#werewolf!criston | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bucknastysbabe · 2 months ago

Text

Rating: Explicit

Tags: MONSTERBOINKING, pnv!sex, werewolves/lycanthropy, the cheesy calm the beast trope, step daddy Criston, vague Victorian/edwardian era but in Westeros, TW: dub-con, blood and guts, groomer behaviors, uh he got that dawg💄, YEAH ANYWAYS, virgin targtower!reader, prey predator tropes, summerhall! Help!, Criston’s conflicted anguish but can’t stop fucking syndrome, your honor she’s 22

Taglist: @aemondfairy @arcielee @elaratyrell @elfven-blog @ellemarianne555 @fairysluna @jacesvelaryons @jamespotterismydaddy @lovelykhaleesiii @sammmy7499 @starogeorgina @sugarpopss @towriteloveontheirarms @urmomsgirlfriend1 @zaldritzosrose

Divider by @racingairplanes W/C is 5k

A/N: Yeah so idk what came over me I slapped this out like the good ole days and hope for the best thanks Grammarly and horny colewives and the depths research take me to are places I would go with a grenade launcher but here we are. Happy Halloween fuckers boop boop

Your stepfather had returned from an expedition from beyond the Wall with fellow retired officers from the Westerosi army. He came back sick and delirious, an infected bite of lupine nature on his ribs. You worried by his sickbed beside your mother and Daeron.

Aemond had come home to help as the man of the house. It was a horrid time, you prayed and prayed as Criston moaned lowly, sweating and writhing in pain as the maesters whispered about Direwolf bites. How he was lucky he didn’t get mauled. How no one had seen one in centuries.

Centuries.

His fever broke. Quicker than expected he got better, up and walking within a fortnight. Your loving stepfather you adored was back. Yet dismay overcame your aching heart as Criston wasn’t quite the same. Summerhall was quiet and desolate as always. It was lively once— before all of your siblings moved away, to pursue a career, start a family, and be a wastrel in the Capitol living off the family wealth.

Your mother and Criston began to talk less and less. Your bedroom lay below them. They’d fight about Rhaenyra. Fight about whether Criston was too soft on you or Alicent with Daeron, why did your grandpa have to come by so often? After hissing and uttering horrible things they’d…carnally figure it out.

You hated how you willingly listened in, body in knots as you shamefully tuned your mother out, red-faced as you secretly relished in his grunts and sighs, deep throaty moans that had your hands gripping the bed in need.

Every morning after a night such, you would pray in the small Sept erected behind the manor, fervently apologizing and confessing your wickedness to the maiden for hours. You would continue until your fingers bled from the prayer beads.

It wasn’t a happy place. You had a reprieve in typing away on your new typewriter, riding horses with your younger brother, and Criston. Except Criston wasn’t Criston. As he got ‘better’, he became choleric and isolated.

Loud noises irritated him, he’d been on a witch hunt for every critter in the house, claiming he could hear them scuttling about. The carnal noises at night were feral and disturbing, enough to make you stop your secret listening and turn over, wide-eyed. He’d go hunting on full moons and return tired and ragged— no game in sight.

The horses disliked the normally genteel man, the woods grew quiet when he sat outside to smoke on the porch. You began to grow more and more concerned, but he was snappish and you were a meek little thing— the sheltered daughter who stuttered when she spoke to lords and caught chills easily. Overdue to not being married and with a child.

You’d peered out the grand windows of the manor, seeing the glow of Criston’s pipe. He was smoking his cherry tobacco, a habit of his on a nice night. You gathered your courage and gently peered out of the front door.

His sharp eyes flickered over, exhaling the fragrant smoke before rasping, “What are you doing up, bunny?” You blushed at the old nickname, something born of you being skittish yet soft, sweet, and easy to prey on. The way Criston’s dark eyes gazed upon you made you feel like a cornered bunny.

“I was reading and noticed you were still out sir, I wanted to check on you. We haven’t spoken much lately.”

You shifted, feeling awkward. Criston’s dark curls fell across his thick brows, puffing on his pipe again. It was dead silent as he exhaled, a hand running over his overgrown stubble. He rumbled, “You need to stop reading those dreadful pulp books. Come here.”

You made to sit next to him, a hand wrapping around your wrist, Criston’s voice a near growl as he pulled you gently onto his lap. He emptied his pipe, an arm coming around your waist. You swallowed, feeling your flesh heat, the feelings you prayed away coming back as he was so close.

“Who brings you those books, hm?”

You replied, “Aemond sends them to me, sir.”

He shook his head, one big hand rubbing your soft waist, then tucking your head against his chest. Your stepfather inhaled slowly, sighing out. He grumbled, “If it makes you happy. Like that damn typewriter, he got you too.”

