#&& harwin strong | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marthawrites · 2 days ago

Text

I am fed. I am nourished. My skin is clear. And my soul is rejuvenated. This was glorious!! Loved all the metaphors, imagery, and details you included in this story. Thank you for writing and sharing this delicious fic with us Harwin girlies! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Steel and Silk

Hi my sweetlings,

Here is the promised Harwin x Reader fic! After writing Through Storm and Silence, I reeaally needed something to lighten the mood. I love Harwin sm :'). (Possibility of subsequent parts based on reception!)

✨My Masterlist✨

WC: 5.6k

Summary: After brandishing some wounds in a heated training session, Harwin seeks out the comfort of your embrace.

Warnings: 18+, sex (p in v), oral (f!recieving), multiple orgasm, no use of y/n, smuffy goodness

Harwin Strong x Targaryen!Fem!Reader

MDNI!!!

The clash of steel tore through the training yard, breaking the stillness with a brutal rhythm that echoed against the ancient stone walls of the Red Keep. The air hung heavy, thick with the weight of unspoken tension that had drawn a small circle of knights to the dusty ring. Their gazes, cautious and uncertain, lingered on the combatants, each man unwilling to intervene yet unable to look away. The midday sun bore down with relentless heat, clinging to the air and earth as though it too braced for the storm brewing within the circle.

Harwin Strong stood at its center, his broad frame taut with restrained fury. His chest rose and fell steadily, but the tight grip of his knuckles on the hilt of his sword betrayed the simmering anger that burned just beneath the surface. Across from him, his opponent staggered to his feet, arrogance still etched into the lines of his bloodied face. A smear of red stained the corner of the knight’s mouth, but his sneer remained intact, insolent words still lingering in the air like an unwelcome shadow.

“You’ve had enough,” Harwin said, his voice low and steady, the calm before the inevitable storm. The weight of his words cut through the murmurs of the onlookers, a warning carried on the edge of his barely restrained temper. “Stand down before you make a greater fool of yourself.”

The knight wiped at his mouth with deliberate slowness, the smirk on his lips deepening with every passing moment. “Temper, temper, Strong,” he mocked, his tone dripping with false amusement. His movements were unhurried, calculated, as if testing the boundaries of Harwin’s patience. “Tell me, what inspires such fire? Most men only fight this way for someone they hold close. Family, perhaps. Someone they love.”

The insinuation struck its mark, slicing through Harwin’s restraint like a blade. His jaw clenched, the tension in his frame growing as he stood frozen, unmoving. A ripple of unease passed through the onlookers, their shifting feet betraying their discomfort, but none stepped forward to break the moment.

The knight took another step closer, emboldened by Harwin’s silence, mistaking it for hesitation. The grin on his face widened as he raised his chin. “Or perhaps,” he continued, his voice softening into a goad, “it’s something more. What drives you, Strong? What makes a man risk so much for someone who will never truly be his?”

The knight’s words landed like a spark on dry tinder, igniting Harwin’s fury in an instant. He moved without hesitation, swift and deliberate, his sword flashing in the harsh sunlight. The strike was precise, unrelenting; the knight’s blade flew from his hand, clattering uselessly to the ground. The man barely had time to register his defeat before Harwin’s fist crashed into his jaw with a sickening crack. The force of the blow sent him sprawling, dust rising in a choking cloud as he hit the ground with a thud that seemed to echo in the still air.

The knights who had been watching froze, their breaths catching as the scene unfolded. Harwin didn’t pause. He dropped to his knees, pinning the man beneath him with a force that left no room for resistance. His fists came down like hammers, each strike landing with brutal precision. The sharp, visceral sound of bone meeting flesh punctuated the knight’s groans, his earlier arrogance dissolving into pitiful whimpers. Dust and blood smeared across Harwin’s knuckles, but the fury in his eyes didn’t waver. It burned, raw and unyielding, a silent warning to anyone who dared linger too long.

“Harwin, stop!” one of the knights called, his voice edged with alarm. It took four men to seize Harwin’s arms, their combined strength barely enough to drag him away. Even as they restrained him, his chest heaved, his muscles taut with the effort of holding himself back. The tension radiating from him was palpable, a storm not yet spent.

