#Ser Criston cole imagine

[bucknastysbabe]

Hi I got an ask about subby Criston and I’m here to fill it but I accidentally deleted the ask itself. So I hope you see this😭😭I kinda went cuckoo bonkers word to Wyn but anyways! Pookie bear cries and nuts like 40 times🧸🧸

Knock ‘em out - C.Cole

Rating: Explicit

WC: 3k

Tags: Boxer!Criston, Manager!Reader, Criss priss prob needed to be in an institution but now gets paid for beating ass, a little bit of manipulation from reader, marathon sex, overstimulation, sub space, soft domme, 🚨CRISTON BIG ASS PRAISE KINK🚨, he’s puppy your honor, Dom/sub, sub drop, aftercare, pnv!sex, multiple orgasms, intercrural sex, cumming in pants, lil bit of background story but mainly P O R N

Taglist: @aemonds-holy-milk @arcielee @sugarpoppss2 @lovelykhaleesiii @starogeorgina @moncherrii @bambitas @targaryenbarbie @fairysluna @thought--bubble @fallingintoyourlilaceyes @gemini-mama @valeskafics

Thanks @tumblin-theworldaway for helping my mind crank up heheheheeh

Criston knew he was off— something never wired right in his brain. Most people would interview him and see the rags-to-riches story. He came from trash, really, his dad was the janitor at the big boxing gym in the city. Coach Dondarrion told people they let Criston train for free as his father worked so tirelessly.

In reality, he couldn’t stop getting into fights at school. It was unchecked anger growing out of control. Criston’s mother and father begged Dondarrion to take him on and help channel that aggression. It likely saved his life. He was only 10 and beating kids’ faces in over slights— imagined or real. He was horribly possessive, jealous, and lost. Boxing seemed to put a lid on that.

Occasionally he’d have to be ripped off an opponent. Whispers of Criston Cole being a psycho were rampant. He was twenty-three when he got his current manager. She worked miracles. His everything— Criston loved the woman so much that sometimes it hurt his head, thoughts too intense to siphon through.

He’d known her from the Blackhaven gym, she was a daughter of Coach Swann and knew the realm of boxing pretty well. Coach Dondarrion brought her into the picture when Criston almost killed a man in the ring.

She didn’t bat an eye when Criston snarled and tried to intimidate her— only cocking her head and snorting like he was an unruly animal. He’ll never forget the words she said after. It was a shift for the boxer.

“Do that again and you won’t fight this week. I’m in charge now. You’re my prize pet. If you want to keep being a prize pet then you’ll listen to me,” she stated, manicured nail poking his chest.

The bigger man still had no clue what came over him, but her words were like a balm. This was what Criston needed— firm orders and guidance. He hoped at the time she could help him with all the mess in his head. Criston nodded and replied, “Yes ma’am.”

“Good boy. Let’s come up with some rules. You like rules don’t you?”

No unnecessary jabs, no yelling, work on riding the bike and going through footwork, and no cumming until he had won.

Those were the rules before a fight. Criston abided by them religiously. Even if he was like a caged animal towards the lead-up to the big event. He would feel himself grow more and more agitated— actively restraining from ripping his opponent's jaw off. Cole probably looked psycho, with dark eyes intense, jaw clenching. But his expression remained eerily placid. His manager liked that and said she could smell the fear off the other guy.

Criston remained undefeated, she must be right he thought. Coach Dondarrion said Swann was a goddamn genius. She was perfect like that. He hated she wouldn’t go public with their relationship, Criston would wind himself up into an obsessive tizzy over it.

But when he won again, and again, she was there to take care of him. They’d get through the usual press, Criston would shower, and they’d ride back to the hotel together. The air was charged in the back seat. She’d slapped his wandering hands away the first couple of times.

Now he knew to stay put and she’d tend to his face or scratch his hair, careful of any knots and bruising. It felt so fucking good the first time she touched him, he had cum in his sweats before even reaching the hotel. Whining and writhing as she cooed and put ice on his black eye or taped a busted nose— he couldn’t remember exactly.

His manager had cooed in surprise when he seized up and gasped, wetting the inside of his briefs, “Oh, baby? You came? Needed that, didn’t you? Criston Cole, my prized pet, big bad man, didn’t know you liked being loved on. You deserve it, baby, I’m here for you, always.”

Her words had simultaneously embarrassed and made Criston want to kneel at her feet, awaiting her next command. He remained quiet, cheeks flushing heavily, worried internally his nose would start bleeding. Swann curled at his side and stroked his messy curls.

“Don’t be ashamed, you deserve to feel good. ‘Sides I know you have more to go, gotta be pretty full from going a week. You want me to take care of that, empty you out?”

Criston gritted his teeth and whined. He wanted it so bad. The demon in his head teased and prodded him, spitting lies. “She thinks you’re a weak little bitch, you really gonna spread your legs and bare your neck like a slut?” the voice said. He moaned softly, pained from the dissonance.

His manager whispered gently, a small hand rubbing soothing circles on his chest.

“Criston, baby, stop thinking so much, and let me do it for you.”

He melted into her warm embrace, the proposition flicking on a switch he didn’t know existed. She smiled as he slurred out a ‘yes’ and went lax under her palms. Criston didn’t know at the time— that submitting completely to another made his mind stop for a bit.

He was euphoric, eyes focused on her as they entered the hotel. She waved off any reporters and led him by the hand. Criston clung to her like a needy child in the elevator, his cock swelled up again. The manager let him rut a bit on her tight skirt and giggled at his desperation.

When they finally, finally gotten to the room— she stripped Criston down and made him cum until he cried, all the adrenaline sapped out of his body. He lost count of how many times her mouth and hand brought him to completion. He got to float in his head, tongue too thick and limbs too heavy to do anything but whine and be coddled.

Criston woke up later as a new man. He felt he could breathe. Then the games began as his record kept going up, Cole escalating to the fucking top. He didn’t know what to do with all the money except buy his family a house and Swann anything she desired.

He’d won again. Shaking his fist and snarling obscenities at Strong on the ground. He’d get another fuck-ton of money and go home happy. He’d picked up the belt and grinned, elated at his thirtieth win. On the top of the world.

Criston’s mind began to whirl as he stalked down the hallway. He briskly showered and answered a couple of questions to the press. She waited to the side, sinful red lips curled upwards. Swann was wearing the red bottoms he bought her, pretty legs shown off in her little dress and blazer.

When she nodded toward the exit he followed, agitated at the annoying reporter still asking questions. Criston didn’t want to upset her, so he kept his mouth shut and followed along, pulling his hoodie up. His balls fucking throbbed. He wanted to fuck his angel so bad, maybe she’d let him on a special occasion like this.

He got into the dark luxury vehicle, inhaling her sweet scent. Criston was close to getting feral, mouth watering at the possibilities. Still, he remained mute. Until she shifted, facing him in the dark, eyes full of affection. Criston couldn’t help the thin whine that burst from his chest at her attention.

“Look’it you. Took down Breakbones, got thirty wins, fucking hell baby,” she drew closer to him, “Criston Cole, you’re the real deal! You wanna fuck me, baby boy? I think you’ve earned it.”

“Pleaseplease, yes, fucking yes,” he pled.

A stagnant pause fell over the back of the car.

“Thank you,” he moaned, “Thank you.”

“Good boy, don’t forget your manners.”

She placed a warm hand high on his thigh, massaging the sore muscle. Her other palm caressed Criston’s patched-up cheek. She hummed “A kiss?” He nodded eagerly, vibrating in place, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. But Criston knew he had to be her good boy.

The woman softly pecked his lips, pulling back to watch Criston chase with a sad noise. She smiled and kissed him again, deeper this time. He eagerly opened his mouth for her, shivering as her nimble tongue playfully lapped at his own. Criston’s hands balled up in his sweats— no touching, no touching unless given permission.

Their lips wetly smacked in the dark car, her hand moving up to rub maddeningly at his straining cock. Criston cried out into her mouth, hips bucking helplessly. She laughed and nibbled on his shapely lower lip, hand squeezing his manhood.

“S’all mine isn’t it? My cock, just for me.”

He nodded in misery, his body wanted to let go, but it was a bit of a process to get Criston in the headspace he wanted. She knew how to get him there. Like her lips against his ear, tits pressed against his chest as she purred, “Easy love, relax, I’ve got you honey.”

“Mmm- gods, need it,” he gritted out, dark eyes lolling.

As her firm hand jerked him over the sweats, Criston’s manager nipped and kissed at his clean-shaven cheeks and neck. She whispered, “Sweet boy, I know you are s’hard, relax, relax, you’re gonna get to cum all night baby. As much as you want, just gotta let go okay?”

