samthegreenapologist

[samthegreenapologist]

Courage, Anxiety, and Despair Watching the Battle by James Sant (1850)

[samthegreenapologist]

glad you enjoyed!!!! Have to keep the Colewives fed!!!

OATHS UNDONE

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Subby Criston, Wax, Humiliation, Face Sitting, hand job, blowjob, blasphemy, religious shame, Edging, Slapping, Oral F receiving, Criston feeling guilty, Manipulation.

Word Count: 4.4k

Summary: A young septa novice wants at least one last hurrah with a man and it’s her lucky day because a guilt racked Criston Cole, who’s already struggling to resist temptation, visits the sept needing guidance.

It was raining so loudly when the Sept doors opened that the wind and storm was all that could truly be heard, Ser Criston’s metal armor shifting at his joints was quiet when compared to the thunder that roared outside. A raven haired girl in plain clothes stood from the steps of to dias, where she'd been scrubbing at the stones. The septas had asked her to polish the steps and the base of the Seven statues, they’d said it’s be peaceful work without interruption due to how late the hour was. That clearly had not been true though and she had to fight to not smirk at the sight of him as he walked further into the great room. The rain had fully saturated his hair even though he’d been wearing a helmet. The water clumped his curls together and sent rivulets down his form until it pooled on the floor under his feet. 

She'd been horribly bored for days and she had only arrived in Kings Landing to study under the high septon a moon ago. Prayer had not been her calling and she diddnt feel drawn to serving as a septa, but it had sounded far better than the other forms of punishment her lord father had laid out.

Ser Criston Cole entering the sept at this odd  hour and traversing the city in the middle of a downpour because he had some urgent need to get to the sept had been the most interesting thing that had happened since her arrival. It wasn't inherently odd to see him...he came here most days. But it was always very early just as the sun began to rise over the boats at the docks. Never this late, the sun was not even shining into the stained glass windows and painting colors on the otherwise pale walls. 

"I must speak with someone" 

She’d figured that much.

He hesitated for a moment when she just stood there before him her rag still in her hand. He stepped a bit closer to the young lady "I'm in need of guidance" His voice was teetering on frantic, the drenched dog look didn't help with making him seem less unhinged.

She blinked up at him for a moment, her eyes following the small valleys that formed at the front of his eyebrows and climbed up towards his forehead. Clearly he was greatly troubled by something so she turned on her heel and began to walk towards the hallway that led away from the domed great room of the sept.

"Of course Ser."

When she reached the entry of that passageway she paused though and looked back at him. 

“Come, follow me.” She had been going to fetch an actual septa for him, truly she had been, but at the last moment had determined she could better help him with the root of what plagued his mind.

He was a man with an oath, there truly could only be one thing pushing him to insanity. 

Need.

She was pleased when he followed, and even more so when he made no comment about being led straight to her small bedchambers. 

“What troubles you so my knight?” She questions as she begins to light the candles within her room. She took her time lighting them, keeping quite intense eye contact with him through the process. 

“Urges I should not have-cannot have.” He said seriously. The man barely looked at her for more than a few seconds. Perhaps he knew his eyes would wander if they remained fixed on her. 

“Tell them of your woes.” She urged him and looked to the floor in front of her Dias type display. 

Ser Criston knelt before the arrangement of candles and he closed his eyes and bowed his head low in prayer. 

“You should be less guarded if you wish the gods to truly see you in your honesty.” The girl spoke and she stood behind him now undoing the metal binding of his armour, the chest and back plates first and she bent to why the ones around his arms off. She needed to be careful not to drop them so she placed the heavy pieces onto her small bed quickly and then looked back at him when she turned. A slight smirk when she caught his eyes open and upon her form. 

“Focus on your prayers.” Her voice was warm and heady, deeper than it had been before. 

She watched for a long time as he prayed, his muttering were in a low register and they were mumbled so she did struggle the catch ever word that he uttered. Though the general consensus was that he had broken is oath…again. That he had desires he shouldn’t with people he couldn’t dare disgrace. He never said who, never said the queens name but any who know of the dynamics within that keep would know there was only one that he was so completely in service of. 

“Do you wish to feel closer to the gods?” She asked him bending down before him between where he knelt and the miniature Dias. 

He nodded but that wasn’t good enough so her eyebrow raised. 

“Yes” Criston obediently responded now and she decided she’d help the man ‘reaffirm his faith’

“They say the gods speak through the septons but we are the sevens servants, put your faith into me Ser Cole and I shall assure you feel their guidance and warmth.” Her hand had shifted to touch his bent knee and when he did not move away at the touch she knew she had ensnared in her grasp. 

His throat tense and the knot in the middle of it moved up and down a bit as he swallowed and watched the Novices every movement. Her eyes did not drift from his darker ones as she released his knee and untied the apron she wore and then she stood turning her back to him. He hesitated unsure what exactly she wished for him to do. This wasn’t making him feel more connected with his Oath, it was just making the last shred of his good reasoning even more blurry.

“Unbutton it.” She demanded her voice carrying a shockingly similar tone to the one the septon used when he guided men and women on how to come out of their sins and into the light of the seven. He complied quickly and blinked but did not avert his eyes when the dark plain fabric fell around her figure. She had nothing under the gown so when she turned her bare front was on display for him. He could feel his pulse throbbing from every vein in his body as he took in the sight of her. 

“Kneel again good ser, the faith can fulfill you I assure you of that. The gods provide all that we need.” Her voice carried to his ears and it was as if he was under some sort of trance because instantly he was bending back down before her his face level with her the stretch of pale skin across her hips and the dark nest of hair that shielded her most sacred spot. 

“Do you trust in the faith?” her hands greedily running through his hair now, feeling how it curled around her fingers at the ends of the strands. She had missed touching a man so very much. The idea of becoming a septa without enjoying a man one last time had driven her half mad and the boredom from such dull tasks had pushed her to this point. She’d probably have attempted something with whatever man happened to enter the sept at that time but she was glad it had been this torn up and confused knight. He was handsome and his shame would keep him latched to her as if she was the only drop of water in an otherwise drought plagued land. He’d not report her to the septon, nor gossip of the young novice who stripped bare for him because he’d to be punished for such an action just as she would be! 

Her hands pulled his head in closer and as soon as his nose touched her soft belly he began to kiss at it. His breath was loud because he was practically panting as his face dragged against her abdomen. Latching himself to her as if he was at the feet of the mothers alter. His hands raised from his sides to hold at her wide hips. She’s had children before, the lines striping across her hips told him that much. 

She had never had a lord husband, which was why her father had sent her here, he couldn’t bear the shame. 

“Yes-“ he said as kissing lower now leaving wet trails from her midsection where he had started now his nose was buried against her mound. “I honor the faith.” He said looking up at her now, his chin pressed into her form. He had stopped himself from reaching the spot his lips had been inching towards. 

“I am a part of the faith my good knight…” she reached down to touch his cheek, feeling it gently at first and then she drew her hand back and slapped him hard against his jaw. Her nipples peaked as her hand buzzed from the impacts. His face barely moved from his precious spot and it made her smirk. 

“I’ll honor you today m’lady.” He said before she had even needed to prompt him. 

They stayed in this spot for a moment longer, Criston on the floor before her so close he could smell her sex which was making his mind tumble into more depraved thoughts. She just watched him process what was happening as his cheek bloomed with a red mark and eventually she leaned down taking the same knelt position as him and she kissed over the heated cheek. 

The next few minutes were full of desperate kissing, his tongue eager to enter her mouth and she enjoyed winning control by biting his bottom lip. They both were quite pent up and the overindulgent kisses were needed for them both to level out a bit.   

That was all until she felt something firm sticking up against her stomach and when she finally pulled away breaking the lengthy kiss she saw a large bulge in his trousers. wasting very little time now she got the belt undone and the laces after that. She did make him stand up to remove his own small clothes and gladly took that opportunity to cup his stones. Rubbing at the string of tight flesh that separated them and watching as his cock jumped from the attention. 

Gods above, did he even touch himself? He was so very on edge. It was a glorious and very entertaining sight for her. She wanted to see just how needy he could get, his eyes had looked so pretty when he entered earlier, needing help. This time she wanted him to need her, not the damned gods! 

“You must keep quiet.” She told him smiling at the instantaneous nodding, she had him in the palm of her hand. In all senses of the word. 

Criston Cole’s head leaned back and he looked up at the blank ceiling for a long moment just savoring the touch of hands that were not so calloused on him. When she grabbed at the base of his cock though his eyes dropped down quickly to her and he had to Remember to have some restrained with the level of his voice. Though a few low groans did seep out from his clenched jaw. 

The skin of her hand was soft but her grip was anything but! She storked his cock better than even he did…she’d had practice surely! He couldn’t be the first she’s done this with, not with how she expertly circled her hand around the head of his cock and her thumb specifically stroke at the underside of his cock. Which made him shamefully rut at her a bit. 

Her chuckle was warm but the loss of her hand did not have him smiling. 

“Where is your control my knight?” She tilted her head to the side a bit and as she stood up her hand pushed his cock up so it was trapped between their bodies, as soon as it was secure there though she let her fingers keep dancing up his broad chest and she pulled a bit at the dark hair all over his chest. Pulling at it until his forehead wrinkled then she dragged her nails down his chest and her hips pushed at him giving his manhood just a taste of stimulation but not nearly enough. 

“You’re not to rut at me…or beg to spill your seed and you’re not to touch me without express permission Ser Criston.” She told him her chin turned up so she could look into his eyes. Demanding his attention and compliance. She did not wait for him to nod to express his agreement, he’d agree, she knew he would. He’s already made that clear. 

She bent back down to the floor though she made sure to remain close to him so that his length touched her the entire way down until it hooked under her chin and she pulled her head back enough to catch the tip of him with her lips. 

“Gods” he sinfully moaned at the feeling of her tongue fighting to cover more of his length and push herself closer to the base of his cock. His hands strained for a moment unsure what exactly to do or grab. He didn't want her to stop so he reached forward and gripped the table that was full of candles holding to it and closing his eyes tightly as his stomach tensed from getting worked up so suddenly after so long. He hasn’t cum in an ungodly amount of time…moons at least. Anytime he touched himself in the darkness of his bedchamber his eyelids would flash pretty women, maids, nans, past lovers, the queen. He compulsively imagined all of them. 