“You’ll speak no more of her,” Harwin growled, his voice low and venomous. Each word struck the air with the weight of a promise. “Not here. Not anywhere.”

The knight groaned weakly, his head lolling to the side, his broken form a stark contrast to the bravado he had carried mere moments before. The yard fell into an uneasy silence, the onlookers shifting awkwardly as they exchanged wary glances. Harwin wrenched himself free from the hands holding him, his movements sharp and purposeful as he turned on his heel. Without sparing the knight another glance, he strode away, his shadow stretching long and dark across the sunlit dirt, leaving behind the image of a man both feared and resolute.

⚔

The whispers began before the dust in the training yard had even settled. By the time the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting its golden light across the Red Keep, the tale of Harwin Strong’s fury had reached every corner of the castle. Servants murmured in dimly lit hallways, their voices a blend of awe and speculation. Knights recounted the scene over their cups, their retellings growing more embellished with each round. Even the ladies of the court, draped in silks and jewels, leaned in close with hushed voices to trade fragments of the story like secrets too potent to be spoken aloud.

And yet, for all the exaggerations that followed, it was the truth beneath it all that lingered in your mind, the fragments that carried the weight of why it had happened.

You moved through the halls that afternoon with practiced grace, your head held high and your steps measured. The air around you felt charged, buzzing with glances and murmurs that trailed in your wake like shadows. The weight of their stares was nothing new—you had long ago learned how to steel yourself against their quiet judgments. But this felt different. Harwin’s actions had carved a story into the fabric of the day, one that would not be forgotten easily. Though the rumors stung at the edges of your composure, there was something else nestled within your chest, a warmth that refused to be ignored.

As dusk fell, the day’s oppressive heat surrendered to the cool stillness of evening. You retreated to your chambers, seeking solace in the quiet, though it brought little peace. The faint hum of the castle drifted on, the occasional clatter of footsteps and low voices a distant reminder of the world outside your door. You sat in silence, your thoughts restless, turning over the events of the day like a worry stone. The stillness of the room felt heavy, pressing against your chest.

It wasn’t until a soft knock broke the quiet that your heart stilled. The sound was hesitant, almost reverent, yet it carried a weight that settled low in your chest. For a moment, you hesitated, your hand brushing the arm of the chair as though the act of rising might anchor you more firmly in the present. Then, with slow, deliberate steps, you crossed the chamber, your bare feet ghosting across the cold stone floor.

When you opened the door, the flickering light of the torches outside cast long, uneven shadows across the threshold. Standing there, framed by the golden glow, was the figure you had expected—yet seeing him still made your breath catch.

Harwin Strong. His broad frame filled the doorway, his City Watch armor scuffed and dulled, streaked with marks of the day’s ordeal. His face was unreadable, though his dark eyes searched yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt fragile, heavy with all the words left unsaid.

“Your Highness,” he said softly, his voice low and edged with a weariness he couldn’t quite mask.

You stepped aside without a word, the flicker of your gaze enough to convey permission. He hesitated, lingering in the doorway as if weighing the impropriety of entering your chambers at such an hour. But the look you gave him—a silent command wrapped in quiet understanding—left him with no choice. He stepped inside, the sound of the door closing behind him swallowed by the stillness of the room.

“Sit,” you said gently, gesturing toward the chair by the hearth. Though your tone held no sharpness, it allowed for no argument. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” he replied, but his voice faltered as he crossed the room. Lowering himself into the chair, his movements betrayed him—stiff and deliberate, a faint wince flickering across his face as the bruises beneath his armor made themselves known.

Without hesitation, you knelt beside him, your hands moving to the straps of his armor. The cold metal was unyielding beneath your fingertips, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from him. He tensed at first, his shoulders tightening as though bracing himself, but as you worked, his breath eased, and the tension began to melt from his frame.

“You’ve been the subject of much talk today,” you murmured, your voice low and measured, your focus never leaving the clasps beneath your fingers. One by one, they loosened under your careful touch. “The Red Keep is alive with whispers about the training yard.”