She praised and played with him some more, Criston began to pant hoarsely, thighs shaking as he neared the precipice. She tutted when the car stopped, “Get yourself together baby, we’re here now.” He blinked, a tear falling down his cheek, bewildered by the way she left him.

He was so fucking close! The boxer sulked and groaned at his denied orgasm, eyes watery from how intense his balls were throbbing now. He wiped his eyes and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up again, keeping his head low. He hoped the half-assed tucking of his hard-on worked.

They walked in sync to the elevators. He sulked, “M’so hard it hurts.” Criston’s girl pouted her lips, patting his cheek, “I know, I know sweet boy, but we can’t keep the driver waiting. Almost there, don’t be so needy.”

Criston wrapped his arms around her waist, tucking his face into her neck. He would be good, he wouldn’t hump or bite. He merely wanted to hold her for a second before the elevator dinged. Swann hummed and nuzzled back into his hair.

Onward they went, Criston’s mind growing fuzzier and fuzzier as his body thrummed with need. Upon entering the penthouse suite— her entire demeanor changed. She snapped, “Go get undressed and kneel for me by the bed.”

He nodded in little jerks, undressing and folding them neatly, just how his mistress liked. Criston shuddered as the cool air hit his cock, swallowing heavily as he knelt before the foot of the bed. His hands shook with need, his adrenaline still thrashing and pumping underneath the skin.

He was downright panting by the time she came out of the bathroom, naked as he was. Criston bit on his lip, eyes watering again. The angel laughed, “You sure are worked up tonight.” She padded behind Criston, winding a hand into his hair, eliciting another agonized noise from the boxer.

“You are so damn talented, the Warrior smiles on you. I’m proud.”

“Thank you, thank you ma'am,” he whispered.

“I’m going to get on the bed and you’re going to fuck all that energy and cum out okay?”

“Yes ma’am- ohmygods.”

Criston’s brows pulled together as she laid before him, legs crooked and spread, her cunt shining with slick. He growled, digging his nails into the skin of his thigh. She crooked her fingers playfully, “C’mon baby, you’re allowed to touch. Use me, my special pet earned it.”

He almost felt bad in the way he roughly had pulled her ass flush to his hips, the flesh smacking loudly. Criston had eagerly gotten on his knees in the center of the soft bed, slotting his swollen cock against her slick pussy. “F-fuck, fuck, gonna use you baby, ’m sorry,” he gritted out. She smiled and shrugged, moaning as he rutted against her a couple more times.

Criston’s dark eyes rolled up as he entered her velvet cunt, warm and sososo tight. He snarled as he snapped his hips into his baby. She was crying out and digging sharp nails into his shoulders. Cole knew he was lost in the feeling, rasping and groaning possessive, ugly things he would never say out loud.

But when legs were wrapped around his waist and she was mewling his name? Criston had lost his firm barriers. He rumbled into her ear between kisses and bites, “My godsdamn pussy, mine, you’re mine, I’ll f-fucking kill anyone who touches you, looks at you, gods I’ll do anything!”

He groaned, balls drawing up quicker than expected. She was crying out “Yes! yes! All yours!” Criston sucked in a wet breath at her neck, hips driving into her at a breakneck pace, hands bruising her pretty skin. He choked on his drool, unable to warn her— Criston’s orgasm was that intense.

She tightened around him when his cock flooded, absolutely flooded her pussy. Criston moaned and clenched his jaw, fucking through the oversensitivity. His girl dug her heels into his ass to spur him on. The boxer swallowed down a little mewl. Everything was still so swollen, he had to keep fucking, keep cumming.

“Mmm, yes! Don’t stop baby, oh Criston!”

“I-I am, fuuuck, g’nna fill you up again!"

He drove his hips upward, lifting her hips so that Criston could get at her g-spot. She raked a bloody mark across his back, gasping in delight. He rambled while thumbing desperately at her clit, “Yeah, yeah, feel s’good, cum on me baby, need to feel you, m’close again!”

Criston wasn’t sure if it was her gorgeous wail or her pussy gushing on his cock or both but he came again. She chose to mouth at his lips, shaky legs clenching around him, hand pulling the hair at the nape of his neck. Meanwhile, he whined Swann’s name, the quickness of his second orgasm turning Criston’s brain into jello.

The slick noises between them were loud and sloppy, he was stuttering and whining. She threw her pretty head back and moaned. Criston was finding words hard. He kept fucking and fucking. She felt too good and he had so much cum for her.

“That’s it, keep it up,” she grunted.

Criston slurred, “Ca-can’t stop, can’t, can't!”

He felt his eyes grow wet as his overstimulated cock was gripped and milked by her cunt. The angel, his angel, wrapped her arms around his sweaty neck, his hips forcing little 'uhs' out of her plush lips. Criston blabbered uselessly, words bordering on sobs now. It felt too good, the pain and pleasure were ecstasy to him. He bottomed out inside her, stopping to mewl long and high before returning to feverishly thrusting again.

“Oh, oh, angel- hurts- s’good ohmygods your pussy, gotta cum again, m’sorry m’so sorry!”

She nuzzled at his jaw, moaning, “It’s okay, doing so good for me, needy baby. You needed this, poor baby’s balls are so full.”

“S’full,” he agreed, mindless and shivering.

Criston’s thighs began to twitch as he felt another wave cresting. He practically wailed as the third peak licked up his spine— white hot and mean. She gasped, nails digging into his flanks, pussy pulsing around another load of Criston’s molten cum.

He was a mess, wordless and drooling. Criston began to move again, gaze unfocused and mouth agape. He whimpered, all overstimulated and still fucking frantic. Criston felt like he’d die if he didn’t stop, tears pouring down his flushed cheeks.

Her hands held his face now, her lips saying something. Criston slowly cocked his head, attempting to understand his manager’s words. She said it again, this time louder with a smack to his cheek. Criston stopped his movements, protesting with a weak noise.

“Babydoll, you gotta fuck my thighs, I'm starting to hurt. I’m going to turn over, okay precious? Got that?”

His lips trembled— Criston didn’t want to do that. He wanted her pussy. He slid out anyway, a torrent of white spend flooding out of her well-used entrance, seeping onto the bed. She marveled "Oh Criston, you still have anything left?" The woman hissed under her breath as she flipped onto her stomach. She tucked a pillow under her hips, giving him access to her thighs, slicked with their release.

Criston stared— unsure how to proceed. His cock was so flushed it purpled, aching horribly. He whined, frustrated with his stupidity, the man just wanted familiar tightness again. She sighed and reached back, ushering his knees and thighs to cage her legs in, forcing Criston forward.

He gasped in delight when his cock slid between her soft thighs, warm and wet. His depleted brain decided this would do. Criston’s thrusts were jerky and uncoordinated, he was growing too sensitive to go on much further. He kept at it, crying and sniffling like a babe.

“Awe baby, you’re hurting huh?”

“Mhm!” he replied, scrunching his face up tight. He had to cum one more time, he had to! Even if it was excruciating, the pleasure ramped up into nerves prickling all over his worn body. She watched him with lidded eyes, lips in a smirk. Criston exhaled again, throwing his head back to sob.

“Gotta- I gotta,” he mewled.

“I know sweetheart, so close, let it all out, you’ll feel so much better. You’re so pretty like this— all fucked out and still want more. Knocked your whore brain sideways. My cute slutty puppy, I love youuu.”

Criston folded under the praise, his body contracting once more, stomach cramping as he devolved into cries. His abused cock managed to dribble one little last bit. He couldn’t stop crying, falling back onto his haunches. Swann guided him down to shush and pet his hair. She murmured, "You're okay, all done now, I'm here, not going anywhere. Just breathe."

Criston’s muscles were all loose but the adrenaline had been sapped quickly. He was gutted— in a good way. Just couldn’t help the reaction, he knew it would happen after an intense romp like this. His baby curled into his heaving side, laying feathery kisses on his jaw, a relaxing hand at his diaphragm.

“That’s it, let it out, poor baby. Couldn’t help yourself hm?”

Criston nodded through the incessant tears, his shaky hand threading through her hair. He rasped, “I love you so much. You’re perfect.” He was growing more sleepy, settled by her kisses and glowing smile. He could float easy and enjoy the win, curled up with his lifesaver. Well, after she got him water and wiped down the mess. He realized with a smile— she had laid a towel underneath them.

She’d have to help him function tomorrow, Criston knew he’d be scrambled eggs, sore, and a bit grumpy. But that’s why they kept a suite for three days. After the kick off he would rest up and replenish. They would fuck sensually, cuddle, and watch a in some order of that fashion.

His addled mind conjured up a big diamond ring he’d buy for her.