Writing was a passion of yours— they’d begun to let women study at the University of King’s Landing. You’d ask. Sometime soon. Maybe.

Instead, you snuggled against his chest, desperately needing the comfort. Yet you remained wary of propriety at the moment. Your eyes helplessly cast to the front door. He laughed darkly, “She’s asleep girl, stop your fretting.”

You mumbled, “She’d be upset.”

“I don’t give a damn. You’re my girl, my most special girl.”

You flushed, chest warming at his words. He huffed a laugh again, looking at you, eyes almost flashing in the moonlight, squeezing your waist, lips stretching into a grin. Your heart thumped against your breast as he ever so softly murmured, “I’d keep you here forever if I could, the sweet little bunny doesn’t need all those wolves surrounding her at those balls.”

His canines were sharp in the low light. You wondered what he was if the lordlings were ‘wolves’.

Criston had been getting ready for his hunt, snappish and dismissive beforehand as always. He went without a horse, gun slung on his back, dagger on his waist. You’d tittered about the recent livestock attacks on some of the tenant's farms. Alicent stood up on the porch, arms crossed.

“There could be a puma down from the Red Mountains, do you want to be mauled for good with time?” She pointed out.

He snapped, “Someone’s got to deal with the tenant’s issues. Unless you plan on toting a rifle.”

You looked at Criston, pleading with your eyes. He tugged on one of your perfectly placed curls, a finger under your chin. His dark eyes turned up to your mother before moving to you. Criston murmured, “There’s much worse in the world than a big cat, stay indoors, tell Dare to be a good boy.”

You nodded, brows knitting.

Retreating to your mother’s side, Alicent pursed her lips. She shook her head, huffing, “He’s got a death wish, the fool.” You frowned, picking at the lace of your sleeves. Looking at her pursed lips, you nervously convinced yourself, “He’ll be fine. He’s got a gun. He’s always fine, right?”

She stared into the woods, dark eyes pensive as Criston’s form began to blend into the trees. She spat, “One day you’ll understand that no man will be tame. They do as they please and we pick up the pieces, do well to mind that.”

Her disapproving glare turned to you, hissing, “Even the ones you love so much.”

She turned on her heel, going inside with a slam of the doors.

You swallowed down a noise, hands gripping in your skirts. You worried. Perhaps if you just took a jaunt on your horse you could clear your head, run along your stepfather, and convince him to come back home where it was safe. Your boots were in the stables, there was a good amount of light left in the day.

You followed the trail down to the stone stable, the farrier already gone home. The staff had been making themselves scarce before sundown in light of the attacks. Entering the stable, you looked down toward Winter, Criston’s Barrowlands draft horse. The poor thing had not been ridden since Criston had returned.

Winter was cantankerous, but he handled her well. You’d overheard your stepfather complain to the farrier about the horse acting fearful. It was strange— he’d had her for ten years now. All the horses seemed to be displeased by his presence.

You took off your small-heeled shoes, changing into more comfortable riding boots. Approaching your horse, a Dornish Sand Steed named Ferris. You pet his ashen snout, cooing at the mild-mannered equine, feeding him one of the carrots always stashed in the stable.

Stepping into the stall, you brushed him off quickly before hauling on his saddle. You despised sidesaddle, your mother too, so you got to have a standard one. Ferris nickered as you pulled on his halter and attached the reins, patting his neck.

It was a swift hop until you were astride the steed, clicking your tongue to move forward, pushing one of the barn doors open to the path that divvied off into trails. Your eyes cast across the land, noticing the Red Mountains looked ablaze with the sun.

You’d better make this foolish jaunt quick. Praying you may see Criston and talk some sense into him dominated any sort of logic. You have always been such an emotional creature. Ushering Ferris into a canter, your pale hair flew in the wind as you rode.

Onwards you went, eyes wide as you looked through the brush and scrub. You’d passed some of the bloody leftovers of the sheep, stopping to gasp. Taking a moment to suck in a breath, wide eyes on a rotten half-gnawed skull and another strewn body, bloodied and maggot-covered wool about.

Ferris was edgy himself, the whites of his eyes on display. The imminent danger you’d ignored settled within your bones— cold and hard. You trembled, trying to ease your quickly panicking horse.

Snap.

Ferris reared with a whinny, you holding for dear life, cursing on the Seven as the breed known for its quickness was showing off. Yet this was a forest, not a desert. You dug your heels in, tried to pull on the reins hard, shouting ‘Woah!’

The sand steed skidded, taking a hard right— throwing you off. Your scream was cut short as your body hit a tree, breath was knocked out. You’d hit it so hard you bounced off, head struck hard against the ground as leaves and bark fell upon your unconscious frame.