Her eyelashes fluttered to keep her eyes from getting too watery since it’d been quite a while since she had a man stuffed so gloriously down her throat. He was thick and long which made it more challenging but also much more enjoyable. She allowed the slight shift that he made when he grabbed at the table but when her head began to bob against him and a wet noise was pushed from her throat each time his cock displaced the air he had made the mistake of grabbing at her hair pushing her head in towards him. He was chasing that high, the need making him so bold to attempt to fuck her throat.

That couldn’t be permitted, he was not in charge here, he was seeking guidance and help and she was benevolently providing it.  

The whine he made when she slipped her mouth back and ceased contact with his twitching member entirely made her belly ache and she could feel herself slick between her legs. 

“I’d have thought you would have more dedication to rules given your position.” She taunted and when he bent down, likely about to try and kiss her and smooth his mistake over she held out a hand to stop him from getting closer. 

“These callings you have for sin…are they simply selfish in nature? Entirely self indulgent?” She questioned and her hand barely pushed at him but he laid back as she crawled overtop of him, her bottom sitting on his chest. She’d have an imprint of his pendant if she remained there for too long. He hoped she didn't because he could see her folds now, see and smell how aroused she was and he needed to taste her. 

“Did you even think of pleasuring me-“ she began to question but Criston was shaking his head right away telling her no, claiming he did think of her. She didn't move until his language became more urgent.

“I wish to please you m’lady, to taste your cunt and lap at your clit-please...please I can honor you. I can commit myself to the cause for you and not for my own needs!” 

He figured she was pleased with that begging because just as he finished she scooted forward so she was hovering over his face, his lips able to reach up and kiss at her dripping slit. 

His tongue had her head tilting back, a sharp breath hissing between her teeth. Gods, she had been waiting for this, needing this, for so long that it made her dizzy above him.

It felt as if he had just entered the seven heavens when contact was made. His nose nestled right at the top of her folds, likely squishing her clit with the strong bridge of his nose in quite a thrilling way, and his tongue licked a swatch up her folds. His cheeks bullied them apart and his tongue was at last able to delve deeply into a woman. It’d been many….many years since he’d been able to taste such a glorious thing. She was soaked and likely making a shameful mess of his face but he did not care and she would enjoy the view whenever she eventually let him up for air. 

Her breath huffed out when his tongue danced along a particularly sensitive spot on the roof of her cunt and she had her hands falling forward, regretfully having to leave his hair that she’d been playing with and instead press her palms against the floor on either side of his head. She needed the support to be able to begin to shift her body. It was slow at first, just teetering back and forth and then there was pressure added as she grinded herself down against his face giving her sensitive clit all the attention she’d been craving. 

Ser criston did not mind the movement, in fact his hands had raised up to hold at the sides of her bottom and help guide her and his nose now seemed to be intentionally rubbing up and down against her hardening pearl. 

“You are so sweet-“ he attempted to get out but it had meant his tongue had to retreat from her cunt and the women above him groaned loudly at the loss. 

She’d suffocate him beneath her before he was able to stop again. She needed this release and he would give it to her, and promptly if the way she grabbed his hair and used it as reigns to push his head into the exact position she wanted was any indication. 

Criston’s lips aligned with her clit now and he very eagerly began to lap at the warm thing. Which pulled pretty pants from the novice's mouth, she was close. The both of them knew it. She leaned back her hands reaching back to hold his sides, her long dark hair just lengthy enough to tickle his midsection though he was far too focused on suckling at her now throbbing clit to really pay that any mind. 

“Seven hells!” She cursed and gripped at him harder. “Yes-good knight!“ she nodded rapidly now prompting him to not dare and stop “continue good Ser!” She seemed unable to control the level of her voice as the wave that was brewing in her belly pulled in more and more, building into quite a hefty wave.

Criston had muttered something about how lovely she was, about honoring her, thanking her, but it was muffled because his lips did not dare pull back from her when she was so close to her edge.

The building wave crashed quite suddenly sending ripples of pleasure all over her form but it was her cunt that throbbed so wonderfully! Her core clenching and clenching and her clit felt as if it vibrated between his lips. A warmth came over and she had a blissful smile on her face when she looked down at him again. 

“You are so beautiful m’lady.” He said kissing her thighs now that her cunt was likely worn and sensitive. 

He was a sap, of course he was. That was likely why he was so troubled by all these sinful thoughts. She wasn’t, and she assumed in truth that most men in his so-called brotherhood of service to the crown enjoyed women as they pleased.

It only took her a few moments to gather herself and for her blood to begin pumping at a normal speed. It was then that she slipped off of his head and really took in what she’d turned this man into. Face a mess with her own release and his chest heaving still. Her eyes drifted down his still laid out form and she had to suppress the moan she wanted to let out when she saw his throbbing cock. His tip was red and she knew with just a few thrust he could be spilling his seed inside of her. 

If she let his seed thicken perhaps the Septon would forbid her from remaining here? She might be able to go home even? She did not think her lord father would let her live in squalled among the small folk specially if she was with child!  

It seemed the knight was able to somehow anticipate her devious plan and what her next action was because he was suddenly sitting up. 

“I can’t-not that.” He shook his head and his hand moved to cover his bobbing length.

She couldn’t have him closing off again. “I’ll not lead you astray Ser Criston.” She said softening her approach for a moment and kissing his lips, trailing down his neck and to his shoulders. 

“Kneel” 

He lifted up onto his knees and she took in his form for a moment. His back was all knots of tension and she saw how he breathed heavier simply from her fingertips moving up and down his spine. 

“Just breathe.” She told him quietly, her lips right behind his ear kissing at the tender spot that made his eyelids flutter and then a moment later there was no contact at all. 

He was still knelt there before the small table when she lifted a candle from the surface and tipped it to the side experimentally. Watching the melted wax drain off the side of the stick.

His shoulders released a bit when the drop of heated wax landed right between his shoulder blades. He hadn’t expected the warmth nor the ache it produced in his cock.   

The low moan urged her to continue and soon enough there were long trails of hardened wax going up and down his back and shoulders. 

Neither of them said a thing for a long while. She would just push his hair aside to keep it from getting in the way and he would let out these pathetic breathy whimpers with each new drop.

His cocks rapidly bouncing and his stone growing tight and high did all the explaining there was no need for words. 

She was going to relieve Criston Cole without even touching him. 

“You wish to cum?” She finally said when his breathing was consistently picking up to a more urgent speed. 

“Please” the beg was weak and she found it unconvincing. 

“You don’t sound as if you must?” The taunt came with a few drips onto the back of his neck, and the wax rolled down the muscles that connected his neck to his shoulders and hardened there. 

“You are cum without your cock in my cunt, hand or mouth.” She breathed “so desperate, is this much need always within you?”

He nodded, which wasn’t enough for her so she moved her arm to be in front of him and she slowly tipped the candle to the side painting his thighs and belly in lines of the molten liquid. 

That had his head thrown back and his hands clenching as a bit of cum leaked from his tip. 

“M’lady please! I must-I need to. I need you!” His pleading went on a bit longer than that but the man was so on edge that his words didn’t make much sense and she found herself taking pity on the poor misguided soul. 

“You may cum Ser Criston.” She said as if the gods had told her it was permitted.  

He had barely been able to hold off until the end of her sentence. The moan that erupted from his chest was long held, years in the making. She stood beside where he knelt and watched as his length pumped without either of their interference for a moment and then his white spend pooled onto the floor beneath him. 

It was quite a sight. A man so worked up that he was able to spill his seed without being touched, he had simply needed her permission and then he had let himself accept  the pleasure. 

He stayed there for a few minutes after just breathing and looking up at the candles and small figures of the seven. He’d let himself go in their presence, with one of their servants. 

“Don’t you feel peace now? The needy buzz always ceases to haunt my mind for a while after I’ve found such a comfort.” She told him having dressed herself fully again and sat on the edge of her bed. 

“The gods would not make something bad feel so lovely.” She did not feel the conflict after an encounter like this.  She felt a calmness come over her and surely, if this was truly so wrong the seven would level shame over her heart and mind. But they did not. They never had!

The knight said nothing as he dressed himself. The darkness of doubt and regret already clouded his mind. The pit in his stomach was smaller than it had been when he entered this sept, but it was still there. It never left.

“Ser Criston,” she called out to him just before he reached her door. She waited until he turned back to face her, helmet in his hand at his side. “Should you need more guidance with these urges, know the sept and I will always be here for support.” 

[samthegreenapologist]

OATHS UNDONE

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Subby Criston, Wax, Humiliation, Face Sitting, hand job, blowjob, blasphemy, religious shame, Edging, Slapping, Oral F receiving, Criston feeling guilty, Manipulation.

Word Count: 4.4k

Summary: A young septa novice wants at least one last hurrah with a man and it’s her lucky day because a guilt racked Criston Cole, who’s already struggling to resist temptation, visits the sept needing guidance.

It was raining so loudly when the Sept doors opened that the wind and storm was all that could truly be heard, Ser Criston’s metal armor shifting at his joints was quiet when compared to the thunder that roared outside. A raven haired girl in plain clothes stood from the steps of to dias, where she'd been scrubbing at the stones. The septas had asked her to polish the steps and the base of the Seven statues, they’d said it’s be peaceful work without interruption due to how late the hour was. That clearly had not been true though and she had to fight to not smirk at the sight of him as he walked further into the great room. The rain had fully saturated his hair even though he’d been wearing a helmet. The water clumped his curls together and sent rivulets down his form until it pooled on the floor under his feet. 

She'd been horribly bored for days and she had only arrived in Kings Landing to study under the high septon a moon ago. Prayer had not been her calling and she diddnt feel drawn to serving as a septa, but it had sounded far better than the other forms of punishment her lord father had laid out.

Ser Criston Cole entering the sept at this odd  hour and traversing the city in the middle of a downpour because he had some urgent need to get to the sept had been the most interesting thing that had happened since her arrival. It wasn't inherently odd to see him...he came here most days. But it was always very early just as the sun began to rise over the boats at the docks. Never this late, the sun was not even shining into the stained glass windows and painting colors on the otherwise pale walls. 

"I must speak with someone" 

She’d figured that much.