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Criston Cole NSFW Alphabet

Summary: yes he’s arrogant, but Fabien frankel tho… can’t help myself

Notes: ik ik i can't stfu about my new fanfic but like... it's really good, okay? go read hand turns loom y'all

Taglist: @a-beaverhousen @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins

Masterlist | requests are OPEN!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Aftercare what aftercare? Leaves as soon as he’s done. Cannot compromise on his honor

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Favorite body part of himself has to be his back. For the love of the Gods, please scratch it. He wants to be distracted so bad smh, but also, he’s got a really nice back.

About you, his favorite body part is your hair. I hc that he had a little sister that he took care of, so he likes to braid/unbraid your hair. Plus, his hands were on Rhae’s hair when they did the deed, so that only confirms my suspicions.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Should not enjoy cumming in you as much as he does… still does it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Would absolutely fuck you in the White Sword Tower (that’s where the Kingsguard live) if there was no risk.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s Dornish ffs.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy style. He gets to yank on your hair + doesn’t have to face what he’s doing as this position is a little more detached.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Very, very serious. There’s a bunch of shame attached to sex for him, so jokes are not in it.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Carpet matches the drapes, but he ‘doesn’t have time to groom’. Don’t try it

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Not very romantic. If you end up running away with him however, he’ll make up for the years lost

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He does it whenever he can’t risk sneaking out. Also tries to hold off any visits to you with this for as long as he can.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Nah cuz he done smacked Aegon's ass with that sword

His biggest kink gotta be hair pulling. However, he’s definitely got a sadist side and likes to spank a little…

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In the safety of your bed, with the door locked and preferably sound-proofed

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He doesn’t really have any motivation, but when he gets the urge, he’ll come visit you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything public – there’s too big of a risk.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Prefers giving over receiving. Idk why, but he doesn’t seem like the type who would enjoy looking down at you on your knees. Most definitely has some Madonna-whore-complex, so he still holds you up on his own weird kind of pedestal.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and rough, most definitely. Incelot has places to be.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

All. The. Time. It’s all he can manage most of the time, and you’ve gotta work as well, so this is the best solution most of the time.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Not really. He knows what he likes, and so do you, so there’s no sense in this for him.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can last a few, but mostly doesn’t have time for them. Usually it’s foreplay and then one round.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He’s too proud for them, if there is a westerosi version of toys

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn’t like to tease tbh. Unfair applies more to your relationship, as it’s probably going to be mostly for sex and you can expect gaslighting from him…

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not very loud, he’s intent on valuing his time with you (mostly), so he tends to go silent. Also reminds you not to make too much noise.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He loves you in his own fucked up way, and he’s in dire need of therapy tbh. If you do end up running away with him, he’ll fall so hard for you and absolutely marry you and have a bunch of kids with you. I think a part of why he became so bitter is his loneliness, and that he would love to have four kiddos running around and demanding his attention all the time. You can see it in the way he acts with aegon and aemond if you ask me.

Get him in the right headspace, and he’ll be THE best girl dad ever.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

It’s big, and lowkey I wish it wasn’t. Definitely long, rather than thick, but it’s a good length ;)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Sometimes, it’s basically non-existent for weeks, and then sometimes, he can’t stand to be away from you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn’t. His guilt keeps him up for the nights afterwards, but if you do run with him, he’ll be snoozing away in no time.

[lunarflux]

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

[br0kenangel]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[spider-stark]

SWORN PROTECTOR

Criston Cole x Targaryen!Reader

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

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

Word Count - 2k

!MINORS DNI!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seven Hells! 

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

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

Rational thought trumps what remains of fear. 

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

Fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Out where?” 

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

“Were you alone?” 

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

He certainly looks jealous. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something snaps. His mouth twists into a scowl. 

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

You could have him dismissed from the Kingsguard for this. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A scoff, throwing the wardrobe open. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was not my intention to imply that—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again, only silence. 

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

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

“Were?” 

His blood thrums. His lungs ache. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was with Aegon.” 

Criston blinks. “What?” 

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

Criston’s own lips twitch, curving upwards. 

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

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

It’s going to be a long night.

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

[sublimitymp3]

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

I'm back 😈😈😈

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[idkyetxoxo]

Criston Cole - Guarded Obsession

Summary - Navigating court gossip and unwanted advances, a confrontation erupts where her obsessive protector, Ser Criston, steps in with fervent determination. His unwavering devotion to her becomes evident, revealing his willingness to defy all norms and protect her at any cost.

Pairing - Criston Cole x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Strong language

Word count - 2158

Masterlist for Criston • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"I believe he's warmed his lady wife's sister's bed more often than hers," I whispered, my wine goblet becoming an extension of my slight hand gestures as Criston's eyes tracked each subtle movement.

"Scandalous news," he murmured, his voice barely rising above the hum of conversation around us. Together, we watched the couple awkwardly mingling with other nobles, their forced smiles and stiff postures betraying the simmering tension beneath the surface.

"And yet, I hear Lady Marjaery is expecting," I continued, lowering my voice conspiratorially. "Though the whispers suggest the father might not be her esteemed husband, but rather the charming stable boy."

Criston stifled a laugh. "The stable boy? Imagine the uproar if her husband were to find out."

"Indeed," I agreed with a smirk. "And what of Lord Cedric's latest escapade, have you caught wind of that?"

"No, but I'm eager to hear," Criston replied, leaning in closer.

"Apparently, he's been seen slipping out of Lady Evelyn's chambers on more than one occasion but here's the twist, Lady Evelyn's husband has been turning a blind eye, likely because he's rather occupied with a young squire himself. It's a whirlwind of infidelities."

Criston chuckled. "It seems everyone's playing musical beds these days. Speaking of unusual liaisons, have you heard about Lord Tommen?"

"Ah, yes," I said, grinning. "Lord Tommen, who has more interest in the blacksmith's son than any lady of the court. It's caused quite the stir, but he doesn't seem to mind the gossip one bit."

"Bold as ever," Criston remarked with a smirk. "I suppose it takes all kinds to keep the court entertained."

"Princess, may I have this dance?" a voice interrupted, cutting through the murmur of conversation that surrounded us.

My head snapped up, momentarily forgetting the grand ballroom and its dazzling surroundings. A young lord stood before me, exuding an air of confidence as he awaited my response.

"That is a kind offer, my lord, but—" I began, attempting to frame a polite refusal. Before I could finish, my mother, Alicent, approached with quick, purposeful strides, her gaze fixed firmly on me.

"She would love to dance, wouldn't you?" she interjected, her tone a blend of expectation and command, as though the matter were settled by her mere insistence.

The young lord, Lord Baratheon, shifted awkwardly, his face betraying a mixture of eagerness and discomfort.

"Lord Baratheon, the princess will join you on the floor," my mother continued, her words decisive and unyielding.

He opened his mouth as if to correct her but seemed to think better of it. "Please, Your Grace, Lord Baratheon is my father. I am simply Alyn," he said, offering a respectful bow before moving to the edge of the dance floor, where he waited with an awkward half-smile.

As my mother turned to me, her eyes flashed with a simmering rage that was impossible to ignore.

"I have told you time and time again to act like a princess," she scolded, her voice low but firm. "Stop standing off in corners to gossip and laugh. It is unseemly."

I sighed deeply, knowing this was a battle I was unlikely to win. The weight of her disapproval settled heavily on my shoulders.

"Ser Criston?" she called, and the man beside me tensed visibly. "I expect better from you. You may be her sworn protector, but that does not mean you indulge her in evading her duties," she continued sharply, her eyes narrowing at him.

Criston nodded, his expression stoic.

"Ser Criston is not at fault for my behavior," I interjected, but my mother spun to face me, her frustration barely contained.

"Do not defend each other," she snapped. "Frankly, I am tired of this friendship you've formed. Do not give me a reason to have you removed from your duties," she warned, her voice cutting through the ballroom's din.

Without waiting for a response, she turned her back on us, her skirts swishing with finality.

"Now go be a good girl and dance with Lord Baratheon's son," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for further discussion.

I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the evening's expectations pressing down on me. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I set my drink down on a nearby table with a resigned clink.

"In a while, Ser Criston," I said with a wry smile, our eyes locking for a brief, charged moment. He nodded, his expression unreadable as he followed my progress toward the dance floor with a gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts.

As I approached Alyn, the weight of the ballroom's gaze seemed to press down on me. The glimmering chandeliers bathed the room in a warm, golden light, illuminating the swirling couples and lavish decor. Yet, despite the opulence, my focus remained solely on the young lord waiting before me.

I placed my hand in his, allowing him to guide me into the midst of the dancers. The music swelled around us, wrapping us in its rhythmic embrace.

Criston watched from the edge of the dance floor, his internal struggle evident despite his outward composure. He was painfully aware of the inappropriateness of his feelings, feelings he could neither voice nor fully suppress. 

