Swan Song | Jake Hangman Seresin |
Carole Bradshaw was pregnant when Goose died. Newly pregnant, too early to even know. The pregnancy was hard, not just emotionally but physically. The birth was even harder, but in the end Carole was left with a beautiful baby girl. She had Goose’s eyes from the start, big and brown, just like her big brother Bradley. Her smile was contagious from the very beginning and soon she was growing into a beautiful young woman.
Y/N was very close with her big brother Bradley. They were nearly inseparable. So when Bradley joined the Navy, it took everything to convince Y/N that she shouldn’t follow in his footsteps. She went to college nearby, and got her degree slowly but surely. And once it was all said and done, and Bradley had a permanent position at Miramar, Y/N joined him there.
“C’mon! Just take me for one drink!” You begged your older brother, “You never let me meet any of your friends! Even Penny said you should let me come!”
“Penny needs to mind her own business,” Bradley grumbled, throwing on one of your dad’s old Hawaiian shirts.
“No, Penny definitely needs to butt in more,” You argued, “She wants me to actually make friends here. Outside of the studio!”
“You’re the one who decided to move here,” Bradley pointed out.
“And you’re the one who keeps me virtually locked up here!”
“It’s my job to protect you. None of the people I work with are worth knowing, anyway, aside from Phoenix maybe.”
“Great, so introduce me to Phoenix!” You begged.
“One drink,” He held up one finger, eyebrows pinched tight. He wasn’t joking. You were his baby sister, it was his job to look after you and protect you from everyone and everything. Including everyone he worked with.
He wasn’t even sure if the Daggers knew he had a little sister. Phoenix and Bob knew, because they were Phoenix and Bob. But the others had no idea, and Bradley planned on keeping it that way if he could help it. He wanted you to stay as far away from military men as you possibly could
“Two,” You bargained.
“Fine, then you’re coming home.”
“You have to play me one song too,” You said firmly, “One round of Great Balls and I’ll be happy.”
“You have yourself a deal,” He sighed, “Now c’mon. Let’s go before I change my mind.”
You threw your arms up in victory and ran to go change quickly out of your leotard. Twenty minutes later, you were pulling into the parking lot of the famous Hard Deck. Another five minutes after that and you had a cocktail in your hands as you watched Brad mingle with various people in uniform. He hated wearing his uniform to the Hard Deck, he always came home to change first.
“Penny, my dear, can I get another one?” A blonde asked, “Thanks darlin!”
You rolled your eyes and took another sip. Once the blonde had his new bottle of beer he turned his attention to you, which you were hoping to avoid. You had watched him watching just about every girl in this bar. He seemed to know everyone, and know all of the girls. It made you want to be sick.
“Now who might you be, sweetheart?”
You eyed Penny, who not so casually eyed the bell by the corner of the bar top. You wanted to laugh knowing she’d ring this guy in an instant for you. All you had to do was say the word.
“Not your type,” You replied, taking another sip, “Try the leggy blonde at the other end. She’s drooling over all of you patches.”
“I don’t think I want a tag chaser,” He replied, southern draw on full display, “What’s your name?”
You huffed before setting your cocktail down on the bar in front of you and turning slightly to face the man, “They call me Swan.”
“You a pilot?” He questioned, eyebrows raised.
“No, just related to one. My uncles gave me my own callsign when I was a kid,” you weren’t sure why you were even telling him any of this. You really wanted to tell him to fuck off back to whatever backwoods hovel he came from.
But there was something about the way he was looking at you that made you want to see a little more of him. His green eyes were intoxicating, and you were certain he used that to his advantage with all of the ladies. You didn’t want to be another notch on his bedpost.
Yet, you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together as he brought the bottle to his lips. You did a quick survey of the bar to see if Brad was anywhere around, but he was engrossed in a game of pool with several other uniforms. Maybe you could have a bit of fun tonight. Just for this one time.
“What do they call you?” You asked, leaning in a little further.
“Hangman.”
Fuck. You knew that name. He worked directly with Bradley, and obviously he had no idea who you were, otherwise he wouldn’t be talking to you. If he knew he would probably be fending off the guy at the other end of the bar who wouldn’t stop eyeing you.
“Well, Hangman,” You said leaning in a little closer, “Why don’t you buy me another drink?”