He hesitated for a moment when she just stood there before him her rag still in her hand. He stepped a bit closer to the young lady "I'm in need of guidance" His voice was teetering on frantic, the drenched dog look didn't help with making him seem less unhinged.

She blinked up at him for a moment, her eyes following the small valleys that formed at the front of his eyebrows and climbed up towards his forehead. Clearly he was greatly troubled by something so she turned on her heel and began to walk towards the hallway that led away from the domed great room of the sept.

"Of course Ser."

When she reached the entry of that passageway she paused though and looked back at him. 

“Come, follow me.” She had been going to fetch an actual septa for him, truly she had been, but at the last moment had determined she could better help him with the root of what plagued his mind.

He was a man with an oath, there truly could only be one thing pushing him to insanity. 

Need.

She was pleased when he followed, and even more so when he made no comment about being led straight to her small bedchambers. 

“What troubles you so my knight?” She questions as she begins to light the candles within her room. She took her time lighting them, keeping quite intense eye contact with him through the process. 

“Urges I should not have-cannot have.” He said seriously. The man barely looked at her for more than a few seconds. Perhaps he knew his eyes would wander if they remained fixed on her. 

“Tell them of your woes.” She urged him and looked to the floor in front of her Dias type display. 

Ser Criston knelt before the arrangement of candles and he closed his eyes and bowed his head low in prayer. 

“You should be less guarded if you wish the gods to truly see you in your honesty.” The girl spoke and she stood behind him now undoing the metal binding of his armour, the chest and back plates first and she bent to why the ones around his arms off. She needed to be careful not to drop them so she placed the heavy pieces onto her small bed quickly and then looked back at him when she turned. A slight smirk when she caught his eyes open and upon her form. 

“Focus on your prayers.” Her voice was warm and heady, deeper than it had been before. 

She watched for a long time as he prayed, his muttering were in a low register and they were mumbled so she did struggle the catch ever word that he uttered. Though the general consensus was that he had broken is oath…again. That he had desires he shouldn’t with people he couldn’t dare disgrace. He never said who, never said the queens name but any who know of the dynamics within that keep would know there was only one that he was so completely in service of. 

“Do you wish to feel closer to the gods?” She asked him bending down before him between where he knelt and the miniature Dias. 

He nodded but that wasn’t good enough so her eyebrow raised. 

“Yes” Criston obediently responded now and she decided she’d help the man ‘reaffirm his faith’

“They say the gods speak through the septons but we are the sevens servants, put your faith into me Ser Cole and I shall assure you feel their guidance and warmth.” Her hand had shifted to touch his bent knee and when he did not move away at the touch she knew she had ensnared in her grasp. 

His throat tense and the knot in the middle of it moved up and down a bit as he swallowed and watched the Novices every movement. Her eyes did not drift from his darker ones as she released his knee and untied the apron she wore and then she stood turning her back to him. He hesitated unsure what exactly she wished for him to do. This wasn’t making him feel more connected with his Oath, it was just making the last shred of his good reasoning even more blurry.

“Unbutton it.” She demanded her voice carrying a shockingly similar tone to the one the septon used when he guided men and women on how to come out of their sins and into the light of the seven. He complied quickly and blinked but did not avert his eyes when the dark plain fabric fell around her figure. She had nothing under the gown so when she turned her bare front was on display for him. He could feel his pulse throbbing from every vein in his body as he took in the sight of her. 

“Kneel again good ser, the faith can fulfill you I assure you of that. The gods provide all that we need.” Her voice carried to his ears and it was as if he was under some sort of trance because instantly he was bending back down before her his face level with her the stretch of pale skin across her hips and the dark nest of hair that shielded her most sacred spot. 

“Do you trust in the faith?” her hands greedily running through his hair now, feeling how it curled around her fingers at the ends of the strands. She had missed touching a man so very much. The idea of becoming a septa without enjoying a man one last time had driven her half mad and the boredom from such dull tasks had pushed her to this point. She’d probably have attempted something with whatever man happened to enter the sept at that time but she was glad it had been this torn up and confused knight. He was handsome and his shame would keep him latched to her as if she was the only drop of water in an otherwise drought plagued land. He’d not report her to the septon, nor gossip of the young novice who stripped bare for him because he’d to be punished for such an action just as she would be! 

Her hands pulled his head in closer and as soon as his nose touched her soft belly he began to kiss at it. His breath was loud because he was practically panting as his face dragged against her abdomen. Latching himself to her as if he was at the feet of the mothers alter. His hands raised from his sides to hold at her wide hips. She’s had children before, the lines striping across her hips told him that much. 

She had never had a lord husband, which was why her father had sent her here, he couldn’t bear the shame. 

“Yes-“ he said as kissing lower now leaving wet trails from her midsection where he had started now his nose was buried against her mound. “I honor the faith.” He said looking up at her now, his chin pressed into her form. He had stopped himself from reaching the spot his lips had been inching towards. 

“I am a part of the faith my good knight…” she reached down to touch his cheek, feeling it gently at first and then she drew her hand back and slapped him hard against his jaw. Her nipples peaked as her hand buzzed from the impacts. His face barely moved from his precious spot and it made her smirk. 

“I’ll honor you today m’lady.” He said before she had even needed to prompt him. 

They stayed in this spot for a moment longer, Criston on the floor before her so close he could smell her sex which was making his mind tumble into more depraved thoughts. She just watched him process what was happening as his cheek bloomed with a red mark and eventually she leaned down taking the same knelt position as him and she kissed over the heated cheek. 

The next few minutes were full of desperate kissing, his tongue eager to enter her mouth and she enjoyed winning control by biting his bottom lip. They both were quite pent up and the overindulgent kisses were needed for them both to level out a bit.   

That was all until she felt something firm sticking up against her stomach and when she finally pulled away breaking the lengthy kiss she saw a large bulge in his trousers. wasting very little time now she got the belt undone and the laces after that. She did make him stand up to remove his own small clothes and gladly took that opportunity to cup his stones. Rubbing at the string of tight flesh that separated them and watching as his cock jumped from the attention. 

Gods above, did he even touch himself? He was so very on edge. It was a glorious and very entertaining sight for her. She wanted to see just how needy he could get, his eyes had looked so pretty when he entered earlier, needing help. This time she wanted him to need her, not the damned gods! 

“You must keep quiet.” She told him smiling at the instantaneous nodding, she had him in the palm of her hand. In all senses of the word. 

Criston Cole’s head leaned back and he looked up at the blank ceiling for a long moment just savoring the touch of hands that were not so calloused on him. When she grabbed at the base of his cock though his eyes dropped down quickly to her and he had to Remember to have some restrained with the level of his voice. Though a few low groans did seep out from his clenched jaw. 

The skin of her hand was soft but her grip was anything but! She storked his cock better than even he did…she’d had practice surely! He couldn’t be the first she’s done this with, not with how she expertly circled her hand around the head of his cock and her thumb specifically stroke at the underside of his cock. Which made him shamefully rut at her a bit. 

Her chuckle was warm but the loss of her hand did not have him smiling. 

“Where is your control my knight?” She tilted her head to the side a bit and as she stood up her hand pushed his cock up so it was trapped between their bodies, as soon as it was secure there though she let her fingers keep dancing up his broad chest and she pulled a bit at the dark hair all over his chest. Pulling at it until his forehead wrinkled then she dragged her nails down his chest and her hips pushed at him giving his manhood just a taste of stimulation but not nearly enough. 

“You’re not to rut at me…or beg to spill your seed and you’re not to touch me without express permission Ser Criston.” She told him her chin turned up so she could look into his eyes. Demanding his attention and compliance. She did not wait for him to nod to express his agreement, he’d agree, she knew he would. He’s already made that clear. 

She bent back down to the floor though she made sure to remain close to him so that his length touched her the entire way down until it hooked under her chin and she pulled her head back enough to catch the tip of him with her lips. 

“Gods” he sinfully moaned at the feeling of her tongue fighting to cover more of his length and push herself closer to the base of his cock. His hands strained for a moment unsure what exactly to do or grab. He didn't want her to stop so he reached forward and gripped the table that was full of candles holding to it and closing his eyes tightly as his stomach tensed from getting worked up so suddenly after so long. He hasn’t cum in an ungodly amount of time…moons at least. Anytime he touched himself in the darkness of his bedchamber his eyelids would flash pretty women, maids, nans, past lovers, the queen. He compulsively imagined all of them. 

Her eyelashes fluttered to keep her eyes from getting too watery since it’d been quite a while since she had a man stuffed so gloriously down her throat. He was thick and long which made it more challenging but also much more enjoyable. She allowed the slight shift that he made when he grabbed at the table but when her head began to bob against him and a wet noise was pushed from her throat each time his cock displaced the air he had made the mistake of grabbing at her hair pushing her head in towards him. He was chasing that high, the need making him so bold to attempt to fuck her throat.

That couldn’t be permitted, he was not in charge here, he was seeking guidance and help and she was benevolently providing it.  

The whine he made when she slipped her mouth back and ceased contact with his twitching member entirely made her belly ache and she could feel herself slick between her legs. 

“I’d have thought you would have more dedication to rules given your position.” She taunted and when he bent down, likely about to try and kiss her and smooth his mistake over she held out a hand to stop him from getting closer. 

“These callings you have for sin…are they simply selfish in nature? Entirely self indulgent?” She questioned and her hand barely pushed at him but he laid back as she crawled overtop of him, her bottom sitting on his chest. She’d have an imprint of his pendant if she remained there for too long. He hoped she didn't because he could see her folds now, see and smell how aroused she was and he needed to taste her. 

“Did you even think of pleasuring me-“ she began to question but Criston was shaking his head right away telling her no, claiming he did think of her. She didn't move until his language became more urgent.

“I wish to please you m’lady, to taste your cunt and lap at your clit-please...please I can honor you. I can commit myself to the cause for you and not for my own needs!” 

He figured she was pleased with that begging because just as he finished she scooted forward so she was hovering over his face, his lips able to reach up and kiss at her dripping slit. 

His tongue had her head tilting back, a sharp breath hissing between her teeth. Gods, she had been waiting for this, needing this, for so long that it made her dizzy above him.