An overwhelming sense of protectiveness enveloped him every time he saw me, a girl whose striking presence was only matched by the grace with which I moved.

As I twirled in Alyn's arms, I could almost feel Criston's gaze searing into my back. His jaw was clenched so tightly that I imagined his teeth might shatter. 

Though his face remained a mask of stoic professionalism, a storm of raw, turbulent emotions brewed in his eyes, a tempest he struggled to contain, lest it consume him entirely.

"Alyn," I said softly, slightly breathless from the relentless movement of the dance. The lilting waltz wrapped us in its rhythmic embrace.

"Yes, Princess?" he replied, his fingers pressing possessively against my waist.

"Perhaps we should take a break," I suggested, yearning for a respite from the endless spinning.

Alyn's eyes flickered with a darker emotion, perhaps frustration at his inability to charm me or an impatience born of entitlement.

"If you must," he conceded, his voice tinged with barely concealed exasperation, as if my request were a significant inconvenience.

"Asshole," I muttered under my breath, my face contorting into a sour expression. I glanced towards my mother, who shot me a look that unmistakably said, "Fix your face before I do it for you."

As Alyn guided me off the dance floor, the crowd pressed in tighter, adding to my discomfort. Amid the swirling dancers, someone moving backward collided with me, sending a goblet of wine cascading over my dress.

The wine splashed across my gown in a scarlet cascade, the rich, red liquid seeping into the delicate silk like blood staining fresh snow. It clung to my skin, cold and sticky.

"Seven hells," I muttered, frustration evident as I felt the wine seep through to my skin.

"I apologize," the man responsible for the mishap stammered, his face flushed with embarrassment. I waved him off, striving to maintain my composure despite my growing irritation.

"Princess, allow me," Alyn said quickly, pulling out a handkerchief and beginning to dab at the stain. His touch, though ostensibly helpful, carried an unwelcome lecherousness, lingering just a moment too long.

"It's alright," I said, trying to gently push his hand away. Despite my efforts, he persisted.

Alyn's hands were unseemly, lingering on me with a familiarity that was far from appropriate. He seemed to relish this opportunity to play out his fantasies under the guise of assistance. The feel of his touch, so bold and unwelcome, made my skin crawl.

"I said don't touch me," I snapped, grabbing his hand as it trespassed to an inappropriate place.

The sharpness of my voice cut through the room, freezing the surrounding nobles in place.

In a blur of motion, Criston appeared by my side, his grip on Alyn's wrist like iron. The crack of bone echoed as he twisted Alyn's arm behind his back, eliciting a sharp cry of pain that sliced through the ballroom's murmur.

A hush fell over the crowd as Criston leaned in, his voice a low, dangerous whisper that sent a shiver down my spine. "She said stop."

Alyn's eyes widened in alarm, but before he could react, Criston's voice dropped even lower, edged with menace.

"So stop, or by the Seven, I will sever this very hand and feed it to her dragon," he hissed, his tone cold and unyielding. The threat hung in the air, a grim promise of the depths of Criston's protective rage.

My mother, her face a storm of barely contained fury and mortification, rushed forward. Her eyes, a storm of anger, locked onto me and Criston. 

With surprising strength, she pulled Alyn away from Criston, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

"Apologies," she said to Alyn, her voice strained as she attempted to maintain civility. Alyn mumbled curses under his breath, clearly displeased with the turn of events.

"Princess, Ser Criston, take your leave," she commanded, her voice resolute and devoid of any room for dissent.

I sighed deeply, the weight of my actions and the ensuing turmoil pressing heavily upon me. With a resigned nod, I turned to leave the banquet hall, my head lowered in shame and guilt.

Criston's heavy, measured footsteps followed closely behind, each step echoing the gravity of the situation as we exited the grand hall.

As we exited the ballroom, the cacophony of laughter and conversation receded, enveloping us in a tranquil silence as we moved into the cooler, quieter corridors. Each step took us further from the scene of my humiliation, the weight of the evening's events pressing heavily upon me.

"Fucking cunt," I muttered as we reached the sanctuary of my chambers. I began roughly removing my jewelry, the once-glittering gems now marred and sticky from the spilled wine.

"Did he offend you?" Criston asked, his eyes respectfully averted, though his internal struggle was palpable.

I could sense the tension in his posture as I attacked the stubborn stain on my dress with a cloth, frustration evident in each vigorous rub.

"Stupid Baratheon brat," I muttered, almost laughing at the absurdity of the nickname I'd invented in my irritation. The bitterness of it all brought a wry smile to my lips.

"Offend me, he did," I said, throwing the cloth aside in exasperation.

"My mother can't even see past her sense of duty," I continued, gripping my hair in frustration. "It's as if my well-being doesn't matter to her as long as I maintain propriety."

Criston remained silent, his presence a steady anchor amidst my storm of emotions.

I paced the room, venting without restraint. "She apologized to him," I said, disbelief and anger mingling in my voice. "She apologized to the man who dared to lay his hands on me, the princess," I finished, collapsing onto the edge of my bed.

Criston moved closer, his expression dark and protective. "Your mother is bound by duty, Princess, but her actions tonight were unjust," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.

"Right," I sighed, closing my eyes and massaging my temples. "No doubt she'll be here later tonight, reprimanding us." I could almost hear the familiar knock on the door, followed by her stern voice. 

Criston's quiet laugh was a comforting sound in the tense atmosphere.

"I believe those are the only words she directs toward us," he remarked, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"The blind leading the blind, that's what she said last time?" I recalled, a laugh bubbling up as the memory resurfaced. It was a sharp, biting phrase, but now, in the safety of my chambers, it seemed almost absurd.

"Indeed it was," he agreed, his smile easing the tension in his face.

"She can't take you from me," I said, leaning forward with a fervent intensity.

"I will not let it happen," he replied, his expression resolute. Though his face was a mask of cool determination, beneath it lay his fierce resolve to remain by my side.

The bond between us was something neither of us would easily relinquish.

"I still remember the first time you stood guard outside my chambers," I said with a wistful smile. "You were so serious, as if the fate of the realm depended on it."

Criston chuckled, the sound deep and warm. "I remember," he said, his eyes twinkling with the memory. "I thought if I showed even a hint of levity, I'd be dismissed on the spot."

"I appreciated your seriousness," I said, my tone softening. "But I also remember sneaking out past you more than once."

"Ah, yes," he replied, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "You were quite the handful. Still are, if I may say so."

I laughed, the sound easing the lingering tension in the room.

"Thank you, Ser Criston," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "Your loyalty means more to me than you know."

"For you, my loyalty is unwavering," he replied firmly. "No matter what your mother or anyone else says, I will stand by you." 

Criston knew there was no force that could sever the bond between us.

To him, I was his, his lady to protect, his princess.

A/n - Love a good gossip

[shuichiakainx]

[draczrys]

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

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

COURTLY LOVE. ❨ criston cole x reader ❩

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

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

"... ser criston cole!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"my good luck charm."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"a kiss then."

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

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

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

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

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

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Face-Sitting with Criston

Part of Kinktober 2024

Rumor claimed that Ser Criston Cole had once been the lover of Princess Rhaenyra. You had never been bold enough to ask him yourself if the rumors were true, but you liked to think that they were.

For if it was true, it meant that the man who had once lain with the Realm's Delight was now worshipping you, a simple laundress.

You almost pitied the Princess for somehow losing the devotion of this man, an honorable knight of the Kingsguard whose only weakness was his too-full heart.

The breaking of his vows weighed heavy on him, you knew. You would sometimes see it in his dark, depthless eyes after your trysts. But when you asked him if he regretted your relationship, he always firmly denied it.

"The vows of my order were written by men," he would say as he held your hand to his chest, just above his heart. "But this was made by the Gods. If it commands me to love you, who am I to deny it?"

Tonight, you do not question his guilt or his love, for you have lost your capability to speak. All that escapes your lips are small gasps, low moans, and "Criston. Criston. Criston!"

He has come to your room in the depths of the Red Keep, as always. It is too risky for you to visit his, although you know some Kingsguard had brought their paramours to the White Sword Tower in the past. But you like it better that he comes to you, to the small place in the world that is yours, so that for a few stolen moments, he may also be yours.

He spends long minutes just holding you in his arms, his face buried in your neck as he gently sways you back and forth. He does not say anything, but you understand him even in his silence. His day was hard, whatever challenges he faced taxing. Tonight, he doesn't need release but comfort.

And you know precisely where he finds the most comfort.

Criston wraps his arms around your hips, lifting you from the floor as he approaches your bed. When he sits on its edge, he brings you with him. In a smooth, practiced motion, he slips your smallclothes down your legs and into the pocket of his trousers.