He smiled slowly and waved over one of the other bar tenders, Grace you think her name was, and then there was another drink in your hand.
“So, what brings you here? Never seen you before,” Hangman asks over the music.
“My brother and I live nearby, finally convinced him to bring me along with him tonight,” You replied simply.
“Do you need your brother’s permission?” He playfully questioned.
“I think you’ll find, Hangman, that I don’t need anyone’s permission to do anything.”
“Oh? Is that so?”
You drank the rest of your cocktail and slid off of the barstool, “Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes and find out.”
And that was the first time you fucked Jake Hangman Seresin. In the bathroom of the Hard Deck, while your brother and all of his friends were just feet away. Brad never found out though. Instead he marched his way over to the piano and started playing Great Balls the second you reappeared from the bathroom. You laughed and skipped over, sliding onto the bench next to him.
Jake was a little confused, watching you cozy up to Bradley when he’d been balls deep inside of you just minutes before. He was seething when you leaned over and kissed Rooster’s cheek. He didn’t think you were one to be fast and loose with everyone. But maybe he was wrong. After all, he didn’t even know your real name.
“Who’s that with Rooster?” He asked Phoenix through gritted teeth.
“Uh, I think that’s his little sister,” She replied, “Y/N, but everyone calls her Swan.”
Fuck. Jake Hangman Seresin was fucked. Because he’d just fucked Bradshaw’s baby sister. The baby sister that he only mentioned in passing because he had a picture of her in his locker and in his plane. Jake joked one day that she had to be a hell of a girl and Rooster let it slip, as if he didn’t even realize he’d said it. Maybe he didn’t. But Jake felt like he was going to be sick.
Did you know who he was?
When the music stopped Rooster came over to the Dagger group, you following closely behind him. You had a soft smile on your face as Bradley went around the group and introduced you. But when he got to Hangman you smile turned almost innocent, so much so it made Jake hard again just looking at you. You were smiling like you didn’t have his dick in your mouth, or so deep in your pussy that you kept saying you could feel him in your stomach.
“Hangman, this is my baby sister,” Bradley grumbled, “Y/N, this is Jake. But we all call him Hangman.”
You smiled again and stuck out your hand, “Nice to meet you, you can call me Swan.”
You were both very much fucked. Because all either one of you wanted to do was grab the other and continue what you started in the bathroom. All you wanted to do was kiss him silly in front of everyone, and then drag him to his no doubt, big pickup truck, and fuck him in it. Truth be told, that’s all Jake wanted to do too.
“Nice to meet you, Swan.”
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Just Like You
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 3,470
Tags: Targaryen!Reader, Aemond’s twin, Everyone Has Issues, Criston you dirty creeper you, Violence and war, Aegon is still an idiot, the princess is batshit, pnv!sex, blood play, rough sex, age difference, power play
A/N: He’s a deeply flawed and dark individual and I wanted to play on that. Good ole hypoCriston my love. Criston art by @CheRo_Art on reddit :)
Criston watched and advised the princess while she ran through drills on a dummy, blunted tourney sword moving in quick jabs. She had already mastered archery and maneuvering in close combat. For a girl, she was just as fierce as her twin Aemond.
Although she lacked that calculative coldness that he held. The princess was hot headed and loose of tongue, quick to shoot a cutting barb. Her braided hair shone like pale beaten gold in the sun.
“Plant your feet, lest you’ll get knocked over,” he said.
She snarled and did so, hitting the dummy with a loud ‘thwack’. Criston’s lips involuntarily turned up. The princess was a good fighter and craved to be the best. Alicent or her Septa used to drag the girl from the yard howling. The queen allowed her daughter to train under him when it became apparent Aegon would rather waste away in his cups.
She’d grown from a lanky girl into a woman before Criston knew it. She was leanly muscled and leggy with sharp features. The spitting image of her twin, the princess carried long straight hair like Aemond. She twisted it into braids to keep it out of the way.
She paused to take a swig out of the wine skin, wiping sweat off of her forehead. Her purple eyes were focused on him, frighteningly intense. Nothing he wasn’t used to. Criston hummed, “What’s on your mind, princess?” Her braids swayed when she stretched in a half-circle.
“When will I get to fight you, Ser Criston?”
