#Criston Cole | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

idkyetxoxo · 2 days ago

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Criston Cole - A Halo of Ruin

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

Pairing - Criston Cole x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2202

Masterlist for Criston • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

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

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

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

But then, he saw me, and everything shifted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His silence spoke louder than anything he could have said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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