It felt as if he had just entered the seven heavens when contact was made. His nose nestled right at the top of her folds, likely squishing her clit with the strong bridge of his nose in quite a thrilling way, and his tongue licked a swatch up her folds. His cheeks bullied them apart and his tongue was at last able to delve deeply into a woman. It’d been many….many years since he’d been able to taste such a glorious thing. She was soaked and likely making a shameful mess of his face but he did not care and she would enjoy the view whenever she eventually let him up for air. 

Her breath huffed out when his tongue danced along a particularly sensitive spot on the roof of her cunt and she had her hands falling forward, regretfully having to leave his hair that she’d been playing with and instead press her palms against the floor on either side of his head. She needed the support to be able to begin to shift her body. It was slow at first, just teetering back and forth and then there was pressure added as she grinded herself down against his face giving her sensitive clit all the attention she’d been craving. 

Ser criston did not mind the movement, in fact his hands had raised up to hold at the sides of her bottom and help guide her and his nose now seemed to be intentionally rubbing up and down against her hardening pearl. 

“You are so sweet-“ he attempted to get out but it had meant his tongue had to retreat from her cunt and the women above him groaned loudly at the loss. 

She’d suffocate him beneath her before he was able to stop again. She needed this release and he would give it to her, and promptly if the way she grabbed his hair and used it as reigns to push his head into the exact position she wanted was any indication. 

Criston’s lips aligned with her clit now and he very eagerly began to lap at the warm thing. Which pulled pretty pants from the novice's mouth, she was close. The both of them knew it. She leaned back her hands reaching back to hold his sides, her long dark hair just lengthy enough to tickle his midsection though he was far too focused on suckling at her now throbbing clit to really pay that any mind. 

“Seven hells!” She cursed and gripped at him harder. “Yes-good knight!“ she nodded rapidly now prompting him to not dare and stop “continue good Ser!” She seemed unable to control the level of her voice as the wave that was brewing in her belly pulled in more and more, building into quite a hefty wave.

Criston had muttered something about how lovely she was, about honoring her, thanking her, but it was muffled because his lips did not dare pull back from her when she was so close to her edge.

The building wave crashed quite suddenly sending ripples of pleasure all over her form but it was her cunt that throbbed so wonderfully! Her core clenching and clenching and her clit felt as if it vibrated between his lips. A warmth came over and she had a blissful smile on her face when she looked down at him again. 

“You are so beautiful m’lady.” He said kissing her thighs now that her cunt was likely worn and sensitive. 

He was a sap, of course he was. That was likely why he was so troubled by all these sinful thoughts. She wasn’t, and she assumed in truth that most men in his so-called brotherhood of service to the crown enjoyed women as they pleased.

It only took her a few moments to gather herself and for her blood to begin pumping at a normal speed. It was then that she slipped off of his head and really took in what she’d turned this man into. Face a mess with her own release and his chest heaving still. Her eyes drifted down his still laid out form and she had to suppress the moan she wanted to let out when she saw his throbbing cock. His tip was red and she knew with just a few thrust he could be spilling his seed inside of her. 

If she let his seed thicken perhaps the Septon would forbid her from remaining here? She might be able to go home even? She did not think her lord father would let her live in squalled among the small folk specially if she was with child!  

It seemed the knight was able to somehow anticipate her devious plan and what her next action was because he was suddenly sitting up. 

“I can’t-not that.” He shook his head and his hand moved to cover his bobbing length.

She couldn’t have him closing off again. “I’ll not lead you astray Ser Criston.” She said softening her approach for a moment and kissing his lips, trailing down his neck and to his shoulders. 

“Kneel” 

He lifted up onto his knees and she took in his form for a moment. His back was all knots of tension and she saw how he breathed heavier simply from her fingertips moving up and down his spine. 

“Just breathe.” She told him quietly, her lips right behind his ear kissing at the tender spot that made his eyelids flutter and then a moment later there was no contact at all. 

He was still knelt there before the small table when she lifted a candle from the surface and tipped it to the side experimentally. Watching the melted wax drain off the side of the stick.

His shoulders released a bit when the drop of heated wax landed right between his shoulder blades. He hadn’t expected the warmth nor the ache it produced in his cock.   

The low moan urged her to continue and soon enough there were long trails of hardened wax going up and down his back and shoulders. 

Neither of them said a thing for a long while. She would just push his hair aside to keep it from getting in the way and he would let out these pathetic breathy whimpers with each new drop.

His cocks rapidly bouncing and his stone growing tight and high did all the explaining there was no need for words. 

She was going to relieve Criston Cole without even touching him. 

“You wish to cum?” She finally said when his breathing was consistently picking up to a more urgent speed. 

“Please” the beg was weak and she found it unconvincing. 

“You don’t sound as if you must?” The taunt came with a few drips onto the back of his neck, and the wax rolled down the muscles that connected his neck to his shoulders and hardened there. 

“You are cum without your cock in my cunt, hand or mouth.” She breathed “so desperate, is this much need always within you?”

He nodded, which wasn’t enough for her so she moved her arm to be in front of him and she slowly tipped the candle to the side painting his thighs and belly in lines of the molten liquid. 

That had his head thrown back and his hands clenching as a bit of cum leaked from his tip. 

“M’lady please! I must-I need to. I need you!” His pleading went on a bit longer than that but the man was so on edge that his words didn’t make much sense and she found herself taking pity on the poor misguided soul. 

“You may cum Ser Criston.” She said as if the gods had told her it was permitted.  

He had barely been able to hold off until the end of her sentence. The moan that erupted from his chest was long held, years in the making. She stood beside where he knelt and watched as his length pumped without either of their interference for a moment and then his white spend pooled onto the floor beneath him. 

It was quite a sight. A man so worked up that he was able to spill his seed without being touched, he had simply needed her permission and then he had let himself accept  the pleasure. 

He stayed there for a few minutes after just breathing and looking up at the candles and small figures of the seven. He’d let himself go in their presence, with one of their servants. 

“Don’t you feel peace now? The needy buzz always ceases to haunt my mind for a while after I’ve found such a comfort.” She told him having dressed herself fully again and sat on the edge of her bed. 

“The gods would not make something bad feel so lovely.” She did not feel the conflict after an encounter like this.  She felt a calmness come over her and surely, if this was truly so wrong the seven would level shame over her heart and mind. But they did not. They never had!

The knight said nothing as he dressed himself. The darkness of doubt and regret already clouded his mind. The pit in his stomach was smaller than it had been when he entered this sept, but it was still there. It never left.

“Ser Criston,” she called out to him just before he reached her door. She waited until he turned back to face her, helmet in his hand at his side. “Should you need more guidance with these urges, know the sept and I will always be here for support.” 

[samthegreenapologist]

I want to get a boob job after I die so that at my open casket funeral when everyone's looking at my beautiful body they'll all be like did the mortician...? no....

[samthegreenapologist]

Everybody needs to read this masterpiece of hot/neurotic athlete Criston!!

Rating: Explicit

W/C: 2.7k

Tags: Tennis!au, some angst, lots of tennis talk, criston’s emotional issues, arlan dondarrion rules, cunnilingus, v!fingering, overstim, pnv!sex, desperate Cris, praise, creampie, multiple orgasms, tl;Dr tennis talk then smutty Mc smut

A/N: I used to be obsessed w pro tennis and was a ballboy at the Miami open so obviously I'm overqualified here LMFAO SIKE but tennis is a mental ass sport so perfect for insane man

Criston was riding high off the big win at Paris, a second grand slam under his belt. You’d been supportive as you could while he trained non-stop for Wimbledon. Your boyfriend was the expected recipient of bringing home the most prestigious trophy. He’d dreamed of it, he said on an early date.

As the days narrowed down, the pressure piled on. All eyes were on Criston at his first chance to win the title. You could sense the shift in his attitude after the draw— first seed. He was closing off, tennis and tennis only on his mind. It would likely be smooth until the quarters. Criston’s competitors to watch for would either be Gwayne Hightower or the new hotshot Addam Velaryon.

You understood Criston locked down during the duration of most tournaments. He’d even get worked up during the Masters 1000 tournaments. A grand slam was a different matter. You played the pretty girlfriend, cheering Criston on as he steamrolled through rounds 2, 3, 4. Slow courts were his specialty, grass and clay a boon.

You’d stood to the side through the press conference after Criston’s five-setter quarter-final skirmish. He came out on top, but not without two fines and a smashed racquet. Criston was on edge. You frowned, exchanging a look with Coach Dondarrion as a reporter asked a brutal question.

“Criston, do you think your body will recover after this five-set grind? Hightower finished in straight sets in his match. How do you plan to face up?”

Your boyfriend’s jaw set, a flinty look in his eyes. He tapped his fingers on the table before answering with a brusque laugh.

“Training and hydrating, adequate care by my team. What kind of question is that?”

There was an awkward hush among the reporters, Criston running his hand through his cropped hair. He sneered “Is that all for today? Questioning my abilities?” You looked at his coach Arlan Dondarrion with your brow creased.

He sighed, “As long as he’s not hurling anything at the crowd. It’s over in five.”

Criston stalked past you both through the tunnel, veering towards the personal locker room as you and his coach hustled after. Criston exhaled sharply as he tossed his bag and sat on a bench. He tugged his shirt over his head— tanned skin and matted hair on display.

Look but no touch. He was a live wire right now. You wished you could help.

You hovered towards the back as Criston shouted about specific plays and an overcorrection on his serve. They went back and forth, the coach facing a brick wall of a man before Arlan leaned down in his protégés face, tone like ice.

“Drop the fucking ego and you’ll get a slam. You’re too stiff, you’re in your goddamn head, shut it off and play some tennis!”

Your eyes followed the older man as he stalked out, muttering, “Stubborn prick.”

Criston’s head hit the wall with a dull thunk, hands anxiously tapping. You could see his jaw clenching. You quietly came over, fishing in his bag for a water bottle and handing it over.

“Drink this and take a breath,” you murmured.

You stared as he snatched the bottle and downed it, rivulets running down his stubble. Cris was already growing a beard. You thumbed at a stray droplet, eyes soft as his dark gaze met your own. He grumbled, “I need to shave, I know.”

You nodded, lips curled up as you studied his tightened face, thumb stroking at his jaw and cheek. He seemed to relax at that, voice a dull rasp from yelling so much earlier— a small ‘thanks’. He took a few more breaths before attempting to speak again.