His jaw tightened at your words, the shadow of something unspoken flickering in his eyes. He turned his gaze away, letting it settle on the darkened hearth, now faintly glowing with renewed embers. “I regret nothing,” he said after a pause, the resoluteness in his tone firm yet quiet, like steel forged in fire.

“I’m not here to demand your regrets, Harwin,” you replied, your voice steady though a trace of softness lingered at its edges. You slid the breastplate free, the weight of it pressing briefly against your palms before you set it aside with care. “But you must understand how this looks. A knight of the City Watch, losing control, laying a man low with his fists. It’s not a story they’ll forget.”

“I know,” he admitted, the tension in his voice softening into something quieter, more vulnerable. “And yet… if I had to do it again, I would.” His eyes flicked to yours, dark and unyielding. “He spoke of you as though your name were his to wield. As though your honor was a thing to be mocked.” His jaw tightened, and his voice dropped to a near whisper. “I could not stand it.”

His words struck you like a sudden wind, stealing the air from your lungs. The raw honesty in his tone caught you off guard, and for a fleeting moment, you faltered. But you masked it quickly, your hands resuming their work as you moved to undo the vambraces strapped to his forearms. Beneath the polished steel, his skin bore the marks of the day—a collection of fresh bruises and a shallow gash along his arm that gleamed faintly in the firelight.

The sight made your chest ache, a pang of something sharp and unnameable lodging itself beneath your ribs. “Reckless,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him, the word carrying both reproach and quiet affection. Rising, you crossed to the small table near the hearth, pouring water into a basin with practiced ease. The cool splash of it was the only sound in the room as you retrieved a clean cloth and returned to his side.

Kneeling once more, you dipped the cloth into the water and pressed it gently against the wound. His sharp intake of breath was the only sign of discomfort he allowed, and as you worked, your touch firm but careful, you felt his gaze on you—steady, unwavering.

“They don’t understand,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet. There was no bitterness in his tone, only quiet conviction. “What it means to protect something worth more than your own life.”

The weight of his words settled over you, silencing any reply that might have formed. You kept your focus on the task at hand, the cloth brushing over his skin in slow, deliberate strokes, but your heart beat faster beneath his unrelenting gaze. The warmth of the firelight seemed to intensify, cocooning the two of you in a fragile moment suspended from the world outside.

The cloth in your hand hovered above his skin, forgotten in the tension that thickened the air. Slowly, you exhaled, finding your voice once more, soft but firm. “You are brave, Harwin,” you murmured, “but bravery and wisdom are not the same. What good is your protection if you destroy yourself in the process?”

His eyes searched yours, unabated, his jaw tight. “And what would you have me do, Princess?” he asked, his voice low and laced with frustration. “Stand by while they speak of you that way? Pretend I don’t hear it? Pretend it doesn’t tear me apart?”

His words hit you with the force of a wave, and you faltered, the breath you’d drawn catching in your chest. For a moment, the room was silent but for the faint crackle of the fire. At last, you shook your head, a soft sigh escaping as your hand resumed its careful work. “No, Harwin,” you said, your voice trembling just slightly. “But you must remember—your life is not so easily dismissed. Not to me.”

His shoulders eased slightly, the hardness in his expression giving way to something gentler, something unspoken. He watched you with an intensity that made your fingers feel clumsy as you worked, and the weight of his gaze sent a warmth rising to your cheeks. The air between you felt fragile now, the earlier tension softening into something tender, something that seemed to close the space between you with every passing second.

As you shifted to reach for the basin again, his hand moved. The warmth of his palm closed around your wrist, halting you. “Enough,” he murmured, though his voice carried no edge, only quiet insistence.

Before you could respond, he tugged gently, the motion steady but unyielding. You stumbled forward, your balance catching as he guided you into his lap with ease. A soft laugh escaped you, startled and unbidden, as you found yourself straddled across his lap.

“Harwin!” you exclaimed, the word more breathless than scolding. Your laughter softened as his arms wrapped around you, steady and sure, holding you close against him.

The corner of his mouth curved into a faint grin, the earlier shadows in his expression lifting. “You were fussing too much,” he said lightly, though there was a warmth in his voice that sent your heart fluttering. “I thought this might quiet you.”