He does not remove any of his own clothes, and likely will not this evening. Instead, he lies back on the bed, and you thrill at the sight of his night-dark hair splayed on your pillow.

You do not get to look at him for very long, unfortunately. Your lover is quite impatient tonight, using a little more force than normal when guiding you up his body until you can feel his breath warm your naked core.

The moment he pulls you down to meet his mouth, all his worries and troubled vanish, for this is the place he finds the most comfort: between your legs.

Author's Note: This one is more fluff than smut, but it's MY kinktober, so I make the rules!

[axelsagewrites]

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

Criston Cole*Test My Devotion

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

Word count: 2515

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

Masterlist here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @starkleila

[bucknastysbabe]

now, catholic school priest criston and aemonds twin. Criston is from a catholic family, wanted to be a priest since he was a little boy, going to the sunday mass with his mothet was like the highlight of his week, went into the seminary very young, never had a girlfriend, he is a good man alright. then aemonds twin, whos not catholic, not even christian, her dad doesnt even go to church but alicent is very catholic and she wanted her kids to go to catholic school. but shes a menace, a straight up gremlin, like aegon but a girl and not a loser (srry aegon ily). And criston is sure the devil sent her to tempt him and shes like but what if it was god the one who sent me for you??? And specially for you??? Like, as a treat?! 🤗

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6k of filth and catholic guilt

Tags: 90’s catholic school setting, Criston had the Crisis, mutual masturbation, confession booth shenanigans, age difference, manipulation, teacher/student relationship, sexual tension, Targtower reader, Criston’s woe is me internal monologue, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, pnv!sex, Jesus saw that Crispy, DESPERATION, priest kink, #imahorridcatholic

A/N: I made that priest edit and I’m proud also listened to talk by hozier for the entire last part. I’m a gremlin and made her her daeron’s twin.

Taglist: @fairysluna @aemonds-holy-milk @targaryenbarbie @arcielee @bambitas

Criston knew his purpose since the day he could recall. Nothing pleased him more than sitting in mass with his mother, going through Sunday school, getting ready to become an official Catholic. Confirmation was the one of the happiest days of his life.

Vocation became the forefront of Criston’s mind in school. He probably annoyed the hell out of Father Dondarrion, pestering the priest with questions upon questions about seminary. In the mean time, he was the best altar boy a Cole could be. A-team altar boy! Strong fumbled the bells every time, it repulsed Criston.

He did other school things such as tennis, won a state championship in that, got some offers for a spot on a college team. Then in the other season he played second base for the baseball team, won a state championship in that and received multiple offers to college teams. No, Criston had his mind made up. He could lead others to victory— through Christ’s love of course. He had to admit his father was quite pissed about the baseball team but he’d be okay. Criston had a little brother, he was athletic.

The young man had even tried dating, just to see if God called for Criston to instead populate the world and lead a family. Not tend to the flock of sheep. There was a plethora of girls but he fell for a devil.

Her name was Rhaenyra Targaryen and she left him in a puddle of tears. The rich girl couldn’t respect staying chaste until marriage. He was ready to give her a ring. The priest sniffed recalling her harsh words, “You, like, won’t even dry hump me? What’s the point?” At the time the young man was miffed, broken, distraught. Criston held a hand over his heart as he whispered tearily, “You want me to be your whore?”

Mind you, he was a foolish 17 year old. The man was tested with her, but he learned from the experience. Criston was obviously meant to be a priest. He prayed and prayed for God to reveal his path. The answer came in Father Dondarrion giving Criston a letter from the Archbishop himself, inviting the young man to join seminary.

Criston took his first vows at the tender age of 18. He spent the next seven years learning and perfecting his bond with God, ready to guide his brothers and sisters in Christ. He’d smile and wave off comments at his home parish, often elder women asking why such a handsome young man would devote his life to chastity.

He rarely thought much of it. Jerking off was a boring thing, simply a biological process Cole needed to take care of. He took no shame nor pleasure in it, not truly thinking of anything at all. It would lessen as he aged but currently Criston was twenty-five and a ‘hot blooded’ young man.

He got his first job as a teacher in a Catholic school. At the beginning, Father Criston Cole found a passion for teaching while on a mission trip. He was ecstatic for the job. A year later he was significantly less overzealous. Add some years later Criston found himself, well, bored. Agitated. Discontent if you will.

Lord knows he had to calm himself for these wayward children. After a long day the man would pour some scotch and wonder why the rich ones were the worst behaved. Especially the damn Targaryens— he thought he could escape from that name.

Rhaenyra’s father had remarried and they had five children. Rhaenyra had five herself, different fathers came the whispers. The two youngest apparently looked like her. Criston smirked into his glass, God was watching and protecting him even as a foolish kid. She left the church anyways, but the children were polite and well-behaved in class.

Alicent Hightower-Targaryen’s children were a handful. Aegon made Criston sick to his stomach, the idiot either drunk or high in class, flipping up skirts of poor girls. If the priest thought about the eldest too long he’d grow a headache. He chose not to dwell on the fact that the family generously paid for Aegon to graduate— like a twisted version of simony.

Then along came sweet Helaena, she made good marks but often had to be drawn back to attention, and he tried to stifle the bullying drawn to her strange nature. Aemond was another headache, in a good way. He seemed to fit the vocational lifestyle and bonded with Criston over it. Criston truly enjoyed discussing hot topics in the church with the smart lad.

Aemond just needed to let his anger go and let God in, Criston had to do the same, his temper could be stormy. Then Aemond graduated and went off to study the sciences. Criston frankly thought he was done. He forgot. The twins were seniors and signed into his year-long Papal History elective.

He was now 32, and God really had sent him a test this time. In the form of good-natured Daeron’s wily sister. He had to send her to the Headmaster’s office the first day! The pale-haired girl was wearing an…indecent…skirt. One to catch long shapely legs.

He huffed and downed the rest of his scotch. He knelt before his icon of Christ and prayed. ‘Please my loving lord, I am afraid you shall test me, but give me the strength to pass through this.’ He felt strange. This girl was trouble. Criston wiped his face and grabbed his scotch again, one more would do for the night. He hissed, “FuckingfuckfucksticksFUCK!” Eyes widening he apologized to the empty room, “Forgive me my lord, that was uncouth.”

It was November 1997. Father Cole thought about making a request to a parish to be their full-time priest. He suited up for the lovely worship of Mass, mood sour. Deacon Erryk was next to him, almost out of his seminary studies. Erryk hummed, “How’s the class this year?”

“A pain in my side. I have another Aegon Targaryen in the form of his youngest sister. She seeks to make me miserable.”

The man stifled a laugh and prodded, “Damn. Aegon was bad, he was in my class with you. My condolences Criston, pray that Mary will bless the girl with some sense.”

Criston grumbled, “Indeed.” He felt old. Erryk was about to be a priest now.

Mass went off good as gold, the younger altar boys falling into place easily. He could always see the believers and non-believers based on their actions. Some wouldn’t even stand when he entered the room, the cross bearer ignored too. If Criston could start throwing Holy Water he would, ingrates.

In the front row, Daeron and his sister sat. Criston tried not to grimace as he sat down in his chair. They’d have mass every Friday at the school. Confession on Tuesdays. Criston would teach a RCIA class next semester for those outside of the school at night.

She was staring at him, wearing another little dress with her button-up underneath the skinny straps. He could see her smokey eyeshadow and glossed lips, moving around a piece of gum. Daeron held himself in reverence, hands clasped. Criston turned away, he would not give the evil little blonde any satisfaction!

He shivered when she knelt and took the body of Christ, tongue lapping against his fingers with a licentious look. The priest almost yelped, moving onto the next. He was shaken for the rest of the ceremony. Maybe he should call for advice— no, no, they would think Cole some sort of deviant pedophile. That was a problem enough and she was merely being a temptress. ‘Son of a fucking BIIIIIIITCH’, he thought angrily. Then did the sign of the cross.

The beleaguered priest sat at his desk during his planning period, grading papers. The headphones on his head played some songs— his only vice. He loved ‘radical’ music. So Criston kept that little secret to himself. He liked to belt rock ballads. Only by himself in the rectory.

How embarrassing. A grown man of the cloth.

The door opening had Criston jerking his head up, hand flicking off his walkman. He raised a brow when it was the little Targaryen and her mother, livid by her expression and wild red hair. She shoved the girl in a seat and crossed her arms.

Criston stood up and greeted the frankly scary woman, “Miss Hightowergaryen, oh, Hightower-Targaryen yes!” He peeked at teary red eyes, deadpanning, “And you.” The senior scoffed, “Good to see you too Father.” He ignored her quip and cautiously asked, “What seems to be the problem?” Alicent raved, “She’s going off the wrong path, just like Aegon. Guess where Aegon is, tell Father Cole please!” She gave her daughter a sharp look.