“Arlan’s right. I was overthinking. Like fucking always,” he said, curved lips thinning at the thought, “Guy was a chump, it’s embarrassing. Now all eyes are on me to beat the bloody Hightower after I almost blew it.”

You grabbed his trembling hand, replying, “You said it earlier, hydrate and let the team work. You got this. You always have.”

He stood up abruptly, your eyes widening. Criston paced forward a couple of steps, hands gripping at his lean hips. You spoke gently, “Cris…”

He shook his head, stalking towards you and jerking his bag up, slinging it on his shoulder. Criston mumbled, eyes averted, “I’ll see you later.” You rubbed your forehead as Criston exited the sterile white space, likely headed for the training room.

Gathering your dignity and sore feelings, you got up to return to the hotel. You figured you’d be used to his temper and intense emotions by now. Alas, Criston was a tempest at his best and a full-blown hurricane at the worst. It was a part of this mentally and physically taxing game, you reminded yourself.

—

It was a tiebreak for the championship, three hours on the clock. Three hours of an intense battle between Hightower and Cole. You stood up, watching Criston take a circle, bouncing the ball. It was a grueling grind of groundstrokes, the two men straining their bodies as they fought for the championship. Your heart thrummed as the announcer spoke.

“Advantage, Cole, 10-9.”

Criston dribbled the ball a few more times,

wiping his brow before serving into the corner of the box, Gwayne hitting the ball back with a precise cross-court forehand. Criston grunted as he returned in kind, hugging the baseline with powerful strokes.

Forehand, backhand, forehand, backhand— slice!

Gwayne launched forward, flicking the ball at a sharp angle. Criston anticipated the short shot, slapping the ball down the adjacent sideline with a roar. You cheered, jumping up and down with Arlan and Criston’s family. The brunette fell to his knees, panting before nodding with a sharp smile, dark eyes glossy as he surveyed the crowd.

He stood up, exhausted legs taking him to the redhead Gwayne, a solemn handshake between the two, the other clapping Criston’s shoulder, watery blue eyes concealed with a polite smile.

You grinned as Criston got to lift the trophy, smiling with the royals and shaking hands. You held a hand over your heart as he got the microphone. You saw Arlan murmur, “Don’t say nothing fuckin’ stupid boy.”

Criston was brief, thanking his family, you, his team, and a particularly emotional admittance towards Arlan for sensing talent in a boy from Hay-on-Wye. You gave the older man a pat on the back who was now beaming proudly.

It was a whirlwind of events thereafter. You changed about four times, went to a dinner, and the following party. Criston kept close to you, polite as ever with the elites wanting to speak. You felt comforted with his hand in the back of your dress.

Worn out, Criston especially so, you rode in the back of the transport vehicle in silence, his calloused hand atop yours as he looked out the window.

You mulled over saying something. Something he hadn’t heard already. Your lips twitched before you spoke, fingers intertwining with Criston’s.

“You can relax now, you know. Not surrounded by the posh anymore.”

He’d admitted once he always felt out of place, careful to mind his words even as a tennis star. You were an outsider in your own way, hailing from the United States. Criston was from a working-class family and he’d saved enough to go to a camp in Gloucester as a young teen. Dondarrion, a retired top-ten player, had spotted the talent and the rest was history. Ascended to the top where few didn’t get without wealth.

Criston looked over, a knowing look across his eyes and furrowed brow. He murmured, “Suppose so. Don’t want to end up at a dead-end job back home. Every time I’m rubbing shoulders…” He huffed, looking out the window again, “It’s turning me into a loon, I know what they see. Undisciplined trash.”

Well. He did have a reputation for mouthing off, fines, racket smash compilations on YouTube. You snickered at the thought, earning a sharp look.

“Yeah. But you’re still number one in the world and beat old money to get there,” you pointed out.

He grunted in agreement, thumb swiping across the back of your palm. His lips curled up as he spoke, “Yeah. I should just enjoy the win, huh?”

He looked over, smiling at you, his handsome face sheepish. You smiled back, unbuckling the seatbelt to cozy up to his side. He wrapped his arm around you, looking on fondly. You teased, “I’d say so. You deserve it. Maybe I’m biased…But I don’t see you working some dead-end job soon.”

He laughed— a rare sound as Criston pulled you closer to press a kiss to your forehead. The brunette rumbled, “You’re too damn sweet for your own good. Sorry about being a prick…”

He trailed off, swallowing, “I shouldn’t treat you like that because I’m being a nutjob. Maybe I’ll see that sports shrink.”

You kissed Criston gently, hand rubbing his cheek as you murmured, “I think that would be good. It’s alright, but I think the winner owes me when he’s not wiped.”

He smirked and squeezed you, humming, “Oh, it’ll be my second win getting you all to myself. I’ll make sure my girl gets hers.”

—

After some rest and a luncheon, Criston pounced back in the hotel. He cornered you up, the pair of you in a heated lip lock as his calloused hands slid up your summer dress. Criston now laid lush kisses across your sensitive neck, rasping, “Looked sweet in this little piece, pretty baby.”

You smiled, gasping as he gripped your ass, Criston’s larger frame crowding you against the wall. Your hands feebly undid his tie and began to unbutton the dress shirt. He nipped at your exposed shoulder, inhaling with a groan.

“Strawberries and cream, yeah?” He rasped, peering up under dark lashes. You breathed, “Mhm, did you watch baby? Think about my mouth?” He smacked your ass, gripping at your lacy underwear, tearing with both hands.

You moaned in excitement, calling his name in a little gasp. Criston maneuvered you around to the bed, pushing you back, voice sharp as he ordered, “Keep that dress up.”

You got onto your elbows, cunt already pulsing at the rough handling. He shucked off the jacket, then the shirt. You eyed Cris’s cock straining at his dress pants, the man huffing in relief as he popped the button, stepping out. Your eyes were lidded as he rubbed at the bulge, groaning at the pressure.

“You that needy huh?” You teased.

He knelt, yanking you by the hips as you yelped. Criston’s eyes were dark and focused— the man did put his all into what he liked. Fucking you was under that short list. He nosed at your knee, scoffing, “I can see you’re soaked, who’s really needy hm?”

You couldn’t respond as his nose brushed along the length of your inner thigh, searing kisses and nibbles following the trail. You started to pull your dress up and over your head, impatiently snapping the button open. Criston looked amused as he ghosted over your swollen cunt to kiss and tease along your other thigh, his hands stabilizing your squirmy hips.

You were panting, undoing your bra with one hand, tits budding in the breezy room. Criston hummed, nosing closer to your slick core, eyes dancing with a promise and heady arousal. Your hand slid to his short dark hair, nails digging in, gripping what you could.

“Cris- fuck- c’mon baby,” you whined.

“Aye, you'll get it,” he rasped.

You arched up with a cry as he flattened his tongue and lapped upwards, playfully flicking his tongue across your clit. You could hear the groan deep in his chest as the athlete focused on the sensitive bundle. Shocks of pleasure shot up your spine as you whined his name, head thrown back as he worked you over.

One of his calloused hands smacked your ass before diving between your legs, circling your weeping pussy, and sliding in. You heaved, thighs beginning to twitch and tighten when Criston pressed his fingers upward, skilled hands massaging the soft ridged spot inside.

“Fuck- fuck- baby,” you keened.

Sweat was already gathering at the base of your neck and back, the pleasure all-consuming too much too soon. You whined through your nose— Criston busying himself fucking you with his fingers and swirling his tongue. You were teetering on coming, belly in knots, heart thumping as you tried to hold on.

You glanced down and met dark eyes. Those damn eyes filled with a smug knowing. He didn't pause in the ministrations, sucking hard and curling his fingers at a quick pace. Your eyes rolled back as the knot unraveled, ecstasy taking over.

You writhed, twitching, muscles drawing tight as you moaned helplessly. Your eyes closed tight as your core pulsed with a gush of slick, coating his fingers and chin. Criston growled something under his breath, hands sliding up your flanks as he climbed between your trembling thighs.

You blinked as your intense climax began to ebb. Criston rumbled, “Pretty damn girl.” He licked his shining lips, leaning down to capture you in a breathless kiss. You wrapped your weak arms around his neck, meeting your lover with sloppy kisses.

It was messy, desperate, and goddamn perfect.

You could taste the faint essence of yourself, pussy already twitching in a newfound arousal. Criston smiled against your spit-slick lips, one hand cupping your cheek as the other shoved down his briefs in jerky movements. He pulled back, eyes softened as he searched your face.

“Alright?” the brunette inquired.

You nodded, thighs moving to cage his lean hips in. He gave a little smile, murmuring against your lips, “Good girl.” You exhaled, mouth falling open on a soft moan as Criston guided his cock into you. He huffed a breath, dark lashes fluttering as he slipped deep inside.

“Fuckin’ hell you feel good,” he gritted out as his cock was enveloped by your slick, molten cunt. You panted against Criston’s pretty lips, the feeling of fullness making thoughts hard to come by. You garbled out a plea— begging for more.

He pecked your lips before shoving his face into the crook of your neck, groaning long and low as he pulled back a couple of inches and snapping back into you with a lurid noise. Your hands dug into the lean muscles of his tanned back, the rough thrust forcing another pitiful cry from your throat.

The athlete could go for hours if he wanted— you’d been speared on his prick for hours before. Yet desperation lined his movements. Breathless moans and hurried snaps of his hips as he fucked you. Your eyes rolled as he adjusted, thighs planting into the bed as he rocked into you at a frantic pace.

Criston slurred against your neck, “Close baby, needed you, love you baby— God!”

You rubbed the back of his neck, legs spreading wider, the friction of his chest against your tits sending frissons of pleasure down to your belly again. He gripped your hips, digging in for more. You were letting out little noises as he fucked you into the bed.

He growled, “Rub your clit, c’mon.”

You slipped a hand between your rocking bodies, fingers swirling around your oversensitive clit. You were losing it again, thighs digging into his sides as you neared the jumping off point again, your cunt tightening up in anticipation.

Criston gasped against your neck, a thin noise muffled against your neck. His cock was swelling, thrusts growing erratic and rough. He rasped your name with a huff, slamming his hips flush to yours as he emptied in thick spurts. You shuddered at the feeling of his come stuffing you full, eyes widening before shutting tight again as you barreled over the precipice, milking his cock and coming again.