“Oh, so you think this is better?” you retorted, though the mirth in your tone betrayed any attempt at reproach. Your hands rested lightly on his shoulders, and the solid warmth of him beneath your palms only deepened the blush rising to your cheeks.

“I do,” he replied simply, his grin softening into something sweeter, his gaze dipping to yours.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his hand shifted, settling at the small of your back. The gentle pressure sent a shiver up your spine, and the playful tension between you melted into something quieter, something far more intimate. The firelight flickered against the stone walls, casting the two of you in its soft glow, but all you could focus on was the steady warmth of him, the way his thumb brushed absentmindedly along your side, the weight of his gaze fixed entirely on you.

“Harwin…” you said again, his name falling from your lips softer this time, the sound of it barely audible over the crackling fire.

“Yes?” he murmured, leaning closer, his breath warm against your skin.

You allowed yourself to relax, the tension in your shoulders melting away as his hand came to rest at the small of your back. His fingers moved absentmindedly, tracing slow, soothing patterns that sent warmth curling low in your stomach. “You’re lucky I don’t scold you more,” you murmured, your voice light, though the weight of your concern lingered in your tone. “Throwing yourself into fights as if you’re made of stone.”

Harwin let out a soft chuckle, the sound deep and resonant, rumbling through his chest beneath your cheek. “And yet, here you are, tending to me every time,” he replied, the hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “Perhaps I’ve grown fond of your care.”

You pulled back slightly, shifting so you could look up at him, your hands braced lightly against his chest. The firelight cast golden shadows across his face, softening the sharp angles of his jaw and catching the warmth in his dark eyes. “You’re not invincible, you know,” you said, your voice quiet but firm, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Even the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms can break.”

His grin widened at that, spreading slowly across his face, the kind of smile that made your heart stutter. “So you admit I’m the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms,” he teased, though his tone carried a gentleness that softened the jest.

You rolled your eyes, though your smile lingered. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m practical,” he countered easily, leaning back slightly, though his hands didn’t loosen their steady hold on you. “If I’m to be scolded, I might as well be comfortable.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, soft and unguarded. The sound seemed to catch even him by surprise, his gaze softening further as his thumb brushed along the curve of your arm. The space between you felt impossibly close now, the air warm and heavy with something unspoken.

“You know they’re still talking,” you said after a moment, your voice quieter, almost hesitant. “About the fight. About you.”

“They can talk,” he said simply, his tone calm and unbothered, but there was an edge of steel in his words. “I’d do it again. A thousand times, if I had to.”

The unshakable truth in his words struck you, made your chest tighten with something too complex to name. Your hands shifted against his chest, your fingers toying idly with the fabric of his tunic. “You shouldn’t have to,” you murmured, your voice barely audible above the crackle of the fire.

His hand moved to yours, his palm steady and warm as his fingers curled around yours. “But I will,” he said, his voice low, filled with quiet conviction. “Because you’re worth every blow, every scar, and every rumor.”

The raw sincerity in his voice made your breath catch, and your heart rate increased as he locked eyes with you. You couldn’t tear yourself away from his gaze, feeling a change between the two of you. Without thinking, you shifted your body, aware of the warmth emanating from him through his trousers and the thin material of your nightgown.

Harwin stilled for a moment, his hands steadying at your waist, his fingers flexing slightly against the fabric of your gown. His gaze flicked down briefly before meeting yours again, darker now, the tension between you thick and electric. “Princess,” he murmured, his voice softer, lower, his grip tightening just slightly as though to keep you there.

Your hands rested against his shoulders, your fingertips grazing the strong curve of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his tunic. “Yes?” you replied, your voice soft but laced with a teasing edge, the smallest smile tugging at your lips as you leaned closer.

His lips curved, his grin both tender and filled with a quiet challenge. “You’ll be the ruin of me,” he said, his tone low and almost reverent.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with promise and unspoken desire. Your breath caught in your throat as you gazed into Harwin's eyes, seeing the intensity there, the raw emotion barely contained. Your fingers curled against his shoulders, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath your touch.

"Perhaps," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, "but what a sweet ruin it would be."