The girl mumbled something before getting a pinch to her arm. She croaked, “He’s in rehab! Rehab! Alright there mom!” The younger curled in and hid under her blonde hair, streaked with some sort of red dye.

He frowned but couldn’t say he was quite surprised. Criston offered, “My apologies, may he find the light of His way soon. Occasionally some rejoin the church or convert after getting clean and sober. Is there an issue with my student Miss?”

Alicent sighed, calming a bit and taking a deep breath. She looked up, doe eyes wide and pleading. The mother asked, “Can we go into your private office for a second Father?” She stopped and hissed, “Don’t you move an inch!”

A roll of violet eyes was the answer, pouting lips turning further downward.

Criston perched on his desk and tried to soothe the woman, “Alicent, relax my old friend, what can I do for you?” He offered a look of sympathy, watching her pace and run a hand wildly through her hair. The woman stopped in place and whimpered, “She’s so lost, I can’t screw up another one of my babies. I need you to keep an eye on her, pray and guide, something…Something so I know I tried.”

She looked very tired, taking a sharp breath in to chew at her nails. Alicent rambled, “She was so good, her and Daeron were so good. Then she turned sixteen and something happened, I don’t know what, and it’s gotten worse. She hates Sunday mass, like Aegon and Rhaenyra. I don’t want to lose her forever to whatever this is, straying off the path.”

He nodded contemplatively, hand on his chin, thinking. Alicent was in a state of chronic stress, even back when they were all in school. She married Rhaenyra’s father so young, nineteen to be exact. He felt a need to protect the woman of God, just trying her best to lead her children to heaven since Viserys did not seem to be in the picture.

He swore, “I’ll do my best, you have my word Alicent. God bless you, let me bless you.” He prayed over her and the tenseness seemed to leave her shoulders. Alicent smiled softly and thanked Criston, the pair of them exiting the office.

Her daughter remained seated, looking more miserable by the second. She gazed up with curious eyes, mouth still set in a pout. Alicent beamed, “Father Criston will be keeping an eye on you and reporting to me, okay? You will behave and try to learn that the path of the righteous is never easy.”

She raised a brow, “So I’m going to have my priest follow me around? That’s uncool.”

Alicent stiffened and remarked, “No. You’ll come to him when in trouble. You’ll be spending lunch with him too so you don’t go off and smoke like a vagrant. We will go sign it in with the headmaster now. Get up.”

Criston had to hold his jaw closed. He definitely did not know what he was signing up for. Hail Mary, full of grace rambled off in his head. This would be a tumultuous year for sure— inked and sealed onto paper. God bless him.

“I guess we’ll be the best of friends now,” she snarled tearily.

Criston placed a hand on her shoulder and hummed, “God works in mysterious ways Targaryen.” Internally he was climbing a mountain and shouting at the heavens like some Bible prophet. He was feeling very Job-like at the moment.

First of all, he truly didn’t expect the girl to sit in his classroom during lunch. Criston raised a brow when she entered, slammed down her lunch and plopped down. She cocked her head and smiled, “Afternoon father.”

“Afternoon,” he replied, turning his gaze back upon the scripture he was annotating. Cole wanted to comment on her sudden chopping of that beautiful white-blonde hair, or the fact she smelled of minty cigarettes. She wasn’t supposed to be smoking.

It remained quiet until she blurted, “Do you smoke?”

Yes, in fact he did. But she didn’t need to know that. Criston murmured, “No I do not.” To which she lobbed back, “Is it not a sin to lie? I saw you in the parking lot! Also you smell like marlboros sometimes.” Her face turned bright red— like she had no control over her yapping.

Criston peeled off his glasses and sat back in his chair to level the girl with a stern look. He flatly stated, “Yes, good point, it was a sin for me to lie. Although as your teacher and priest I would not have you pick up bad habits,” he took a moment before asking, “How do I smell of cigarettes in class? Are you sniffing me?”

She stammered, “N-no! No! It’s just when you pass by, I don’t know, stop!”

Criston shook his head in concern, “Please do not sniff me in class, that’s, that’s strange.”

“I don’t sniff you! Quit saying that! Okay, enough of smoke talk! Hi how are you doing Father Cole?,” she animatedly gestured, eyes wild and cheeks pink.

He couldn’t help but snicker at her mad gestures. Snickers turned into genuine laughter, Criston slapping his desk a bit. A different hand slapping down on his desk made the man look up, donning a grin at her grumpy face. The littlest dragon hissed, “Ha-ha very funny. I asked you a question. Small talk, since I’m stuck here with you for lunch.”

Criston shrugged and replied, “Ask a better question, I don’t know how I’m doing half of the time. Especially having to babysit a legal adult.”

Her pout was endearing, the girl biting into her sandwich in an aggressive manner. She chewed and swallowed before blurting, “Is it true my half-sister dumped you in highschool?” Criston squawked in surprise, heaven on earth, how would she even get the knowledge? Rubbing the bridge of his nose he sighed.

“Yes, she dumped me. Didn’t want to stay chaste until marriage. That was a little personal don’t you think Miss Targaryen?”

She seemed to contemplate his words, sounding out her thoughts, “Now you’re a priest and she has like 2 baby daddies and a gay hubby. Cool. Love my family.” Her laugh was a sharp giggle, almost sarcastic in nature. Nothing like the torture of Aegon’s nonsensical shrieks.

Criston smiled a bit at the information, leaning back in his chair. He sucked on his teeth and asked her, “Why’d you cut off all your hair?” She narrowed her eyes and smiled, “I was wondering if you would make a comment, quote some scripture that shorter hair is for lesbians and therefore I’m going to hell.” The older man gaped and stared, almost choking at her blunt words.

“No- what? You’ve got some sort of an imagination!,” he sipped on a water bottle, offended she would assume he was that mean, “I think it fits you nicely, glad whatever dye you put in was lost in the chop.” He shook his head, muttering about lesbian scripture. She giggled again, content with flustering the priest.

Criston tried to hold off a headache as she yapped about school. He snorted a bit when she marked some of the students on the dot. Soon the bell rang and she packed up her lunch, swinging her backpack on. Stopping at the door she asked, “So what’s your poison of choice? I like the fancy camel ones.”

He stared blankly before deadpanning, “Marlboro reds, now begone Targaryen.”

Her endearing giggle echoed as she left, the door swinging shut. Criston sat back in his chair and sighed— she had spunk. He quite appreciated it. Maybe she was a gift to spice up his growing distaste of where his life was at.

His dark eyes widened. He’s got to be too young for a midlife crisis? Now he really wanted a cigarette.

Father Criston Cole was indeed having a mid-life crisis. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, fitting his clerical collar on. Peering closer he inspected his face. He was still relatively young looking, hair not showing any grays. Practicing a smile he immediately dropped the grin. Crows feet. Great.

The priest shivered at the slight wrinkles. Why did he care? He didn’t have anyone to impress. A cheeky smile and icy eyeshadow, choppy blonde hair flitted through his mind. Goodness gracious he was her teacher, her priest, went to school with the girl’s parent. A spiritual guide!

This was bad. The damn girl had him wrapped around her ringed pinky. Bringing her little gifts, letting the blonde stay after school to chit chat. One time he let her cry on his shoulder, upset about rumors swirling. Criston heard a lot in the classroom.

Slut, whore, burnout, bitch.

He didn’t want to know what the little dragon got up to in her spare time but his knuckles did whiten at the thought of her not treating her body as a temple. Letting stupid boys have their way. Not like he could help. He was a priest and the farthest he’d ever gotten was smooching Rhaenyra and grabbing her tit before freaking out.

He needed to pray. Pray away these sinful thoughts. Guilt wracked his chest. He couldn’t turn the girl away either— he made a promise to Alicent. On a better note, her grades and attendance had improved. Ali called him once to thank the priest for helping her daughter. Although the girl still was apprehensive about faith. He didn’t push the subject; she didn’t bring it up. Maybe sometime soon.

Brushing back his curls, Criston sprayed cologne on his dark garb. He bought it on a self-indulgent whim. Maybe to cover the cigarette smoke, truly to entice a certain favorite student. Instead he was pestered by other girls bringing treats and batting their eyes at him. The man of the cloth could care less about the others. He was hopelessly haunted by his agnostic, rebellious student.

The man prayed some, did a Hail Mary before smoking a cigarette or five with his coffee. He was jittery at school now, worried that somehow a teacher or the elder nun would run and declare him a sinful wretch. Locking himself in the office until class time seemed like a good option.