You awoke to darkness. Cold. The smell of ozone and earth. With a soft grunt, you pulled yourself up, head splitting with pain. Your fingers felt a lump on your head, dried blood that had dripped down your face. You whined as you felt your bruised ribs.

Ferris threw you off.

You had no idea where you were, your horse was gone, it was dark. Not to mention a predator on the loose. Your stepfather was ‘hunting’. Probably not this far out. You remembered the gore of sheep remains, shivering.

Intense fear filled your chest, looking around the dark trees. You needed shelter, out of the open trees where the puma could stalk and hide. Taking a shallow, pained breath, you used the tree to help you upright. Exhaling sharply, you silently cursed yourself for your stupidity.

“Never tame a man— even the ones you love,” came your mother’s voice, nagging your mind.

Taking a shaky step forward, your eyes strained for any of the rocky feet of the Red Mountains. There were crags and sometimes old hideouts from the days of the Marcher Skirmishes. The Dornish were good at making hidden sanctums. You dragged yourself along, ears hyperactive.

The clouds must have shifted— the full moon’s light bathed the forest in an eerie glow. You whimpered, moving faster, frantic eyes spotting a hardness against the natural shapes of nature. It was a whittled-down stone, a sure sign of what you were looking for.

You pushed through the burning pain in your side, panting as you made your way to the stones. Now grateful for the moonlight, you saw it, a cut into the red rock, big enough for a man to get through, much less a woman like you. Your eyes almost caught the much bigger opening above.

You collapsed in a heap once inside, panting and whining in pain. You lay in the darkness, breathing shallow as some energy had to come back. Eventually, you got up again, looking around. There were old weapon racks and scimitars. Much neater if you weren't lost alone in the wild as a sheltered, idiotic noblewoman.

Eyes adjusting further, you noted there were two separate tunnels.

“I’m dead as is…” you murmured, taking the right, and limping into the darkness. As you went deeper, the smell of the damp cave turned into something more foul— iron and rot. Blood. You held a hand over your mouth, gagging. It was the damn thing’s lair? You walked a step further, boot splattering into a puddle.

You knew what it was.

The stench of rot thickened. This was the feeding grounds. You whimpered again, falling to your knees, sobbing in the darkness. A voice reminded you to be stronger than that. You didn't know whose it was in your brain. Probably everyone you cared for. You didn't want to die, let them grieve and miss you.

Criston would lose himself. He would blame himself, you know he would.

Taking another painful breath, you dipped your hand into the blood, slathering it on your dress and neck, wherever your scent may waft. More tears slid down your face as you wiped some of your messed up hair, the blonde tresses fell and frizzy.

You went to place your hand on the wall to steady yourself, finding nothing. You fell through a small gap, landing with a pained ‘oof’. Sitting up again with a grimace, a feeling of safety seemed to embrace you. This little nook of sorts was hidden away.

A plan began to formulate in your mind. You could wait here. Eventually, the beast will come back and feed or sleep. Your best shot was sneaking out and running for it when the animal was distracted. Sighing softly, you felt around the tiny room, finding a knife of sorts, thankfully sheathed.

More shifting around and your hands felt clothing, a shredded shirt, some pants? Your fingertips felt blind— picking up a jacket of fine quality, you could figure that much feeling the fabric. It wasn’t damaged like the other items. You felt at the inside of the collar, looking for embroidery or something sewn.

You kept smelling the air, wondering why something smelt other than rot. Something that made you feel. Cashmere? Silk? The leather of the knife perhaps. Fingertips grazed some thick threading, feeling out the letters.

L-t, C-o-l, C-C-o-l-e.

Your heart stopped. A cold sweat broke out upon your blood-covered skin and ruined dress. Why was Criston’s jacket here? You smelled it, figuring out the cause of the scent— it was that cherry tobacco. You gripped it tightly, confused. What if he had hidden here too? What if he was dead? You muffled your mouth with the cloth, too scared, too upset to do much but heave.

Silence fell once again.

Your mind was going wild in the dark. You ached, it was freezing, and your stepfather could be dead for all you knew. You leaned against the wall, holding his jacket against you. Held it even when you jolted from the sounds of heavy breath and dragging.

It grew closer, the dragging of two dead bodies accompanied by the sound of two feet, and heavy breathing. That wasn’t a damn puma, you realized. Puma didn’t walk on two feet. Your mind went even further into fear and madness.

A monster? Like the ones out of your stupid dime novels?

Full moon. Animal attacks. You shuddered, listening out, breath hushed by Criston’s coat. The recollection of a silly story about were beasts and half men-half direwolves preying on the frozen North struck you.

The crunch and sound of an animal eating voraciously alerted you from your mind going down the worst route…yet. Now was the time to run. You clutched the knife and coat— refusing to die without some comfort if this went wrong.