It was a mess of whines and strained moans, the pair of you clinging to each other as the mutual orgasm took over. He let out a whine through his nose from overstimulation, slumping forward onto you, cock softening. He pulled out with a wince, rolling onto his side, the clingy fucker still wrapping an arm around your heaving belly.

He gave a dazed smile, voice raspy and soft, “Needed that.”

You rolled over to meet him, giving a gentle kiss with a hand to his flushed cheek. You nodded, too fucked out to speak. Criston murmured between kisses, “Promise I’ll work on not being a dick.”

You had a feeling he meant it, despite the post-orgasm haze.

[samthegreenapologist]

what? oh sweetheart no, you're not weirding me out at all. you're weirding me in. keep talking, freak

[samthegreenapologist]

A Final Comfort

Rating: Explicit

Tags: pnv!sex, war, needles, medical treatment (blood), nurse has come to terms with impending demise, loss of faith, drinking/drug use, fucking in the woods, missionary, fingering, handjob(ish), Criston on the depression log

Word Count: 4.3k

The ground was almost entirely muck. The rain and heavy horse hooves kicking up the soil mixed with dropped ale and spilled blood had made the ground quite torn up and muddy. She had tied up her skirt a long while ago, knotted the excess fabric just under her knee and the stockings the young women wore had once been a pale cream color were now a darkened red almost black color. That same color was permanently caked under her nails and she swore when her eyes closed that it was the shade she saw behind her eyelids.

There was always so much blood when they trickled in from battle. The wounded who could walk came in first, they were like stuck pigs sometimes and they got stitches and dressing and pushed into tents away to rest and gods willing not bleed out while those who hadn’t been able to move as quickly or at all were carted and carried in. Sometimes they were already pale, already bled out almost completely. Those men were at least without pain—or that was what she convinced herself of because they were silent with their eyes closed. It was the men who came back screaming and begging that frightened her. Whose bone was sticking out and whose mouths bled or whose flesh was burnt. It was horrid. It was something she hadn’t truly been prepared for when she went to serve the new king’s army as a nurse.

She’d been at the sept only a few moons prior. Becoming a septa hadn’t spoken much to her at all so she jumped at the opportunity to do something different to see something different! A different fate, though here at the camp when those charred men were dragged in she found herself missing the sept, noticing that her shaking hands would pause when the men shrieked as their skin was peeled off and clasp together in a very brief and silent prayer.

“The lord commander,” a man approached her as she tended to a man with mild lacerations on his hand “he’s conscious again.” She nodded a bit and grabbed some cloth handing it to the man she was knelt beside “hold that to the wound—I’ll try and come back to see that it gets closed.” She told him as she stood up wiping her hands on her bunched up skirts. She felt a bit bad for running off since he’d waited a long time because they had to deal with the severely injured first but he’d live…unless infection took him over.

“Lord commander,” she said entering his tent with the man who had led her here. “It’s good to see you with your eyes open.” She told him seeing his dark brown eyes squinting and she had to push up on his eyelid a bit to check his pupils, they were huge and when the knight raised his arm up to block his face she turned to the man on the open flaps of the tent.

“Close those, the setting sun is too much for him.” She shooed the man out and then turned back to the dark haired man, the blunt cut of dense hair was even darker at the moment because there was quite a bit of blood in his hair, likely a mix of his own due to the gash on his forehead and from his fallen men.

She could tell he was still a bit disoriented, a trampling around do that to a person. Apparently he’d gotten off his horse to help somebody after the battle subsided and in the craze of carting the injured out and getting all the men out of the fields and back into the woods towards their war camp setup he had gotten jumbled up in a horse’s legs. His armor was already off, they’d removed it to make lugging his apparently quite dense body easier. She’d seen him unconscious when he arrived to camp but with no obvious pressing injuries had just asked to be informed when he woke. Either his head had gotten jumbled and he’d wake disoriented but fine or one of his organs got stomped upon and was bleeding into his belly and he likely would never open his eyes again. The matter was settled that it was most likely just a head injury that addled the knight’s senses.

“You are quite lucky.” She told him as she began to pour alcohol onto a cloth and dab at his parted forehead, he’d need a few stitches there. His scoff had her pausing as she readied her needle. “Some soreness is not much of a price to pay compared to some of these men.” She’d seen bone outside of countless men’s bodies today. At least the reminder stopped his sniveling and it let her focus on closing the wound that was almost perfectly worked into a line of worry that seemed to be permanently placed upon his brow. She’d never not seen his face pinched in this way.

“They revel already.” He sighed not hissing at all as the thread was tied tightly into a knot as the nurse finished her work. He had expected her to leave once that wound was closed, his head was pounding and he wanted to just hide in the privacy of his tent, perhaps venture out beyond when the camp got more peaceful as the healthy men fell into their drunken slumbers. He would sit in the woods most nights, look past the dense trees to try and see the stars and moon. A glimpse of something bigger than himself, bigger than this army or the king or his duty and oaths.

The nurse remained though and began to undo his tunic quite unceremoniously. He wasn’t used to being undressed by a woman, not anymore and the embarrassment was visible on his cheeks when the queen’s favor fell from within his shirt, it was a bit bloodied and the womanly scent was likely covered with his own sweat and musk by this point in the war. She bent when it dropped to the floor and put it on his discarded shirt without paying it much mind at all. Nothing fazed her much now and she’d learned a great deal about men being here, traveling with this army, seeing how they celebrate and how they cry and rage…hearing them beg as they are faced with sure death. She’d done things to bring men peace and a final comfort that she knew would make it hard for her ever to truly return to a sept without feeling like all who looked upon her knew of her actions. Hells, she’d sought out men herself to feel something on days when her body felt numb and mind needed to be emptied.

“I do not think it wrong to enjoy what is left of this life. I try to.” She said softly, responding to his distaste for the men’s drinking and merriment beyond this tent, as she pressed upon his heavily bruised chest. Its blue and purple coloring blended well with his dark chest hair but she still noted it. He breathed a bit stiffly but it didn’t seem breathing caused him pain. 

His brow furrowed as if to say she would not die, she would not be in battle for she held no sword.

“You think there will be sympathy for a woman who aids the usurper’s army?” She raised a brow and pressed a bit more firmly to his belly where there was some heavy bruising. She didn’t even flinch when his hand shot up to her side gripping it, she couldn’t tell if it was out of pain or just the body’s reaction to being touched there. “Nobody in this camp will live should she sit the throne…I should pray for death instead of a life suffering as some toy for the winners.”

Criston Cole looked up at her now, shocked by how plainly she had spoke of her fate, or what she thought would be her fate. His hand was still holding to her side as she stood before him tending to his ailments and at that verbalization of her future his fingers began to stroke against her back a bit, a small comfort, he hoped, at least.

“These men will protect you— I” he told her thinking that might bring her some sort of comfort though he couldn’t promise her that he’d protect her, he knew he wouldn’t be able to, he was certain of his death by this point, having known since he left King’s Landing after returning the king’s crumbled and burned body.

An eye for an eye was a never-ending loop that led to two graves. He knew that now.

“You don’t honestly believe you’ll be slaughtered and these drunk buffoons will live and have the bravery or care to stop a raping?” She shook her head a bit. “It’s a sweet thought, I hope it gives you comfort.” The young woman sighed as she turned to her medical kit and pulled out some poppy looking to him, hand holding it out.

“No,” he said looking to his hand that had been displaced from her waist when she had shifted to get the liquid that would numb him of the aches he felt. The woman lingered before him looking down at him and waiting to find out what exactly his no was in reference to, the poppy or his peace of mind.

“No thoughts give me comfort now.” He admitted and the woman twisted the stopper from the small bottle and took a small sip from the vial before dropping it back into her kit. If he did not want it she would gladly indulge!

Her tongue came out to wet her bottom lip a bit— it had been cracked from her teeth biting into it for most of this afternoon while she focused on the wounds before her— though her tongue was bitter now from the flavor of poppy so she paced to the table beside his cot and poured herself a cup of the ale. He’d not deny her, or maybe he would and he’d send her away from this place. Either way she’d get some relief. Be it through the alcohol or space from this place. “I am glad they still have ways of distracting themselves.” She admitted and looked out of the tent flaps a bit, able to see the men surrounding the fires that were now erupted around camp as they enjoyed the barrels of ale and wine that were seemingly always supplied. The throne kept its warriors’ thirst appeased, especially in losing battles.

The knight had wanted to have solitude but he also could not find it in himself to send the nurse away. She’d been here since the first march, he’d recalled seeing her apply a salve to one of Gwayne Hightower’s leg wounds to fight off infection.

“What comfort do you have…stolen sips of poppy?” He questioned her. She’d been in this environment for months, he’d assumed a day of witnessing war would be enough to have a woman deserting her posting.

She laughed dryly and smiled still facing away from him and watching those outside of the tent. “Sometimes—though I think you’ll find men and women take comfort in the same things.” She’d heard men weep into their blankets at night and she’d certainly found that the body’s pleasure distracted the mind. They were not all that different.

He blinked a bit, his eyebrows pinching together and turning up as he looked her over, as if something about her physical appearance might assure him that she surely did not mean what he felt she was alluding to. Had he been using her body, gaining pleasure to grasp at seconds of escape from the hells they found themselves in?

“Does it disgust you? Make you want me less?” She had read his expression so easily, and wondered briefly if the man was dull? How could one still think there were things left untarnished in a place like this. To still be shocked a maid had taken up laying with men as she pleased? It was shocking to see a man’s bone push through their shin…to see them drown in their own blood. Wanting the comfort of a kiss….the warmth of arms wrapped around you and the pinch of your body being entered by another? Those no longer felt surprising to her, she was utterly desensitized to the world she previously thought was scandalous.

The Lord Commander stood and closed the distance between him and the nurse, her skirts flowing a bit out as wind came into the tent and he reached to her hand that held the small cup filled with a mixture of the poppy and tea. His dark eyes met hers as he pulled the cup from her hand and set it down on the table that had a map laid across it. One he poured over every night trying to think of some way to win these battles, to not doom every man under his charge. He wanted to tell her the drink wasn’t suitable for her, that she shouldn’t wish to feel numb.

