him was out of the question.

You sobbed quietly into your hands as the candles in your room burned low. You didn’t move until the flames flickered out, leaving you in darkness.

—

Two days after your lover’s departure, a raven was received from Harrenhal. You had been ecstatic at this news– thinking it was Harwin keeping his promise of writing to you.

However, as soon as you broke open the seal and eagerly scanned the scroll, something inside of you broke. The smile that had been on your face, lighting up your features, had quickly dissipated.

A broken sob left your mouth as you dropped the scroll. The handmaiden that had brought the letter rushed to your side, clasping your upper arm to keep you from falling to the floor.

“Princess, what is it? What’s wrong?” Her voice was full of worry as she spoke, eyes wide in confusion and concern. You couldn’t speak– couldn’t think straight.

He was dead.

Harwin Strong was dead.

He had left you, and now he was dead. You hadn’t seen him off. The only goodbye you had was the night before he left– and you were grateful for it, but you wished you had had so much more.

The scroll said he had died in a fire. You wanted to laugh bitterly at that, seeing as fire was something your family knew well.

Perhaps it was a sign– a sign that you had killed him. You had chosen him; had taken him as your lover, and he had been sent away because he was defending your honor. He had died away from you, in a castle you’d never seen, in solitude. Burned away to nothing but charred flesh and blackened bone.

Sadness cleared way for anger, your shaking hands balling into fists at your sides. Whoever had done this– no matter who they were– should pay. They had murdered the hand of the king and his son in cold blood. They had taken away the man you loved; the man you wished to marry.

Whoever it was would pay.

—

Within the week, you and your family made the trek to Harrenhal for Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin’s funerals.

You had barely spoken a word since you read that letter, and other than Rhaenyra, no one truly understood why.

Your sister clasped your hand in hers as you sat in the carriage, the bumpy road causing you to constantly shift in your seat. Rhaenyra squeezed your hand lightly, letting you know she was with you. You rested your head upon her shoulder and closed your eyes, wishing you could feel nothing.

When you finally arrived at Harrenhal, the minutes seemed to tick by in agony. A feast was hosted for your family’s arrival, but you did not attend. You sat in your quarters until Rhaenyra knocked upon your door the next day, telling you it was time.

You took her arm as the pair of you made your way through the corridors and winding hallways of Harrenhal to the burial grounds.

Harwin and his father’s body were wrapped tightly in cloth to hide their burned flesh. You were grateful for that. You didn’t know if you could have handled seeing the body of the man you loved burned away, completely unrecognizable.

Once the funeral was over, everyone began to leave. You stayed rooted to the spot, ignored and overlooked by your family and everyone else.

When the gravesite had cleared, you made your way to Harwin’s grave and sank to your knees beside it.

“I will miss you forever, my love.” You whispered, placing a hand atop his grave marker.

“And I promise you, whoever did this to you will pay for what they did.”

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply. You could hear Rhaenyra’s voice calling for you somewhere in the distance.

Rising to your feet, you brushed the dirt from your skirts as you stole one last look at his grave.

“I promise,” you said once more.

“They will pay.”

#ser harwin strong #ser harwin strong x reader #harwin strong #harwin breakbones #harwin breakbones strong #harwin strong x reader #ser harwin #harwin x reader #targaryen reader #targaryen!reader #rhaenyra targaryen #viserys targaryen #criston cole #game of thrones fic #game of thrones #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon #hotd #angst #Harwin strong angst

[peters-lab-partner]

Trying really hard to not imagine a fanfic where Criston is dying from wounds he received while in battle. Instead of thinking about dying, all he can think about is Alicent and the Green kids.

He thinks about Aegon winning the war and if he’ll ever be given a chance to be a good king. How Helaena used to show him her favorite bugs. How proud he is that Aemond grew into a great warrior after so many setbacks. He regrets not being able to spend a lot of time with Daeron.

And just for an extra bit of sadness, Criston thinks of Alicent’s smile and if she’ll ever know just how much he loved/cared for her.

#Criston is the dad who stepped up #criston cole #ser criston cole #alicent hightower #alicent x criston #criston x alicent #alicole #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #helaena targaryen #daeron the daring #daeron targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #I’m never going to write this #I have way too many fics to write