Slithering out of the space, you crawled and crawled, not turning back once. The pain in your ribs was searing— you grit your teeth. Larger teeth crunched against sinew and bone from behind as the more illuminated front of the abandoned hideout came into view.

You breathed out, feeling dizzy from your bruised ribs crying for mercy. You fell forward from your knees, panting as quietly as you could. The energy was sapping from your body quickly. Drawing up the last of your will— the need to see your family again, the need for another day came upon you.

You shrugged off your boots, quiet as a mouse, and limped toward the near-blinding entrance. You took one staggering step at a time, biting on the coat to shut up. Your hand reached the entrance before something fell behind you. You crumpled to the ground, seeking somewhere to hide, crawling under nets behind weathered supplies crates.

A roar echoed from the depths of the right tunnel. Your blood was ice. Your breathing grew frantic as the sounds of pounding footsteps and growling. Claws were tearing at wood, cleaving its way around.

Others take you. The boots. You left your damned boots right there. It knows.

You clutched the coat and unsheathed the knife with one, shaking and praying for a quick death if it all went wrong. It felt like hours as it sniffed around, growling and rumbling, growing frustrated. Your wide eyes saw one of your boots hit the carved-out ceiling.

The boxes in front of you splintered and crackled, the netting easily sliced. You screamed in horror, eyes now upon the beast as you frantically crawled backward— it roared, heaving and slowly stepping forward.

Your eyes studied it in a state of shock. The beast was huge, with black curly hair adorning its long arms and legs, and claws on its hands and feet. Blood dripped from the sharp canines, bared, snarling at you, the slightly elongated nose just as angry looking. You whimpered, unable to process what stooped in front of you, growing closer and closer.

No, wait, it was like the book. A werewolf. You screamed as it growled and stepped closer, holding the jacket up to your mouth. One of the werewolf’s big hands jerked you forward, a furrowed brow and dark eyes inspecting your face. It huffed and sniffed at you, bloody drool smacking you in the cheek as you cried.

It yanked Criston’s coat away from you— leaving you to reach and cry and screech for it. The knife was all but forgotten. A strange look crossed its once enraged features as you sobbed for the coat, begging for something that couldn’t possibly understand. One of those clawed hands encircled your throat, pulling you upward, clenching enough to stop your squalling.

Human-like eyes were closer now as it bent down, face to face with you. You stared, wheezing as it looked…confused…eyes turning from you to the coat and back. As if it was asking you ‘why?’

The pressure on your throat lifted.

“It’s my stepfather’s coat, I- I need it- I need it,” you pled, “If you kill me let me have it to hold, please- if someone is in there- please.”

The werewolf blinked, your shrieks muffled by his musky fur as its wet nose and mouth pressed against your neck and inhaled deeply, nuzzling you. You shivered at the strange feeling, whimpering once more.

“There’s much worse in the world than a big cat.”

The wolfman pulled back, brows furrowing. Your mind was reeling but the pieces all fit. You wept a little, crawling towards the beast and backing away. Back holding the coat you pled fervently, struck with emotions.

“Criston? Criston is that you? I won’t tell you, you don’t have to hurt me, is that you?”

The Lycan’s frightening visage softened, those big dark eyes you dreamed about facing you head-on. It held your gaze, a mournful noise deep from its big chest, peaks of his olive skin showing through.

You frowned, seeing the anguish. Criston was inside the beast, he was the beast. He was the horrid thing that ate the sheep and changed into something unnatural and dangerous. You watched him pace back and forth— claws hitting the stone made you jump, and clutch the coat harder.

“Please- I don’t want you to feel alone, I’ll keep this a secret, you shouldn’t suffer alone. Please, just look at me.”

He stopped and turned, advancing on you quickly, picking you up with one arm. You clutched the coarse hair of his shoulders, once again shaking. Criston— the beastly version— inhaled your neck again, softly smelling, a chest-deep rumble shaking your frame. You felt red in the face, squeaking when its long tongue lapped your neck, cleaning the blood off. You now notice his ears, pointed and bigger.

You were led down the other hallway and laid upon likely ancient furs. The lycan was smart enough to hand you a small candle and some flint stone. You had a feeling the beast was subdued, needs met and the human could come forth. Your shaky hands got the tiny fire lit, illuminating your messy state, and well…Criston was a giant man-wolf thing.

He grunted, eyes darkening at your state. You explained, “I smeared blood all over myself so my scent would be muted. I just couldn’t leave the coat. Your scent spooked my horse and I took a nasty fall.”

He looked annoyed, growling and grumbling as his over large frame paced around the chamber, picking you up once again and leading you further into the gloom. Your eyes widened as he somehow shifted through a hole, and you cradled against his chest. You had no doubt it was your stepfather now, the little gestures and micro-expressions too familiar.