“What do you take comfort in, Ser Criston?” Eyes soft and fluttering while closing what little space was still between them and kissing his lip. Her mouth parting a bit over the cut on his bottom lip. Metallic flavor filled her senses and she made a small noise when his head turned suddenly and his nose rested beside her own as he too parted his lips.

His strong hands and calloused fingers caught on the blood dried fabric around her waist and made her body flush to his, a small hiss leaving his throat when his bruised ribs were pressed against because she was now eagerly pushing him back towards the cot. Was she set to ride upon him? Did she even think of what she did with men or did she just chase the feeling of pleasure—of any sensation?

Spoiled and desperate.

That was what he thought as she pulled her skirts up holding them at her waist and looking expectantly down at him just waiting for him to undo the strings of his trousers and pull his prick out.

“This isn’t right…” his voice was hoarse from shouting commands earlier in the day. “I’ve an oath.” He sat up and grabbed at her clothes urging the fabric out of her grip so it would fall back down to cover her. Her glare was judgmental with some irritation mixed in and she said nothing as she turned, took the cup of poppy and left his tent.

He stayed sitting on the edge of the hard cot for hours. Just watching the flickering of fire against cups of ale as the men reveled in having another day of life. At least he supposed that was what they celebrated considering he was beginning to believe there was no winning in this. No revelry to be had at any grounds won. It wouldn’t matter, not in the end.

Eventually when the noise died down and just the most drunk of men hobbled about the camp he emerged from his tent and walked through the camp straight out into the silent darkness of the thick forest. He didn’t much care if he got lost…perhaps he hoped he would?

The silence maintained for only a short time because not a few minutes’ pace beyond the camp’s perimeter did he hear crying. It was garbled, as if stuck in one’s throat.

The nurse had been out here a long time so her eyes had adjusted quite a bit to the darkness. She saw the Lord Commander before hearing him, that was how silently he moved. She was crouched beside a thick fallen tree, picking at the loosened bark and no doubt having imprints of the tree against her arms and face from leaning against it for so very long.

“I don’t think there is any true comfort I can find.” He answered her question from the tent finally when he got close enough to realize it was the nurse bent against the big log. “Not in this lifetime.”

Her hair was undone and her clothing had been changed, she looked much softer now than she had in the tent. Perhaps now that the chaos and disarray of the battle had dulled she too had calmed a great deal. She felt everything now that the adrenaline had worn off and the poppy effect had departed. He sat down on the log just looking out at the thick blanket of darkness just beyond them and he felt a few strands of her hair that were sticking to the rough surface of the log and he silently untangled them and then urged her face to turn towards his leg and rest against the linen of his knee instead of onthe wood. He could feel the deep impression of the valleys in the tree against her cheek and he rubbed at the soft flesh until her blood rushed there to round her skin out. He could feel the wetness from her eyes spread over the tops of her cheek and he swallowed hard. His mind racing as he thought of what he had to look forward to. Of the next time he would enter a sept…he likely wouldn’t. Perhaps the shame he had felt in the past wouldn’t ever get to reach him and this time he could simply enjoy natural human pleasures. That’s what sex was, a normal urge. One he had felt so much guilt for in the past and now looking out at this darkness he felt shame for pushing her away earlier, for denying them both a comfort to try and maintain his good sense, to try and avoid her feeling the shame he had felt so many times before. In the princess’ chambers, the queen’s rooms, brothels and the kitchens of the Red Keep. When he had shamefully sought out or given in to the comforts of women.

His hand on her cheek began more insistent, his touch intensified and his fingers tricked back behind her jaw and ear and got lost in her loose hair. It had her making soft pleasant noises. Soon enough he was dropping down onto the ground beside her and the knight’s hand pulled her face towards him so their lips could connect again. This time he parted his mouth open a sliver first and he was the one to glide his tongue into her warm mouth. She didn’t taste like poppy this time, the bitterness gone from her tongue.

Her body sunk lower until her back was pressed to the ground and Ser Criston hovered before her, his breathing was heavy but not rushed. Nothing he did was frantic, it was all soft and slow. The kisses to her mouth and the ones he trailed down her neck. His hands even groped at her chest slowly, feeling her breast fill his hands until she would eventually relent and moan for him. She blinked up at the darkness of the sky as he moved lower and she couldn’t see his features above her. He had taken to removing her shoes, kissing at the tops of her feet. He didn’t care if they were dirty, he didn’tseem bothered by much at all anymore. Certainly not having qualms with her interest in him or the knowledge that she had laid with other men at the camp.

She again pulled her skirts up for him this time, stuffing them under her bottom to make herself more comfortable against the harsh ground and her pulse was throbbing in every vein she had as she pulled at his trousers letting them drop down to pool at his knees which were pressed to the earth as he leaned over her, her legs spread open and her warmed thigh pressed to the outside of his hips.

She watched with bated breath as he stroked his cock a few times, she thought for a moment he was going to simply enter her but after it seemed he had satisfied the ache in his growing manhood he let his hand hang down and his fingers brushed delicately over the apex of her thighs where her body parted and opened. He shouldn’t be surprised to feel that she was damp there for him but from the way his eyes jumped to meet hers she concluded he was.

“I may take comfort in physical pleasure but,” she let out a tense exhale when his fingers found the pearl at the top of her cunt and began circling it. “—but only with men who are handsome.” She was able to gather her senses to finish that sentence eventually. And she was glad she had done so because the man above her smiled. It was warm and made his eyes crinkle a bit, the sight was lovely. A smile she could truly escape in.

“Let me ready you,” Criston began to say as she worked the bottoms of her blouse open between her moans and grasping at his wrist while his fingers played at her like she was delicate pages of a book he was flipping through.

The knight was half curled down now, bending his head down towards her womanhood, but was kissing and biting at her skin as he made his way down. He seemed quite eager, taking deep breaths of her scent in while his very calloused fingers dragged roughly over her pearl. She could recall teachings from the septas that it was a sinful part of their body to indulge. She was never the more grateful to have put aside her faith in this moment. The knight and nurse’s breath almost in sync as he circled faster with his fingers. She managed to reach a hand down to his length once her breasts were finally free and she grasped at his cock, stroking it a few times, feeling he was beyond firm and her thumb enjoyed trailing over the vein she felt on the underside of his shaft. Smiling even when it had him shuddering.

“I don’t need that,” she told him insistently and the knight quickly rerouted to overtake her fully, his hips laid over hers, his chest squishing her pliable breasts and his nose slid along her still tear-stained face to make home above her upper lip as he took her plump bottom lip between his.

She could feel his cock pulsing against her now and his breathing felt eager so she shifted her body down some more, not caring at all that the twigs and pebbles roughed up her back. That was the last thing on her mind. Especially now that she was laid low enough that when he would rut against her his cockhead caught against her heated core. “Please—” she tensed some, her hand gripping his shoulder and hip not wanting him to pull back. “I need this, Ser Criston.” She begged once and when she was going to follow up and tell him she needed him now the words were strangled in her throat by the moan that pushed out instead due to him seating himself within her.

Criston’s shoulders were tense, holding himself up above her and though he almost instantly began to stroke into her fully he did settle his face against her neck, his head now caged in between her jaw and breast which were heaved up by the force of his hips each time he hit the end of her core with his tip. She made a gorgeous, enticing whimper each time his cockhead hit her cervix and it made the knight plant warm kisses in her neck and collar as a response because words seemed lost to him in this moment.

The two laid against the earth together, wrapping around one another more and more until she cried out in pleasure and the Lord Commander had the good sense to kiss at her lips to drown out the noise she was making. He didn’t want this moment to be stumbled upon, for once it wasn’t because he would be forced to stop and run off ashamed but because he truly didn’t want this moment to end. It felt like the last grasp he had on life itself.

He sat up on his knees a bit, his hand grabbing her hips, pushing them flat against the dirt. He was going to spill his seed and if she kept meeting his thrusts like she was it was going to be impossible for him to pull himself out of her.

“It won’t matter, Criston.”

She knew what he was getting ready to do. Leaving her in this moment, when her thighs trembled and her stomach looped into knots while his stones drew up and his length twitched would only leave them both unsatisfied.

The knight looked down at her, a bit of shock in his eyes at her remark. If his seed took it would matter. With two more thrusts though he realized what she meant. His seed wouldn’t have time to thicken her.

“It won’t,” he concluded and came with a low groan and then panted against her chest while she let her hands get lost within his hair. They both went silent once their lungs finally got the relief they’d been begging for. Eventually he pulled from her core when he was softened and his hand cupped over her mound as if he was feeling to see if he’d hurt her. But the nurse had no issue reaching down to pull her small clothes back up and button her blouse. Her skirt cascaded back down to cover her bruised hips and the imprint of the roots she’d been laid over.

“I’ll see to it that you have firm bandages around your ribs before you march down to the Riverlands.” She told him and waited for his nod before walking, a bit lopsidedly, back to the camp. Leaving him to stand, fix his clothes, and sit down on the fallen tree they had just indulged in each other against and take in a moment in the darkness of the woods.

[samthegreenapologist]

Listening to a podcast

"Let's take a word from our sponsor."

*Skip ahead a minute* "You can-"

*Skip ahead a minute* "Use code-"

*Skip ahead a minute* "300,000-"

*Skip ahead a minute* "300,000-"

*Skip ahead a minute* "T-shirts-"

*Skip ahead a minute* "Motherfuck-"

*Go back 15 seconds*

[samthegreenapologist]

protein bar companies should have their peanut butter and chocolate privileges revoked until they can prove they actually know what those two ingredients are supposed to taste like

[samthegreenapologist]

Some are born perverts, some achieve perversion, and some have perverts thrust inside them

[samthegreenapologist]

Syressa supremacy!!!! This was so juicy, good for curly mullet crissy, he deserved this for that hair alone 😍

Warming up | C.Cole | Targaryen!Reader

Rating: Explicit

WC: 1.2k

Tags: Dom/sub dynamics, subby Criston Cole, curly mullet era Crissy, light smacking, finger sucking, pnv!sex, degradation, whiny men alert, milf!reader, praise kink, feminization, man tears, hinted manipulation/moral gray areas, age difference

A/N: HEYYYYY I FUCKING WROTE SOMETHING GOOD GOD anyways be nice to me I left it reader insert but her name is Syressa

“You’re a natural, Cole,” the princess purred.