He tried to grade some papers, mind drifting off to the increasingly heavy burden on his shoulders. Something needed to give— he was afraid what that might be. Deacon Arryk gave the homily that morning mass since Criston was out of sorts. Trying to not stare when she knelt and took the body of Christ. Playfully flicking his fingers with that tongue and saying ‘amen’.

Thank the Trinity and the saints he was covered head to toe in thick vestments. Hiding his cock just brought to mind Criston’s change in habit. Jerking off wasn’t a mindless activity anymore. He imagined plump lips and her raspy voice, teasing him, so delightfully mean. Then he’d flip her around and- he usually came with a pathetic noise by that point in the fantasy.

He pressed his fingers into his temples, groaning aloud. Doomed. Eternal hell. Purgatory sentence maximum if he got lucky. The second bell of the day woke the man from his racing mind. Criston straightened up and popped some gum in. Mary take pity on his soul. Satan himself was testing Criston. Although he couldn’t help but think she was anything but demonic.

The next day the tired priest had to attend confession for two hours. Usually it wasn’t a laborious affair; most of the kids who attended were the devout sort and only had some venial sins. Daeron Targaryen was a regular attendee, his twin was not.

He thought he was done for the day, sighing in relief. The two hours were up. Until the curtain swished and someone entered. The brunette thought to groan and hit his head on the wood. Fuck him— sorry, forgiveness please Lord for the profanity.

Criston’s eyes widened when he heard a familiar voice. That lilting, teasing, raspy voice that was the specter of the nightmares and fantasies. He could faintly see the outline of her, that damn silvery blonde hair.

“Uhhh, bless me father for I have sinned. It’s been, uh, one year since my last confession?” She made the sign of the cross, bracelets jingling. Criston could snort— blondie was obviously reading off a note card. She remained quiet afterward.

He prodded, “Go on child.”

She huffed, “I’ve lied, slandered, gossiped about others. I’m inattentive in mass. I don’t respect my parents. I’ve been ungrateful, taking the lords body out of a state of grace. Obviously I’m egotistical, depraved of thoughts, I’m selfish.”

Father Cole swallowed.

She laughed blithely, “I could probably keep going except for mortal sins? I steal, sneak, deceive, suffer from jealousy and envy. Bad bad envy. Always want what I can’t have, y’know?”

He wanted to ask her to clarify…but had a feeling.

The twin’s voice lowered to a purr, “I think you’re waiting for the grand finale. I’m lustful, wanton, perform unnatural acts of sex. Inordinate affection, especially for men who are sworn to another. I defile myself to the thought of him.”

Criston gripped his black slacks roughly, cock swelling so fast he was pretty sure his vision had spots in it. He discreetly tried to readjust himself, swallowing back a whine. The man was no better than a horny boy— denying the pleasures of the flesh for so long.

“I’m a fornicator. Not lately. I can’t stop touching myself to the thought of him.”

The priest hadn’t stopped rubbing himself, biting on his bottom lip to shut up as she rambled on. Oh, it felt so goddamn good he was panting. Meanwhile from the other side he could hear her shifting, voice growing breathier as she talked.

“I think about him touching me, kissing me, those pretty lips and dark eyes only for me. I fucking hate when other girls talk to him— I slashed one’s t-tires.”

“No swearing,” Criston grunted.

“Sorry, where was I? I came so hard the other day wondering what his cock would feel like inside of me. I don’t know if y- he would last long but I’d keep riding, oh mmh!,” her breath hitched and he could hear slick noises from beyond the screen. She was touching herself in the booth. Touching herself. In the booth.

He leaned back, head thumping against the wood, practically humping his hand. Criston whined through his nose, mouth hanging open. The man was a goddamn mess, pleading, “You’d ride him huh? Until he got ready again?”

“Mhmmm, yeah, I’d put his pretty cock in my mouth until I felt him get hard. Hah, what do you think he would do to me?”

Oh holy spirits, he had no clue? Everything? He’d do anything? He drew on his fantasies and the dirty mag a boy brought to class once. Criston went home and asked forgiveness for seeing the woman…doing that.

His voice was much more desperate than he expected, tan cheeks turning a shade of darker red. Criston rambled, “I, oh heavens, he would do whatever she asked, maybe, maybe, put his mouth on her.”

He must have said the right thing, her breath quickened and he could see the outline of her arm moving faster. Emboldened, Cole practically whined, “He’d lick and suck at her until she was crying and grabbing his hair, ohfuckinghellfires!” Criston’s cock throbbed and twitched as he cursed and shoved a hand down his slacks.

“Yeah? Yeah? He’d eat me out? Suck on my clit, slip some f-fingers inside? I’d want it so bad,” she whimpered shakily. The priest panted and popped the button so he could fist himself easier, moaning shamelessly, scrunching his eyes closed.

The blonde’s voice was muffled, “Mmm- I’d take such good care of him, he could e-eat me out but I’d ride his cock until he couldn’t cum anymore, F-father please!” Criston could hear her squeal and his dark hair fell into his face as he curled inward. He babbled uselessly, rubbing himself as spurt after spurt of seed wetted his briefs.

There was a heavy feeling in the confession booth. The pair panted, sitting in silence. Shame poured over Criston like a bucket of ice. He quickly rearranged himself to not look like someone who just had the most intense orgasm of his life. The priest wanted to talk, truly, but he had no words.

So he bolted, ignoring her calls of his name. Criston kept moving, heading toward the rectory, he’d have to call out. Everything was spinning and he needed to just, just, he didn’t know. The stickiness in his pants was worsening the horrid feeling of being a pervert, he should’ve just sent her away. He will end this immediately tomorrow, for both of their souls if he hasn’t doomed them.

She didn’t appear for lunch. Did appear for class, eyes blazing into Criston’s head. Daeron even coughed and shoved her. She was glaring, not writing a damn thing as he lectured about the battle of Lepanto. The priest’s palms began to sweat. He wished the clock would go quicker.

“I’ll get a ride home, don’t worry about me Dare,” she said after the bell rung, students packing up their bags. Daeron raised an eyebrow but shrugged, moving on. One girl attempted to approach Criston with some papers in hand.

The dragon hissed something and shoulder checked the girl— Criston reluctantly scolding the blonde. Like it mattered, the other girl hightailed it out of his classroom. Pale eyes landed upon his own dark orbs, a strange look on her face.

“Office,” she said. Cole wasn’t in the position to deny. He tossed and turned all night, fighting whether to say fuck it and hang up the cassock or dismiss her and never speak of it again. When she was in his presence it leaned toward the former.

Criston walked in first, closing the blinds while she followed him. The man’s head jerked up when he heard the sound of the door locking. Little Miss Targaryen was wearing a particularly form fitting version of the school uniform, tits pushed up under the white button-down. Suddenly Criston was swallowing drool.

She snapped, “Sit down.”

He grabbed her shoulders and shook the senior a bit, leaning down to growl, “Do you even know what the hell you’re getting into? This could ruin us both! You aren’t going to order me around, I’m the damn adult here, I swore to your mother!” He sounded desperate, weary.

She sneered up at him, unphased, “Sit down or I’ll leave and pretend this never occurred. I know you want it, you want me,” she yanked at his white collar, “Mommy doesn’t have to know, Father.”

Why Criston was like a dog at a damn eighteen year old’s commands? He wasn’t quite sure. His tongue was glued down anyways, only huffing as he perched on the chair. She padded closer, smelling of vanilla and some other perfume. He bit off a whine when she sat on his desk, thighs spreading, giving the priest a view of her lacy skimp of underwear.

“Fucking hell baby,” he pled, hands aching to touch.

“What? You sure were enjoying yourself yesterday.”

He moaned, “We shouldn’t— this could cost us our souls. The deceiver is manipulating us, a test. I lost my wits yesterday.” Criston’s fingertips dug into his leaner thighs, eyes flicking between her pretty smirk and the peak of baby pink panties. The girl hummed sadly, faux pout setting his heart to aching something fierce.

“What if it isn’t the devil? What if I’m just a gift, for you, just for you Father,” she leaned in to his face, “Think outside your little imposed box. Don’t you feel this?” She snatched one of his hands, pressing it upon her beating heart, her soft breast.

He looked guiltily to the side. Criston whispered, “If you were a gift then why is are my feelings so wanton and lustful?”

Purple eyes rolled. She hiked the skirt up, exposing pale thighs and her cute underwear. Criston whimpered under his breath, hand still on her breast, squeezing. The girl moaned, “Chaste love, no, I think he sent me just for you, maybe you had the wrong calling?” Criston threw caution to the wind— the festering in his head grew, rotting away his senses.