You remained alive, staring at cave springs and glowing mushrooms. He dropped you back down, a claw flicking the button to your dress. You could almost hear it now.

“Get bathed, then come and let me see what you did this time.”

You blushed heavily, still not sure whether to run in terror or not. But you stripped to your shift, ready to step in. A growl stopped you. He pulled at your chemise then retreated into the poorly lit chambers.

You took off the buttoned drawers first, then the slip, shivering as you stepped into the shallow pool, sighing as it wasn’t cold, a lovey hidden hot spring. Briskly washing off the blood, guts, and wolf slobber, you braided your hair again, slipping the white linen back on, shivering at the coolness of the cave…shivering at Criston seeing you like this.

As a godsdamn werewolf.

He was hunched over now, looking at the coat, quickly turning as you reentered, the shift clinging to your wet curves, soft and rounded. You blushed and he let out a deep growl. You had decided to button the drawers underneath the slip, knowing he’d want to see your bruising.

You shyly sat down on the furs and carpets, letting the wolf lay you down, a claw lifting your slip, face turning into pure anger, a deep rumble from the sight of the mottling across usually soft and delicate skin. You nervously murmured, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I went looking for you like a fool. I didn’t think that…” you trailed off.

Silence filled the air.

Another shiver tore through you, heavy bust peaking through the thin fabric strained across your breasts. Purple eyes met obsidian. He covered you in an instant, paw-like hand gently rubbing the bruising, eyes almost pitying you. He rumbled again, nuzzling your neck and décolleté.

Another big hand was on the right side of you, a little rougher, feeling your softened flesh. You babbled under the ministrations, the warmth of his larger body a comfort and a distraction. You began to wonder if this was real.

“Criston- wolf- sir- why now?”

He lapped at your neck as to apologize, hands sliding up and down your sides, one ghosting up your slip, running back on your soft tummy, the claws barely touching. You whimpered, heart speeding up, waiting for something. Criston looked at you again, lips dropping to press a sweet kiss.

You gripped at the skin and human hair on his chest, finding yourself rather intoxicated with desire now. His touch roamed to your teats, huge hands able to get a nice handful, squeezing. You whined, babbling, “I’ve always wanted you- Gods save me.”

He rumbled, amused as he grew impatient, growling as he squeezed and flicked a claw against your nipple; lapping and lapping at the other through your thin slip. Your needy hands pulled at your drawers, shivering as you pushed them down, soaked cunt bare.

“Gods- oh gods,” you mewled.

Criston’s hands retreated from your skin quickly, his nose twitching now— growling, eyes moving to between your legs. You desperately mewled, “D-don’t tear me in half…I know the beast is coming back.”

The beast in him didn’t have all of its needs filled. Fight, flight, feed, and now fuck. You took off your slip, bared for his gaze.

You were promptly turned onto your belly, ass hiked up as feral grumbling and growls came from behind, his nose and tongue coming up your back, hands on your ass and thighs roughly as you whimpered, panting and shaking.

A blunt tip pushed at your virgin entrance, surprisingly slick. You whimpered again before he howled in excitement as the rest of his huge cock entered you, tearing your maidenhead and penetrating you deep. Your fingers clawed at the floor as he began to fuck in earnest.

You panted and whined in pain, getting on your elbows to ease the pressure on your ribs, dulled earlier by the hot springs. Now you were burning between your legs and there, focusing on the stretch of your inner walls, how thick and wet he felt.

The pain was still there, pinching some. Criston growled and growled, forcing the most obscene noises from your pussy. He licked and nibbled at the nape of your neck as you felt the primal rhythm of his fucking begin to heat up, growing hotter with every rub.

“Ngh, wet, oh! S’full.” came the nonsensical words between wet slaps. The beast seemed to like how he stretched you to your limits, rutting ceaselessly as he felt where his cock had you speared. You panted, hand slapping down to where a mess was being made, rubbing that place you’d read about, tightening down further.

Criston whined this time— claws digging into your full hips. His face nuzzled against yours, rumbling and whining like a puppy, his cock swelling as you tightened. It felt so good, surrounded by him, your virgin pussy being rubbed and rubbed from the inside and out with a frantic hand, noises wet and sloppy.

You didn’t realize how loud you were crying and carrying on as he fucked you deep and hard, Criston, the beast, both— began to grind upwards, easily manipulating your hips. You mewled when the soft, sensitive roof of your cunt was being massaged by his veiny prick. You gasped, at the end of your rope, “Sir, Cristoooon, oh, sir, sir, oh gods- I can’t do it- oh gods.”