Criston bit down on the gag, brown eyes meeting violet. Cold, cutting, calculating. She was too much like Daemon…yet not. The softer moments where the woman would cradle his head as he wept or cleaned the bloody stripes across his back felt kind, almost loving. Almost.

The princess appeared at a strange time, clad in the black of a mourner. She wasn’t mourning. Her Braavosi Sea-Lord husband had died. She was sharp, beguiling, and Criston remembered how his cheeks flamed as she eyed him while speaking to Rhaenyra.

Then Westerling came to him. New orders. He’d be the new sworn shield of the sister of the king and her little prince. He accepted it, begrudgingly, unsure how to feel about the statuesque dragon rider.

“What are you thinking about?” She asked, appearing in front of Criston, eyes narrowed as she grabbed his chin, another hand curling into his dark hair. He garbled out, “You, your grace.” The Valyrian grinned, lips split into a feline grin.

“Suspected as such.”

Criston swallowed, his thighs twitching, skin damp. He’d be good, like the princess taught him. The knight needed her and the pain that came along with it. It drew out of the poison that welled in Criston’s soul. A fair exchange, he thought.

Her cold fingers drifted down his bare torso, sliding past his cock to grip his trembling thigh. His lover cooed as her nails dug into her shield’s chin. Criston could feel the inevitable tears from frustration, need, and agony— it jumbled up at some point. He huffed, arms behind his back shifting as she rubbed his thigh in rhythmic motions. Mocking.

“Remember when I first fucked you?”

He whined. Outright whined. High and thin, lashes fluttering at the memory.

“You initiated it.”

He did. Or did he? All Criston could remember through a vale of tears was her throaty moans and nails raking down his back while he grunted and panted against soft skin, hips snapping relentlessly into her cunt.

“Ñuhyz Jaehossas, you’re out of it,” she hummed, smacking Criston on the flank, drawing him out of his reverie. The woman stared, carved lips set in concentration as her violet eyes wandered over the brunette’s tear-streaked face. She leaned in closer, lips against his pulse point. He exhaled when she pressed a chilly kiss to his heated skin.

In a swift motion, Criston was pushed back onto the frigid floor, hands flying to the sides, eyes widening as he nearly choked on his spit. The princess straddled him in a swift movement, her silken slip coming up and over silver hair. He moaned, gritting down on the gag once more.

“I’ve got you, poor thing, gone fucking dumb,” she said softly, voice like a blade wrapped in satin. The princess plucked the wooden piece from his sore lips and threw it to the side. He jerked as it clattered and rolled into a chest. Her elegant fingers slipped into his open mouth, pressing on Criston’s tongue.

He garbled out her name, eyes closing as he instinctively closed his lips, sucking on her cold digits. The princess smiled, humming, “If I were the one with a cock you’d be content warming it all day, hm? Wanton whore.”

He gasped, heat swelling in his loins, his cheeks. The thought was crude, unnatural, worse than this. Criston blinked, focusing on her when her fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, her dripping cunt enveloping the swollen flesh in a smooth motion.

She removed her fingers from his lips to press against her clit— her other hand slapping across his fiery cheeks. The princess didn’t waste time, her marble skin shining as she began to move up and down.

“You liked that didn’t you Cole?” She teased.

Another slap.

“You’d be darling if those so called Seven made you a woman,” the blonde breathed, violet eyes intense and filled with delight. Criston whimpered, shaking his head, hands scrabbling against the floor. He couldn’t fucking think when she was riding his cock, pouring more filth into his ears.

The princess leaned back, a hand on his thigh as she rode him in short grinds. He eyed the marks that showed she was human under the veil of godhood— the burns on her wrist, marks on her belly from carrying child, even how her nipples were changed from feeding the same child as a babe.

“Quit it,” she snapped, hissing, “Yes, a woman, you’ve got it down with those weepy doe eyes and slutty pout. You’re emotional, Cole.”

Criston’s breath hitched as he arched under her, the barbed words bringing forth heady pulses of pleasure. His hands fisted, the need to touch overwhelming. His dark eyes were averted now that she admonished him. Eyes closed, he could feel her cunt sliding up and down, ridged and tight. He could hear her small noises between pants.

“Fuck,” the brunette huffed, whining through his nose.

She sighed, grabbing his hands and putting them on her hips as she readjusted again, hands on Criston’s heaving chest. The older princess murmured, softer now, “Go on then, fuck like you want Criston.” Her lips ghosted over his ear, nipping at the lobe.

Indescribable relief filled the man’s chest as permission was granted. He gripped her, thumbs smoothing across her hips as he planted his feet and desperately thrust up. She inhaled, lashes fluttering as her lips fell open. His cock throbbed as she praised him, a little sigh of his name after.

Gods, he felt like a mess, fucking into her like a dying man, hair sweaty and lips bitten swollen. He was growing too close, throaty moans and cries of her name getting louder. The princess shoved a thumb into his lips, lidded eyes mocking.

“Come on then, yes- yes! Good boy,” she cried softly, the column of her neck exposed as her head fell back. Criston mewled around her thumb, drooling as he felt her tighten around him. He couldn’t take much more, hands forcing her down as he moved up, deep as he could, balls drawn tight.

Criston’s eyes traveled up to hers, wet and pleading. She grinned, hand between her legs to rub at her sensitive clit. The princess moaned eagerly, shivering as marble flesh drew tight with gooseflesh. She bore down on him, violet eyes nearly crossing as she reached her peak, hand jerking and stilling between their bellies as her core spasmed around Criston. The hot gush of her slick coated him, the sounds of his sloppy thrusts lurid in her chambers.

She panted as she slumped against him, flesh-warmed hand sliding across his flank, almost sweet. The blonde murmured, “Come on then, you earned it sweetling.” She continued to rub his side as the orgasm hit him like a punch. The feeling of ecstasy whited out his vision, intense warmth and release enveloping him.

Criston came back with a smirking Princess and tears on his cheeks. She curled against him, naked on the marble floor, drawing a finger across the salty tears on his cheek. She hummed, violet eyes softer than usual, “That was delicious, pet.”

Criston gave a hoarse laugh, eyes meeting hers. He breathed, murmuring, “Perhaps you Targaryens are gods, blessed with divinity.”

She snorted, a rare sound from the sharp woman.

“Divine cunt?”

Criston smiled, giddy with her good mood, “Utterly so, your grace.”

[samthegreenapologist]

WUTHERING HEIGHTS (2011) dir. Andrea Arnold (requested by anonymous)

[samthegreenapologist]

women with deadpan humor get behind me. a man is about to miss your joke and explain that what you said is not accurate

[samthegreenapologist]

unhealthy codependency is really a top tier dynamic. like they need each other to survive but god. should they.

[samthegreenapologist]

um guys, I think we need to stop waiting for ‘the right time’ and just start doing the things we want whenever because the right time’s never gonna come, and if we keep waiting it’s just gonna turn into an endless cycle

[samthegreenapologist]

do you think that making sansa and lyanna similar in personality and have many narrative parallels was intentional on george’s part?

yes. lyanna x rhaegar functions as an embedded narrative that reinforces the themes of asoiaf and there's a nice detail in the chapter of the knight of the laughing tree where bran thinks it was a good story but "[instead of the dragon prince] the mystery knight should win the tourney, defeating every challenger, and name the wolf maid the queen of love and beauty" and meera says, "she was, but that's a sadder story," bran is of course missing much of the context here and incorrectly assumes howland was the knight, but i think there's a certain allusion here, that it would've been a better story if the mystery knight—who we know is lyanna—had both won the tourney and crowned the wolf-maid, i.e. if lyanna had been allowed an existence as both knight and maiden, allowed to live a life in pursuit of both love and gender nonconformity. once rhaegar as the champion crowns her, she'll never a be a knight again, she'll be a dead girl. robert will take offense because lyanna's identity is as his bride and even as she evades that fate she'll die a gendered death in childbirth, rhaegar's the one who dies a knight.

it's something grrm's in conversation with in both arya and sansa's storylines. arya's arc is about gender nonconformity excluding her from a life in westeros but the threat of marriage as a surrender of autonomy is not a cloying presence in her chapters the way it is in sansa's. the sequence of events in asos where she believes dontos will help her out of her arranged match only for him to deliver her to littlefinger, who is not a protector and seeks to exploit her in his own way, is deliberately meant to evoke robert - lyanna - rhaegar. i'm not comparing rhaegar to dontos/littlefinger, but sansa's belief of life being a song where true knights prevail and girls like her aren't exploited and get to be happy is what's being betrayed here. just as rhaegar was meant to represent a means of an escape for lyanna and is even somewhat synonymous with song—he was a bard prince who invokes the title of the series. rhaegar is the kind of a traditional hero in a song that sansa or lyanna would've dreamed of, that the readers would've expected to set things right, instead he fails. he's jon and dany's narrative precursor who fails and then lyanna bleeds out on a bed of roses. no alternate ending is presented to her.

and that's asoiaf's one great pre-occupation: the telling of stories and how people's individual lives are distorted to fit specific cultural myths and expectations. tyrion says "it all goes back and back to our mothers and fathers [...] we are puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before us" what he means is that individuality is subsumed by the social forces these characters are up against—it's a series about intergenerational cycles of trauma and the repetition of violence. and this sits in tension with the possibility of change through jaime's "he could write whatever he chose, henceforth. whatever he chose..."

so grrm threatens both arya and sansa with their dead aunt's fate and on a larger scale he's repeating the events of the rebellion—king's landing will go up in flames this time. it's asking how do you break free from that temporal repetition of violence and doom and i think bran offers the answer there. he didn't do anything, just thought of a story with a different ending. that's conceit here i think, that as long as you can dream of a better world there is a possibility for an alternate ending—the final installment is a dream of spring. it's why he calls all his protagonists dreamers, and why characters have a transformative dream under a weirwood (which are connected to this theme of history as one big story) the rebellion is the inciting incident and much of the story is about picking up that thread, about finishing rhaegar's work through dany and jon and it's about putting lyanna's ghost to rest—by allowing ned's daughters to live the life lyanna couldn't.

[samthegreenapologist]

i am so pro abortion it actually makes me mad when a character in a show is revealed to be pregnant & she immediately doesn't get an abortion