Something shifted in Harwin's expression then, a dam breaking. In one fluid motion, his hand moved to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer. His lips met yours with a hunger that stole your breath away, passionate and demanding. You melted into the kiss, your body pressing against his as your arms wound around his neck.

The kiss deepened, igniting a fire that coursed through your veins. Harwin's large arms encircled you, pulling you flush against his chest as his lips moved against yours with increasing urgency. You responded in kind, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently as a soft moan escaped you.

The world beyond this moment ceased to exist. There was only the heat of Harwin's body against yours, the taste of him on your lips, the intoxicating scent of leather and sweat that clung to his skin. Your hips rocked instinctively, drawing a low groan from deep in his throat.

"We shouldn't," Harwin murmured against your lips, even as his hands roamed your back, tracing the curve of your spine.

"No," you agreed breathlessly, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. "We shouldn't.”

Your eyes locked with Harwin's, both of you breathing heavily. The firelight danced across his features, highlighting the conflict warring in his dark eyes - desire battling with duty.

"We shouldn't," you repeated softly, your fingers tracing along his jaw. "And yet..."

Your words trailed off as Harwin surged forward, capturing your lips once more in a searing kiss. Any remaining hesitation melted away as you surrendered to the passion building between you. His hands roamed your body with newfound urgency, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

You shifted in his lap, pressing closer as a soft moan escaped your throat. Harwin's grip on your waist tightened in response, his fingers digging into the fabric of your gown. With a low growl, he stood suddenly, lifting you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. He placed you softly on your bed, and you watched as he removed his lingering undergarments from a day spent under armor.

As you lay back on the bed, Harwin's eyes raked over you with undisguised hunger. His hands moved to the laces of your gown, fingers working deftly to loosen them. With each inch of skin revealed, his breath grew heavier, his touch more urgent. You arched into his caress, helping him peel away the layers of silk and linen until you lay bare before him.

Harwin paused, drinking in the sight of you. His calloused palm skimmed along your side, igniting sparks wherever he touched. "You're beautiful," he murmured, voice rough with desire.

Harwin's lips trailed down your neck, kissing a blazing path along your collarbone. His calloused hands caressed your sides, drawing soft gasps from your lips as he explored your body with reverent touches. You pressed yourself closer to him, yearning for the heat of his body to seep into yours.

"Harwin," you breathed, fingers tangling in his dark hair as his mouth moved lower. He looked up at you, eyes dark with desire, before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. The anticipation built as his breath ghosted over your center.

As his soft lips pressed against your most sensitive area, you couldn't help but stifle a cry of pleasure. His tongue moved with fervent passion, eliciting breathy moans from your throat that echoed throughout the room. Your hips eagerly rocked against his face as the pleasure built, each wave crashing harder than the last and sending shivers down your spine.

Harwin's skilled hands and mouth worked in perfect harmony, savoring every taste and driving you to the brink of ecstasy. You clutched at his hair, pulling him closer and gasping for air as the tension within you coiled tighter and tighter. In this moment, nothing else in the world mattered except for the exquisite sensations he was drawing from your body.

You pleaded, your body writhing in pleasure on the bed as you approached the brink, "Harwin, please." He responded by intensifying his actions, one hand gripping your hip to hold you steady while the other skillfully worked to push you over the edge into pure bliss.

As release finally crashed over you, it was with Harwin's name on your lips. Your body trembled and shook as he continued his attentions, drawing out your climax until you were trembling and oversensitive. Every nerve ending was alive, every touch amplified into pure ecstasy.

As you came down from the high, Harwin moved back up your body, pressing tender kisses along your skin. His mouth trailed fire as he made his way up your thighs, hips, stomach, and chest. When he reached your lips, they tasted of him and of yourself, igniting a new wave of desire within you. Your hands roamed over the planes of his muscled back, feeling the strength coiled beneath his smooth skin.

"I need you," you whispered against his lips, your voice laced with want. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, smell the musk and sweat that only added to the intensity of your desire.

Harwin groaned softly, his hips pressing against yours in response. "Are you certain?" His dark eyes searched yours, even in this moment of passion giving you a chance to change your mind. But there was no hesitation in your heart or your body.

In response to his question, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you. "I've never been more certain of anything," you breathed against his lips, knowing that this was where you belonged - in his arms, in this moment of pure bliss.