He laughed while her features grew pinched.
“This is not a jest ser.”
He leaned against a wooden fence, sizing the young woman up. Clanking of swords echoed in the background, Aemond himself unleashing a barrage on a knight. She held her ground, defensively crossing sinewy arms. He shrugged, “Fine then. How do you think you’ll fare against the morningstar?”
“Bring it Cole.”
He sauntered to his weapons and pulled the familiar spiked weapon out, giving it a twirl. Grabbing a shield he turned to her expectant gaze, eyes flashing with excitement. He shot, “Go on girl.” Her eyes narrowed expectantly— Criston knew every weakness by now.
They circled around each other, her on the defense. He was proud of that, emphasizing to the Princess that she needed to wait for an opening and parry them down. But that was for the average man, Criston was aware he was no average man.
He lazily whipped the morning star around, drawing closer. The Targaryen huffed in annoyance, holding herself at arm’s length. She spat, “C’mon with it!” He gave a crooked smirk in return watching her scarred knuckles whiten in anger. She was growing impatient with his lazy circles.
With a cry she launched forward with a downstroke of the sword, Criston easily blocking it and striking at her side. She parried the blow with her shield and struck again. He stated, “You will wear yourself down princess.”
“I’m tired of waiting!”
Aemond had stopped his training to watch with an amused smirk. He stood imposingly, eye flickering around their spar. She shifted the sword up, batting the morning star backward. Criston punched the shield forward to her open shoulder, sending her stumbling.
“Don’t open yourself up like that.”
She grimaced in silent rage, holding the shield in a more protective place. He parried two more jabs and swung down on her shield with a deafening crack. She held ground and stepped back to gather herself. He taunted, “Let’s go then, thought you were itching for a fight.”
She hissed and attacked again, this time landing a smart blow to his side. Criston winced and clashed the spiked ball around her sword, the chain wrapping around the iron blade. He pulled, sending the instrument flying. She cried in surprise and bashed her shield against his own, staggering the knight.
Criston sent the spike down in an arc, cracking the wood of her shield. He demanded, “Yield.” She shook her head and tried again, the wood splintering up even more. The Kingsguard repeated, “Yield before the shield breaks and your face is torn.”
She threw the broken thing down in frustration, tears welling in her dark eyes. The princess growled, “That was awful.” She paced over to the water, slugging some down. Criston watched as she pounded her fist against the unforgiving wood, face not indicating the pain she inflicted. The wild princess had a strange habit of that, said it focused her mind.
As a result, once fair skin was constantly mottled with scarring and open sores. It reminded him of Alicent’s picked raw nails, the mutilation an outlet for their roiling inner emotions. He strode over to her heaving frame, placing an arm on her shoulder.
She shrugged it off petulantly and hissed, “I don’t need your pity, Ser Criston.” He shook his head and praised the girl, “You did great. Do remember you’re sparring with a vetted member of the Kingsguard and Marcher skirmishes.”
Wine colored eyes bore into him with heat. He shoved down a memory of another’s fiery purple eyes with a bob of his throat. Clapping interrupted the stand off. Aemond approached with a smirk. He drawled, “Good fighting sister. You’ll be a force when war comes to our door.”
She grumbled, “I hope so. I’d like to not be stuck on Skysinger for every battle.”
Aemond tilted his head, “I’m sure Skysinger would enjoy seeing her rider fighting too.”
She gave a smile to her brother— more of a humorless baring of teeth. Criston noted she internally weighed herself down with duty and excelling in what would be a man’s endeavors. Filling in for Aegon’s shirking of anything worthwhile. He wondered if the serious young woman ever loosened the constant tightness in her shoulders.
She said, “I’m going to wash up now. Thank you for your guidance Ser Criston.”
He watched her stalk away, a peculiar feeling in his chest. Part of him wanted to see the princess covered in the filth of battle, bloodlust fully awakened. Cole’s waning moral side wanted to stash her in a tower and keep the princess safe. He knew better with a dragon like her. Couldn’t be put down. She craved a warrior’s life, idolizing the great Visenya like a god of old. He wouldn’t deny the Princess that. Especially with the king on his deathbed and plans stirring. He didn’t have time to dwell on silly feelings for now.