He’d already fucked up. Her points were making more sense by the second. Why not enjoy life before he spent the afterlife in torment? He peered at his favorite and rasped, “Show me what to do, putting my mouth on you. Can I touch you?” The brunette internally cringed at his whiny tone. She smiled victoriously, breath delightfully hitching, manicured hands unbuttoning her top.

Criston grabbed ahold of those pretty thighs, marveling at how smooth they were as he pulled them forward until her ass was the only thing perched on his desk. She squeaked and grabbed onto his dark hair, cheeks going blotchy with pink spots. The priest figured he’d have a little instinct, something long denied festering along with his sinful thoughts.

Right now he was face to face with her cunt and Criston had lost his bravado, brown eyes peering up at her. She smirked knowing she had the upper hand again. The Targaryen laughed, “Alright, panties off first Father. Do you even know female anatomy?”

He blushed darkly, ignoring the comment and yanking down those pretty panties. They matched her bra, her breasts spilling out of the push-up with heavy breath. He stuffed the lace underwear selfishly in his pocket. Criston gritted his jaw, cock pressing painfully hard against the fly of his pants. She was glistening, swollen, something he could only conjure up and still get it wrong.

“The clit is the nub at the top,” she breathed.

Criston searched her eyes with his own, abashed at the lack of knowledge before delving his face between silky thighs. He moaned pitifully, embracing the natural scent, her hand in his curls. The man lapped at her sopping hole, excitedly delving his tongue inside, already obsessed with the sweet nectar.

“Fffuck,” she whined, thighs tensing around his neck. Criston’s nose bumped against her clitoris, reminding him of the ‘magic spot’ he’d heard girls giggle about between class changes. He licked his way upward, moaning, ignoring his own need. Pink lips sealed around her button, tentatively suckling.

The blonde jerked and mewled, “Criston, Criston, yes Father!”

He flicked his tongue against the button, big hands keeping those strong thighs from closing. She was trying to scoot away from his onslaught on her, whining and shivering. Criston pulled back to rumble, “All that talk and you’re running from my tongue now little girl?”

“M’gonna fucking cum,” she half-sobbed.

The priest wasn’t going to give up. He kept his attentions on that bundle, even slipping two fingers inside her pussy, exploring until she keened again. More and more slick covered his chin and fingers, utterly lost in this divine feeling. The blonde’s legs were shaking now, breath coming in short sobs. She babbled something, one hand white knuckling the desk, the other knotted into Criston’s hair.

He wished he could have saved her shrill cry of his name as Criston pushed the younger woman over that edge. She gushed and spasmed, finally pushing him away to settle down. Her makeup was smudged, hair a fucking mess. Cole thought she never looked prettier.

He was goddamn insane over her and he knew it. The devil long had his claws gripped into the priest. The man just lied and ignored until he couldn’t. Criston grabbed her and placed her on his thighs, cock pulsing, him reaching down to relieve pressure.

The blonde wrapped her arms round his neck, pretty pink nipples exposed now, the push-up doing nothing to help. She plastered herself to his body, lips mouthing across his neck, murmuring, “You learn quick, s’good.” Criston rubbed at her back, slipping a hand down to her a handful of her cute ass.

She pulled back, pale eyes roving Criston’s face. He stared in a daze as she spoke in a sultry, raspy tone, “You’re so hard, wanna fuck you, lemme fuck you Father.” He couldn’t help but moan long and low at her desperate plea. His cock was fit to burst, straining his briefs now.

“I want it, I want it,” he gasped.

In a flurry of movement he yanked off the collar, it would sicken him to have it on. She pulled at the buttons, pausing to unhook her bra, Criston shoving down his pants and underwear. She moaned, placing hands on his chest and sliding down trim stomach until a little hand grabbed his ruddy cock.

He made a strangled noise, eyes rolling up in his head. No wonder people did this— sin was utterly sweet. Criston panted her name, about to guide her hips onto him. He paused, brows furrowing. The deceiver himself spoke through her voice, “I’m on birth control, doesn’t matter.”

That’s all he needed to hear, roughly lifting her to guide his cock into that slick pussy. Criston made a gutted noise as she slipped onto him. Warm, wet, so goddamn snug and gently ridged. He whined, straight up whined, “Don’t move, don’t move, baby baby oh— haaah!”

She purred and pressed soft tits against Criston, their shallow breathing intermingling. The female whispered softly, petting his shoulders and arms, “S’okay, breathe, relax.”

Criston shook from head to toe, exhaling sharply, pitiful noises escaping a raw throat. He pressed his swollen lips to her forehead, forcing rapid breathing to a calmer state. Still, still, the brunettes balls throbbed and twitched.

He was gonna fuck her dammit. He’d gotten this damn far, his darkest desire to fuck and fill her up after more than two pumps would kill Cole. She teased, hands back on his chest, playing with his medals, “You can do it Father, you’re not so twitchy.”

He shook his head silently, focusing on the task at hand. Father Criston Cole could never deny his sweet little dragon. She’d started squirming and whining on his lap, slick soaking his loins. He took a tentative thrust upwards, lashes fluttering.

The dam broke loose.

Criston fucked and groped, lips messily smacking against her pretty plump pout. She rode him in earnest, meeting him thrust for thrust. The chair squeaked, they moaned, grunted, cried out, a feral quality to the sacred act. He was soaking in the slaps of skin, her hitches of breath, chanting his name like a damn litany.

Criston grabbed onto her hips, planting his feet on the floor, biting his lip and scrunching eyes tight. He was moaning and moaning, drool slipping out between searing kisses. His balls were drawing tight— pounding with the need of his release.

He shoved her upwards onto the desk, thrusting brutally as she cried in ecstasy. Criston pled, “M’gonna cum, c-can’t stop, oh fuck.” She cried, “Yesyesyes don’t you dare stop, m’close!” The older man felt his balls slapping against her ass, eyes rolling up again.

His orgasm hit him like a ton of bricks, Cole mouthing at perky tits, moaning as his release soaked her pussy. It was like he was floating. She bit down on her hand to muffle a wail, arching into him, cunt convulsing and wetting him further.

But Criston couldn’t stop. He kept fucking through the oversensitive pain, sounding like he was in agony as he pounded into her. Their mixed releases made everything slide easier, his turgid cock not softening. He babbled, “Not done, another baby, take it for me, take me please.”

The blonde’s only response was clinging to his tan body, nails digging into his shoulders, legs wrapped tight around his waist. She sobbed harder, “Do it do it— oh my God!” Criston whined her name through his nose, drunk off the feeling, not even aware of the blasphemy.

The office grew hot, noises of flesh and high sounds filling the small space. He couldn’t shut the fuck up either, rambling, “Wet baby, can’t help myself, gotta do it, fuck it all! M’still full up, gotta stuff you baby, how can I hngh not?” He reached down between them to circle haphazardly at her abused clit, the pretty thing writhing on his dick.

Another peak was approaching, he was already leaking, ready to empty another load deep inside her eager pussy. She tightened around him as he pinched her clit, crying real tears now, his name on her tongue like a broken record. Criston wetly cried into her fragrant neck, shoving himself deep inside to give her that last load.

He made a noise, she made a noise, everything growing foggy and distant.

Next thing he recalled was his demon, angel, twisted boon cuddled in his lap, tits still out. They were a sticky mess and he hoarsely asked, “How, ugh, long?”

“A couple of minutes. You went a little dumb there and I had to get your limp ass back into this chair,” she pressed her head into his chest, Criston naturally setting his chin on her head. His hands were slowly moving up and down her flanks. He still felt a bit dumb, dazed from the intense situation.

“You,” he swallowed, “Are a gift…I believe.”

She smiled softly, pecking his lips. The Targaryen mumbled, “We need to get ourselves together, I need a ride home.” Criston nodded, clinging tighter to her frame. He stammered, “O-okay, discuss this another time?”

“Sure, but after I show you what a blow job feels like.”

He didn’t object. The collar sat out of his sight, anything he once cherished gone from his mind. She took that place. He was irrevocably, obsessively infatuated. “I’ll have to leave my position after this year,” he murmured. She looked at him, a concerned look on dainty features.

“I think I’ll be around, will you?”

He remained silent, answer obvious in the air. He’d get down on his knees again and beg to never lose this gem. Fucked up from the get-go. For once, Criston Cole didn’t care. He kissed her instead.

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Patience is the Virtue of a Lady

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rhaenyra.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, Criston.” You gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never a moment’s peace in this world.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off

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

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

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

Word count: 5.3k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[br0kenangel]

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

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

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

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

And you reveled in it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And as the night wore on, you knew that

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

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

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

[sunnyie-eve]

1. The Challenge

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Series: Devious Opportunity

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Cousin! OFC Targaryen!

Word Count: 1.2k

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

| MASTERLIST |

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cousin!" He corrects her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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