With a low groan, Harwin slowly pushed into you, both of you gasping at the exquisite sensation. He paused, giving you time to adjust, his forehead resting against yours as he struggled for control. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the restraint it took not to move.

"Harwin," you breathed, rocking your hips slightly. "Please..."

As Harwin's strong, calloused hands gripped your hips, you gasped and wrapped your legs tightly around his waist. With practiced precision, he moved inside of you, each thrust igniting a fire within your body. Your fingers tangled in his thick hair as he kissed you hungrily, his need evident in the way he devoured your lips.

Your body responded eagerly to his movements, arching against him and urging him on. The room was filled with the sounds of your lovemaking - the wet slap of skin against skin, your breathy moans, and Harwin's gruff groans of pleasure. His muscles tensed beneath your fingertips as he buried himself deep inside of you, sending waves of ecstasy coursing through your body.

In that moment, nothing else existed but the two of you, lost in a world of pleasure and desire. And as you clung to each other, consumed by the intensity of your passion, it was clear that there was no one else who could make you feel this alive.

"Gods, you feel incredible," Harwin groaned against your neck, his voice rough with desire. His lips trailed a path of fire along your jawline, adding to the overwhelming sensations you were feeling.

Lost in the ecstasy of the moment, all you could do was whimper in response. The tension continued to build rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter until it felt almost unbearable. Sensing how close you were, Harwin's movements became more focused and intense. One of his hands slipped between your bodies, his fingers deftly finding that sensitive bundle of nerves that sent you over the edge into pure pleasure.

Your body curved instinctively, a graceful response as waves of pure bliss cascaded through you, Harwin's name escaping your lips in a breathless cry. The intensity of your release triggered his own, and with a low groan, he buried his face in the crook of your neck as he found his climax. For several long moments, you clung to each other, bodies trembling with the shared passion that pulsed between you.

As your breathing began to steady, Harwin shifted to lay beside you, the comforting warmth of his body close but no longer pressing down. Propped on one elbow, he gazed at you, his dark eyes brimming with a tenderness that sent your heart fluttering. You turned your head to meet his loving gaze, his presence grounding you in the moment.

Gently, he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His calloused fingers lingered against your cheek, their warmth seeping into your flushed skin.

"My princess," he murmured, his voice low and thick with emotion. "My heart is yours, now and always."

Your lips curved into a soft smile as a wave of deep contentment washed over you. Lying there, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of Harwin's affection, you felt a profound sense of safety and love, a certainty that you were cherished beyond measure.

A soft sigh escaped you as your fingers traced slow, idle patterns across his broad chest, savoring the solid feel of him beside you. "And mine to you," you whispered, your voice laced with tender affection. "Always."

Harwin’s lips twitched into a gentle smile, his eyes softening further as they held yours. Slowly, he leaned in, pressing a reverent kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek, before finally capturing your lips in a kiss so achingly sweet it left you breathless. When he pulled back, the look in his eyes—so full of adoration—stole the air from your lungs all over again.

"I would move mountains for you," Harwin murmured, his voice low and fervent as he lay on his side, facing you. His gaze was steady, filled with an intensity that made your breath catch. "I would fight armies, slay dragons, challenge the gods themselves if it meant keeping you safe and by my side."

“Please do not slay my dragons, Harwin.”

Your soft, melodic laughter filled the quiet room, and you turned your head on the pillow to meet his playful grin. His chuckle followed, a deep, rich sound that rumbled softly between you. "Very well," he said with a teasing glint in his eyes. "I shall leave your dragons be. But the rest still stands."

Your gaze softened as you looked at him, your hand resting lightly against your stomach. "My brave knight," you murmured, your voice tender. "I need no grand gestures or heroic deeds. Just you, here with me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted."

Harwin shifted closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a delicate reverence. "And you shall have me," he promised, his voice low and earnest. "For as long as you’ll have me, I am yours."

A quiet peace settled between you, though it carried the faintest edge of sadness, as Harwin rose and began the methodical task of donning his armor once more.