Days Later
Criston was tired. Aegon was to be crowned this morning, as was his birthright. The whore Rhaenyra could burn in seven hells for all he cared. He knew Aegon could be manageable under guidance, down deep the young man craved love and acceptance above all else. Criston would be the guidance he needed. Otto was weak.
Aemond was pissed after the escapades this morning, Erryk escaping like a coward to lick the Black’s boots. The blonde paced around the chambers, face screwed up in thought. His twin was perched on a table, legs rudely spread under her dress. She picked at her nails with a knife. Her blonde hair was combed and pulled back into intricate braids.
Criston felt she did not look right in the green samite dress— leggings and thick boots fit the younger sister more. She too looked uncomfortable, unused to the finery draped on her warrior’s build.
Aemond ranted, “How are we to make a powerful statement when he’s still drunk and weeping?”
“Should’ve let the sot run off to Essos,” the princess japed, still focused on her nails.
Aemond paused, giving his twin a withering look. He deadpanned, “The fool would die within a fortnight.” The knight chided the two, “Do not speak of your future king like that. He’s sobering up and we will all enjoy the day.” The princess sucked her teeth, rolling a bruised shoulder. The prince returned to his pacing.
He leveled the twins with a look, “Best get to the training yard soon after, there’s a war coming.”
She grinned. Aemond’s lips cruelly twisted.
Weeks later
Duskendale was in ruin. They had thoroughly routed the port town. Lord Gunthor Darklyn was beheaded. Aegon and his sister bathed the streets in dragon flame. Criston couldn’t forget the sight of her pale braids flying in the wind as she cracked her whip on Skysinger and howled, “Dracarys!”
Aegon remained on dragonback while the princess unleashed Skysinger to feast on the town while she cut down foes on foot with glee, blood painting her pale features scarlet. Even whilst giving orders and fighting, Criston could see the blood lust in her eyes.
Now they camped outside of the burning mess of the town, gathering for the march to Rook’s Rest. In the hastily drawn grand tent, the Hand looked over the map of the seat of Lord Staunton and the surrounding areas. Aegon was celebrating their win— slinging Arbor red around with a busty maid in his lap. He slurred, “My dear ‘alf sis’ser will send aid to Lord Staun-ton and we’ll take that dragon out the sky like Aem’ did to lil’ Luke!”
The princess snapped, “If you’re going to behave like a Flea Bottom lecher get out of the tent! What will your precious Sunfyre do if it’s the Blood Wyrm or the Red Queen, hm?”
Aegon blinked dumbly.
“Daemon and Rhaenys have twice the experience and their mounts are older than ours you lackwit!”
The princess hissed, jerking her shoulder at Criston, “Lord Hand we are at war and our King is lit up like Oldtown!”
Aegon of course couldn’t come up with a response, cheeks pinking in embarrassment. He murmured, “I’ll be in my own tent then, fucking bitch.” Criston sighed, rubbing his forehead, “I’ll come get you later my king, enjoy the victory. Everyone is dismissed until the morn.” Criston was glad of Aegon’s decent ability to slink away and rage elsewhere. Non-confrontational.
The princess scoffed in indignation, mouth hung open.
Criston jabbed a finger in her direction, “Not you, princess.”
The other lords and knights murmured, one japing about the princess’ balls of Valyrian steel. As the last lord filtered out, he inclined his head to the map. She stalked over, still clad in her armor and rough leather emblazoned with the golden dragon of her brother. The princess dug her bloodstained hands into the worn table.
Criston inquired, “Since you know so much, what do you suggest my princess?”
Merlot orbs peered at him, lids squinted in suspicion. She stepped closer into the Hand’s personal space, smelling of her house’s motto. Fire and Blood. The blonde declared, “They know we’re here, even my idiot brother knows that,” the knight frowned as she continued, “Ambush. Send Aemond on Vhagar, I’ll keep watch back at the Red Keep. They won’t expect that.”
She had a good idea, along the lines of what he was thinking too. The knight japed, “How surprising of you to offer up a battle to Aemond and Aegon. You make our king upset as is,” he gripped her arm roughly, “And you will stop doing that. We must remain united.”
The princess held his intense gaze, breath heaving. She was pissed at his admonishment. The girl hissed, “I wait for a greater win. Aegon can have Daemon or one of the Velaryons. I want the bitch.” Her aquiline nose almost touched Criston’s own when she said, “Maybe Aemond will be the only one to return and we shall have a better king.”