That wasn’t an appropriate wolf-man answer. He simply angled you harder, the tip now gently kissing your cervix. Slow and intense, rub rub rub. You blinked, feeling a sob from the intensity building up. A furry arm wrapped up under you, holding you close to his warm body as you began to unravel, pleasure filling your lower body before spreading outwards like a heavy blanket. He lapped and held you through it, kissing a little, surprising you when the beast whined like it was in pain, a mournful howl before painting your twitching cunt with white-hot seed.

You knew you were done, for now, too fucked out and delirious. The wolf pulled your smaller body atop of him, you feeling like your beloved stepfather was back, albeit in a way you were sure it took being insane to see. You didn’t have time to think about it, resting against his broad frame, eyelids drooping as its big arms enveloped you.

You awoke with a gasp, yelping at a very naked Criston staring at a very naked you. He grabbed you gently, eyes fierce, pressing his forehead and nose to your own. His human-sized hands were holding your shoulders as he croaked, “My bunny, my baby, forgive me, you need to you need to end this.”

You pulled back, frowning before taking his stubbled cheeks in hand, eyes taking in the anguish across his features. You swore, “No. I- I wanted it. I still want it. If we need to come to a means like that, we’ll walk to the ends of the earth first.”

He stared at you, quivering in agony. He looked so tired. He looked scared. You hugged him, uncaring of anything but the man who kept you afloat— beast or not. You spoke firmly against his ear, “I’m not leaving you behind. I won’t have you do this alone. Just, just know I love you, more than anything I’ve ever shown.”

A tear slipped from his eye, his pretty lips quirking up, his fingers gripping your chin gently. Criston rasped, “I love you bunny. Never had anything keep me so…in tune with it. You- you shook me out of that animalistic fugue.”

“I’ll do it every night if need be,” you promised, kissing his cheek, hands seeking his.

Criston looked to the side, jaw and brows working as they did when he was nervous or stressed. Finally, he looked up at you, eyes firm again.

“Why don’t we stay lost a bit longer, I’ll smell out Ferris and you take your ass home. I should’ve eaten him for leaving you like this, a feast for a beast.” He picked you up, heading back towards the hot springs.

End.

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #ser criston cole x reader #criston cole x reader #criston cole x you #werewolf!criston #criston cole imagine #hotd imagine #hotd reader insert

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lovelykhaleesiii · 1 year ago

Text

Servant to the Moon.

HEADCANON

PAIRING: Alpha!Werewolf!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader

WORDS: 2,316.

SUMMARY: Aegon’s unfortunate condition, had him feeling unfavoured by the Gods, until he was blessed with your arrival...

WARNINGS: mentions of ABO dynamic x human!reader, mentions of breeding kink, lactation kink, innocence kink, mentions of p in v sex, slight BDSM (biting), mentions of pregnancy/birth, mentions of complications in birth, swearing.

A/N - my beloved friend, @ilikeitbetterangsty and I have created our own little monster, that is alpha Aeg, and now there is no turning back. I need him to bite me, claim me, breed me, and just down-right fuck me. in this little AU or in general, I always thought that Aemond leans more towards being a vampire and Aeg is werewolf coded. Perhaps Helaena could be a nymph hehehe <3 credit to the artist (I need to make proper moodboards)…

Aegon was bit and turned at a young age: King Viserys had wronged and broken a promise to House Stark, that had long been associated to the folklore of werewolves.

Nonetheless, Rickon Stark had demanded and sought for bitter vengeance, and who better than to target the long-awaited firstborn son, King Viserys had dreamt of.

From a young age, Aegon was a quick-tempered and unpredictable boy: this new found “disease” [Viserys often labelled it] did not help. Upon each full moon, the Dowager Queen, Alicent Hightower sought to it that her son be secluded and highly confined in a desolate strong hold of the castle, with no light but a few dimly lit candles, beneath the dungeons, heavily guarded and armed, if need be...

As a child, Aegon relented in these periods where he was often forcefully dragged away, tearful to be locked in heavy, cold metallic chains to his lonesome self.

During his adolescent years, Aegon did often try to escape, run away before he could be taken and imprisoned against his will before turning, only to be caught.

His mother and Ser Criston had often given him endless earaches, lecturing him about the dangers of him freely roaming, had he not yet learned to control his strength nor anger.

As he grew older and mature, into the young man that he presently was, the more acquainted he got with the process, and defeatedly went along with it. No longer needing to be dragged, instead he found himself walking upon each full moon cycle, sometimes even chaining himself down.

It was blatant to say, he hated turning. It was excruciatingly agonising, often his yells could be heard bellowing beneath the castle floors if one dared to loom close enough to the dark, desolate dungeon halls.