The soft clink of metal filled the air as Harwin fastened the last pieces of his armor. You watched him from the bed, the sheets pulled loosely around you, a bittersweet ache settling in your chest. As he reached for his yellow cloak, you rose, wrapping yourself in a light robe before crossing the room to him.

"Let me," you said softly, taking the cloak from his hands. With careful movements, you draped it over his shoulders, smoothing the fabric across his broad back. Your fingers lingered on the clasp at his throat, reluctant to complete the final step that would transform him back into Ser Harwin Strong of the City Watch.

Harwin's hand came up to cover yours, his touch warm and comforting. "Dawn will come too soon," he murmured, his voice low and tinged with wistfulness.

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. "It always does," you replied softly, your fingers tracing the edge of the honey-hued cloak. The fabric was cool beneath your touch, a stark contrast to the lingering warmth of Harwin's skin.

For a moment, you both stood in silence, the air heavy with unspoken words and shared longing. Then, with a gentle sigh, you fastened the clasp at his throat, completing his transformation. The golden cloak seemed to glow in the dim light of your chambers, a symbol of the duty that would always stand between you.

Harwin's hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch impossibly tender. "My heart remains here," he murmured, his dark eyes searching yours. "Even when duty calls me away."

You leaned into his touch, savoring these final moments. "And mine with you.”

Your eyes met his, a silent understanding passing between you. "Go," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Before the castle wakes."

Harwin nodded, his jaw tightening as he steeled himself. He leaned in, pressing a final, lingering kiss to your forehead. "Until next time, my princess," he murmured against your skin.

Then, with a swirl of his yellow cloak, he was gone. The door closed behind him with a soft, measured click, leaving your chambers quiet once more. For a moment, you stood where he’d left you, your fingers brushing the place where his lips had lingered, the memory of his touch still warm against your skin. The silence around you wasn’t empty—it thrummed with the weight of what had passed between you, a fragile, fleeting gift stolen from the demands of the world beyond these walls.

You exhaled slowly, your gaze lingering on the door he’d vanished through. Duty would always call him away, that much you both knew. Yet tonight, in those stolen hours, the weight of that truth had felt lighter, bearable even. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you turned back to the hearth, his warmth still clinging to your skin like the faint glow of embers. For now, it was enough.

#other peoples writing #harwin strong #THE GOOD GOOD STUFF #<3 #i am positively frothing at the mouth AND blushing

129 notes · View notes

hauntedfictionland · 3 months ago

Text

❝His dear princess❞

☾︎✰❛❀ Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem! Reader!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Jacaerys did not want you, or the vow he was bound to for life. Yet when he makes a big mistake, and potentially loses you for good. He realises just how much you meant to him.

𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Bastardphobia, mentions of death and grief, kissing, marrage of convenience and grumpy X sunshine trope, Jace is down bad, flirty!reader, guilt and anxiety and happy ending;)

🪐𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: This is one of my first house of the dragon fics ever, so I truly hope it's not too bad. Jacaerys is one of my favourite characters in hotd after Alicent so I really wanted to get his characteristics and behaviour right. Also, I didn't like the way they showed his grief after Luke died, as if he just moved on after two or three days. But overall, I enjoyed writing this:)

Jacaerys was infuriated with you.

You—his betrothed, acted like you owned the castle as soon as you strutted in. Speaking with no formality and a sharpness in your tongue that only infuriated him further. And especially when you did not seem to care for his heritage, who he was. The heir to the iron throne. Yet you acted as if he didn't exist to you. As if he meant nothing to you.

A marriage pact with the martells was only one of convenience. You, a princess of dorne, he, the firstborn son of queen Rhaenyra. Yet, they were stuck in dragonstone, and needed support to match the strength of the green armies. His mother needed this arrangement more than the martells did, and you made that very clear by acting carelessly and so freely, like you were in your own home. By taunting him, sitting at the great council table with your legs on them, a coin in your fingertips and a smirk in your lips. He hated it, he hated especially how good you looked.

He hated being betrothed to you already.

Rhaenyra had told him martells were rather, open and modern people. They took part in adultery even after being married, especially with the consent of their own partner. He did not know how anyone could be okay with such acts. He did not know what to expect when he met you, but it certainly wasn't how you commented on his face, calling him one of a beauty. It was inappropriate, calling a prince by such bold remarks on the first meeting, yet you did not seem to care.