The knight twisted her arm behind her back, bending his princess roughly across the rickety table. She yowled in anger, unable to move, a whimper of pain escaping. Cole threatened in her bejeweled ear, “Speak ill on your King again and you’ll go home to the black cells without a tongue, dear girl.”
The princess wriggled against Criston’s strong hold, grunting with effort. Her toned ass rubbed against the Hand’s own breeches, causing a reaction he knew was brewing. She spat, “Let me go, you know me to be right, he’s worthless! Aemond and I were raised correctly under you!” He only used his other hand to shove her cheek into the map.
Criston swore, “You’re too keyed up to think rationally— the heat of the battle has your thinking warped. Always were a bloodthirsty, hateful one weren’t you? That’s why they couldn’t find you a suitor.”
He grinned at the helpless writhing, her cheeks a delightful red, tears at the corners of her long lashes. She weakly retorted, “Says the one who killed old Beesbury and beat a man’s head in at a damn wedding. Is that why Rhaenyra scorned you as the men do me?”
Rage filled Criston’s chest at her jab. His cock swelled with blood at the exchange of barbs— her relentless rutting to get free. The princess made another weak noise, eye’s frantically darting around. She tried again, “Let me go, Cole!”
“No. You need a lesson. Obviously I didn’t teach you to shut your godsdamned mouth when speaking to superiors. I’m disappointed, truly. Spitting such vile and unholy things.” He twisted her arm a bit further, eliciting another cry. She struggled more, the fight slowly dying.
Soon the princess grew limp under his pin, panting breathlessly. Criston hummed, “Good girl. You do have ears after all,” he loosened the pinning hand on her head to cradle that lovely pale hair. The girl whined softly, eyes clenching shut in embarrassment.
“What do you say, girl?”
A soft reply was his answer.
“M’sorry. Lord Hand.”
She was still limp under his body, lips closed up now. The princess swallowed thickly at the feeling of Criston’s heavy cock slotted between her ass cheeks. He huffed in laughter, “I don’t know why bad girls like you always get me going. You bring out the worst in me, princess.”
She seemed broken down, mewling another apology. So the Dornishman let go of her arm and allowed her some space. He felt that the fiery woman had calmed some, maybe wanted a fuck now. He sure did— maiden bless his twisted soul.
Next thing the man hit the ground with a ‘thunk’ and clanging of armor. Cole’s damn favorite princess straddled his strong hips, both hands tightly curled around his throat. She grinned, spittle flying from clenched teeth, “I don’t know why bad knights get my cunt soaked but here we are, Ser.” She tightened her grip, Criston scrabbling at the crazed Targaryen’s gauntlets.
“You’re a dirty man, Ser Criston, getting hot over the girl you’ve sworn to protect since birth.”
Using his strong core and legs the older man flipped her onto the ground. On top, he ripped her hands from his bruising throat, cock ready to bust. She wrapped long, lean legs around his waist and rasped, “Fuck me, Ser Cole, take my maidenhead. Spill my blood.”
In his eyes she had never looked so lovely. Blood stains, wild braids, manic eyes, and a wide grin. He ground against her clothed cunt and grunted, “You’ll take my cock and not shed a tear. I didn’t raise you to be a weeping maid.” Her eyes narrowed, guttural moan erupting from a pale throat. He scolded, “Should’ve known you were acting, mean little bitch.”
Their lips and teeth gnashed together in a feral manner— grunts and moans as two alphas fought for dominance. She pulled and tugged at his armor, knowing the ins and outs from a small stint of squire work. The whole time she nipped and licked into his curved lips, drawing blood. The princess moaned at the metallic taste, eyes rolling up in her head.
Criston pulled back to yank off his loosened armor. Little by little his olive skin was revealed to her purple eyes. He cursed, “Start undressing princess.” She arched her hips up for Criston to shuck down her leather leggings and pulled at her jerkin and mail. More barbs were exchanged as their covers were slung around.
The former kingsguard laid out his cloak for her body, not wanting to rut in the dirt like complete animals. She ran sharp nails teasingly through his chest hair and abs. Criston was mesmerized by her milky thighs and pert teats, milky white and tinged pink. She was lean, but statuesque and just as gorgeous as the maiden intended.