Once the cycle had ended, his mother often found him close to unconsciousness, covered in matted, ripped clothes clinging to his heavy, heaving body. It pained her, seeing him in such a weakened state, out of his control, she blamed Viserys for his damnation.

Nonetheless, Ser Criston was determined to help Aegon in steering his carnal urges, especially when in heat. He located outcasted werewolves and appointed them to help the “heir”, negotiating in return for gold, property, titles and copious women. During this process, they’d come to realise that Aegon had a formidable power over them, deeming him an alpha amongst omegas.

Aegon in heat though, was Alicent’s worst nightmare come true. He was relentless and incontrolable, and as reluctant as she was to admit it, there was no hope in stopping him. Instead of blocking his urges, she allowed him to be, often organising whores for him to bed (not imprint), only able to perform damage control, having the maesters create and supply moon tea and other methods of birth control. Avoiding the risk of “pup” bastards at all costs.

That was until you arrived, waltzing mindlessly into his life.

Your scent was the first thing that Aegon had noticed about you [without even actually seeing you, he could smell you out], the sweetness of your aroma was intoxicating to him.

He managed to swiftly sniff you out, finding you in the castle gardens in the dull company of the royal women of the court.

Feeling his heart pace growing faster and stronger, feeling the intensity of each pulse against his chest, the heaviness of his breath, his fangs naturally growing, and the aching throbs in his hardening crotch: it was all a visceral response, not one that he inflicted upon himself, although he’d made the decision.

You would be his one and only mate.

Throughout the days you remained within the castle walls, your scent became stronger and more potent: Aegon could feel himself growing weaker, more debilitating to it, desperate to control his urges as to not hurt nor frighten you off.

Having you around feasts or in the court yard amongst the youth, he needed you far from him, but seeing the keen interest and lustful eyes of the young men you’d caught, he felt inclined to stay.

If they dared to defile you, he’d rip their throats out.

Etching closer and closer to you, he could hear your innocent laughter from across the room, and your delicate voice, it made him helplessly smile, looking like a smitten fool.

He could fervently smell your virginity oozing from you, untouched by another man, intact, your aroma remained untainted, and with no ring sighted attached to your proposed finger, it drove him even more savage to think he could be the first to renounce you of your innocence. Day dreaming of fucking you beyond the ability to walk, think or speak coherently, earning a teasing chuckle from himself.

If he could without being frowned upon, he’d fuck you right there and then, before the eyes of the realm.

The nights were gruelling for him: not a single night went by since having met you, that he did not dream of you. Constantly, the same image replaying over and over again in his tainted mind: it began with him lustfully devouring you whole, passionately making love to your bare, naked body, eagerly marking you all over, enough for other male wolves to know that you belonged to him. He bites you, imprinting himself on you, before knotting inside of you, pumping his potent seed into you, filling you to the brim till your cunt is practically drowning in him. The last thing he’d see before he’d inevitably wake, is you swollen close to full term with his pup, just lovingly caressing your belly, thanking him.

It was torture for him to carry on about his day: unknowing of how exactly to approach you.

Coming up to his next cycle, Aegon found himself wandering eerily close by to your allocated quarters, being able to smell you, hunting your exact location like some predator, he found himself face to face with your shut door.

Mustering every fibre of strength to resist his primal desire to force himself deep inside of you, piercing his canines deep into your flesh, imprinting his DNA inside of you. Whether you fought against him, would be meaningless he knew, for his strength had heightened greater than that of a human [much to Aemond’s displeasure when training with Aegon].

Nonetheless, by some ungodly force, he mustered himself away hastily, from now on having a reckoning of guards between him and yourself.

Close to his next cycle, he opened up to his mother regarding his intentions about you. She initially did try to convince him otherwise, that this was just his “heat” talking, although seeing how determined and hopeless he was to have you, she promised to make the formal arrangements to betroth you to him, before leaving him to his cell.

When he recovered from this cycle, he’d been met with the happy news that the betrothal was offered and approved by your family. In a days time, Aegon and yourself had formally acquainted, and he felt immense content like he never had before.

He was determined to keep you sated, safe and happy at all times: much to your surprise, surpass the intimidating, formidable look he had, he was pleasant and loving.

The night before the marriage, Aegon along with his mother, Grandsire and Ser Criston Cole, had initially planned to disclose his condition to you, after consummation. However, he could not bring himself to deceive you.

Hoping his honesty would be enough to compensate, he remained doubtful, convinced that you would change your mind about wanting to marry a “beast”, and had he gone with the initially plan, you would have been forced to remain in such a union.

Yet he was blessed: you were not repulsed by him, though more so grew sorrowful and nurturing towards him. Saddened by his story, you reassured Aegon that he was unfortunately a victim caught in a feud between old men, and that this form was thrusted upon him.