“Fuck- you’re a sight,” he murmured.
Ever impatient, the princess pulled Criston’s body flush to hers, moaning excitedly at the feeling of his hot prick against her weeping cunt.
She rubbed her small breasts against his broad chest, lashes fluttering erotically. The blonde chanted, “Fuck me ser, fuck me, make me bleed, c’mon.” She grew frantic, seizing his lips with desperate whines.
He tried to calm her frenzy by grabbing her sinewy thighs and securing them around his waist. He groaned lowly at the feeling, licking into her sloppy open-mouthed kisses. Criston promised, “I’ll split you open princess, fuck you good, gods forgive us.”
“Fuck the gods,” she spat, grabbing his slickened cock and guiding Criston to her entrance. Once again the man knew he was cunt-struck, unable to resist, thrusting brutally into her heat with a drawn-out groan of her name. He silently prayed for forgiveness at the sight of her virgin cunt split open and bloody.
“Fuck yes, don’t stop,” the princess growled, sinking her teeth into the meat of his neck. Criston snapped his hips in rapid succession, chasing a reckless high. The princess writhed and cried loud enough for the whole camp to hear. His hips stuttered when the blonde nipped his ear and breathed, “So mean, just like I always dreamed Ser. Choke me.”
He wrapped his tanned hand around her slim neck, almost encircling it, like a pretty necklace. Criston moaned, “Gods above- stop it or I’ll end this faster than we want.” He squeezed at the pumping vessels on the column of soft throat, slaps of his body meeting hers echoing in the shoddy tent. She arched up into him, gouging her nails in his tense back.
Cole’s mouth hung open, groaning on every slick pull of her pussy, all caution thrown to the wind. She rasped, “Hurts so good, so good to me, make me bleed!” She whined and squeezed her strong thighs around him, meeting Criston’s brutal rutting fully. Her face was grew red and blotchy from his grip, so the brunette pressed a little more. Dug a little deeper, moved his thick fingers to play at her button.
The princess convulsed, bloody lips gaping, eyes rolling back into her head. She couldn’t pull any air in, Criston holding his princess down and pinching her clit until her slim lips were purpling.
She sucked in breath, a wet gasp, shaking and coming apart with hoarse sobbing. She cried his name, dragging more scores of blood across the knight’s back. Wave after wave of tightening pulses and slick surrounding Criston’s prick. He couldn’t risk it regretfully.
He pulled out of her sweet, tight, perfectly ruined cunt and splattered his seed on her scarred belly. The princess’s brows were drawn together as she sniveled and gulped in dramatic wet breaths. Criston rolled to his side, tucked next to the crying thing. He pushed back her sweaty brow, tilting a sharp jaw towards him.
Criston whispered, “Why do you cry princess? I will never speak of it again if you wish.”
She shook her head, shrugging. Her loyal protector stroked and coddled the Targaryen until she seemed more lucid. They laid together, sweat cooling in the summer air. Dim noises of outside happenings echoed. Criston would have to dismiss any and all rumors tomorrow. They wouldn’t dare say anything to his face or possibly face the wroth of the mercurial twin.
“I think I felt something other than rage for once. I don’t know, Ser Cole,” she admitted in her usual raspy voice.
“You can call me Criston,” he said.
“No. You’re my knight, always will be,” she sucked over the bruised bite marks over the man’s shoulder, “I trust you. You make me feel like I’ve done something other than be the spare cunt to sell off.” His lips curled up at the blonde’s words, giving her a nip on the thin skin of her collarbone. Criston swallowed down the guilt and deep seeded satisfaction boiling in his gut.
This was war. No time for semantics. If he wanted to fuck the insane princess after a battle then who was to say no? Aegon certainly wouldn’t and he was the King. Alicent kept in the keep, out of the way. Criston sighed, “Are you sure you want to sit out the siege at Rook’s Rest?”
“Someone’s got to watch the Keep,” she intertwined her long legs with his own, “We will celebrate the victory when you get back. Bring a head on a spike for me, will you?” The Lord Hand nodded dutifully, promising to bring her a dragon skull. When Criston finally put Rhaenyra in the ground he’d marry his princess, he decided.
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