You were keen to remain by his side, to nurse him, to abide by him and most significantly, to love him.

Nonetheless, he did not disclose to his family that he had told you the truth, and the marriage ceremony proceeded and was sealed before the law of the realm.

The night of consummation, Aegon informed you that it would hurt, regardless, of the endless promises he’d made that he’d attempt to control himself.

Imitating his dream, the reality surpassed his expectations. It hurt nonetheless, and often at times, you had to voice Aegon to take it easy, although he did what needed to be done, imprinting and knotting himself deep inside of you, opening you up wide enough, keen to keep his thick, girthy cock inside of you all night long. Now your sweet scent was masked heavily in his musky scent, he was definite no other male would dare to smell you out.

Bite marks on your ass, is a must for Aegon.

In a few moons, the maesters confirmed of your pregnancy: your changes were rapid as it seemed to be an escalated circumstance due to Aegon’s genes overpowering yours.

Aegon felt somewhat guilty for this: he ensured that maids were present at your beckon call, instructing you to not lift a single finger, even the slightest of movement from your half, a maid came rushing over, pleading to help. He forced the maesters to keep you bed ridden, confined in the Red Keep of your shared, private chambers, although he allowed for visitors of people’s company you enjoyed, including his mother.

He made sure you were well fed, bathed and even sought to massaging you himself.

When he was forced to be absent due to his recurring cycles, he loathed being teared apart from you: genuinely, it infuriated him. It became a habit to keep guards posted outside your chambers, even entrusting Aemond to keep you safe; instructing his dear mother or Helaena to keep you constant company from inside. He would often return in a frail state, yet remained eager to prioritise your needs above his own.

At this point, now that Aegon had a mate, he was more in control of his primal instincts: and was allowed to roam at a distance, far from the walls of King’s Landing, beyond deep into the woods, where he could turn freely.

Reassuring him that you were fine, you would tend to his wounds, as he cherished having you give him your full attention.

In the months to come, closer to the birth of the babe, Aegon became stupendously possessive over you, with the right reasons though. As irritating as he could be, being constantly on top of you, refusing to leave the bedside to fulfil his princely responsibilities, training and duties, he was simply smitten for you.

He even grew infatuated with your pregnant body, how your hips grew in preparation for the birth, your breasts swollen, tender, occasionally dripping with the warm milk for the pup, he drank to give you relief [his bright idea], and would teasingly bite at your nipples. Reminding him to keep the supply ready for the babe.

Your belly was swollen beyond relief, often struggling to sleep or lay still, he hated seeing you in such discomfort. The maesters were certain, it was either twins or simply just a physically big babe [like its father].

The time had finally arrived: Aegon promised he would be present at the birth regardless, and he upheld it promisingly. It was a torturous experience to say the least, what felt like days [12 hours], nor could milk of the poppy sustain the aching contractions for a prolonged time. At one point, Aegon grew pale, fearful that The Stranger would make an appearance, and take you from him: he couldn’t bring himself to see you pass in his arms, growing quiet and distant. At one point, he noticed you growing drowsy whether it was from the milk of the poppy you or the constant blood trickling from below, his mind refused to make coherent, logical thoughts. Gripping your hand firmly in his, his deep, soothing voice flowed to your ears, drawing your attention, like a moth to a flame, he whispered, tender, encouraging words into your ear.

“I have asked for too much from you already, my love, my sweet, sweet wife. Yet here I am, to plead for more. I need you to stay with me,Y/N, promise me that you’ll stay with me. I cannot bear to live with myself in this ridden state, no more if you are not by my side, promise me you’ll make it.”

Justice to his words, you pulled through strongly. A healthy, baby boy was born in the dawn, kicking and screaming vivaciously, holding him warmly and gazing upon him, made every agonising second of his coming worth it.

He was a split image of his father, as Alicent softly decreed, the sight of the babe bringing joyful tears to her eyes as she reminesced.

Aegon smitten over his son, was more relieved that you were alive and well, now determined to have you fully recover until the next babe.

The next time Aegon would organise for maesters and midwives with more preparation and experience in birthing pups of his kind, Alicent also advised “the first is always the hardest, eventually it eases on the body”.

Aegon slipped into fatherhood with difficulty. Fearful that his condition was thrusted upon his son, without choice just as he was, he grew wearisome that his son would eventually hate him, as he did his own father, for his own reasons. However, despite the outcome you reassured Aegon otherwise.

“Our son will love you regardless, Aegon. And so be it, if he bears the same fate, he has his father to guide him, where he had no one else. He will be grateful for you, I am certain.”

general taglist - @evenstaris @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @ilikeitbetterangsty @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @teamaemond @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires

Aegon taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter

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