But what edged him to his limit was the day you called him a bastard.

Jacaerys had been worried, he couldn't find you anywhere. Not that he cared, he was just stressed you would create another ruckus. He looked around everywhere, the garden, the great council, the dining hall, your room, even his room, but you were nowhere to be found. His chest tightened, a restlessness growing in his stomach. It seemed he always felt that way without being with you for too long. Not because he missed you—of course, but because he wanted to ensure everything was going smoothly.

He was going around circles, head spinning with a feeling that made him uncomfortable. Where were you? did you flee the castle? or were so bored of him you went to the city to a brothel in search of another man to keep you company. Anger and jealousy filled in his chest at the mere thought of that.

Jacaerys did not seem where he was going, many thoughts inside his head, before he harshly opened a door to the library. And to his surprise, there you were, a book in your hand. ‘Adventures of Aegon the conqueror’, he could read the name of the book by how you were holding it. He felt he could breathe again. By the loud sound of the door opening your head flitted towards him. Your usual smirk growing up your lips. Something that made his heart flutter in a way he didn't want it to. He clenched his jaw, holding his fists in a tight ball.

“Where have you been?” he asks, desperate tone in his voice.

“Ah, Prince Jacaerys.” you smile, closing the book and turning your attention towards him. He hated how your eye lashes fluttered, your hair falling down in just the perfect way. “I've been gaining some Targaryen knowledge, as you can see. Since we are to be married, I thought I should know my husband's family. Don't you think?”

Husband.

That word rose heat to his cheeks, quickly clearing his throat.

“I'm not your husband.” he spoke, in a tone harsher than he intended, “At least not yet anyway.”

You smile wider, making his heart race. He was always a bit stubborn, and uptight. Yet you were always so carefree and light, always so kind with his demise. He didn't know what to make of it all. A curious look grazed upon your face, eyebrows furrowing. You sat up, walking onwards another shelf of books, lips pursued. Before looking at him.

“I have always wondered, hmm,” you say, your finger coming up to your lips, “do tell me prince Jacaerys, is it true that you were born out of wedlock?”

His eyes widened, “What did you say to me?”

You either did not notice the offend and defensiveness in his tone, or simply pretend not to. Turning to look at him, “I mean, all Targaryen children have white hair. Do they not? Even if they did not, none of your formal parents have black, dark hair like yours.”

His breath hitches, all of the insecurities he had contained in a jar of fireflies fled out the second you brought out his hair. A wall rising inside him. You were acting as if you just did not ask the most dangerous question ever. As if it did not matter to you.

“How dare you insinuate such filthy claims?!” his voice rises, almost shouting. Your eyes flicker surprise for a moment, before turning back to the usual stoic look.

“Ah, you are offended.” you state, as if he shouldn't be, “I meant no harm, my prince. I have no problem with you being a bastard. In fact, it only makes you more interesting. The thing I don't like is your distaste for the truth. One should own up to who they are.”

Bastard.

You, called him a bastard. He isn't able to speak for a moment, too tongue—tied. You....think of him this way too? you? he can't hear as you speak further, a ringing in his head. It only intensifies. Only when you start talking about dorne is when he snaps back from his haze.

“And I have thousands of brothers and sisters back in dorne, no one cares ther—”

“I don't care, what you dornish do back there, but here you don't speak to me with filths of a claim.” he grits, his voice cold, “I am the queen's son. And if I hear you say one word about that again, I will see you hanged.” his words held so much malice in them, one would believe it to be true.

Of course, he could never actually do that, the blacks needed martells armies more than ever. His mother couldn't afford them raging war at her and joining the green's side. And, he could never harm you either. It was just a baseless threat, one he said out of anger and insecurity. He immediately regretted it when he saw the look on your face; hurt. But even worse, fear. Before he could even begin to take them back, it was too late. Your spot, where you stood, was already empty.

You had seen him less and less after that. Of course, you were your usual self. Taunting and teasing him, but something was off. Something distant. He hated it. He hated how much he missed it. Your remarks, your witty replies, your cockiness. He wanted it back. He wanted you back.

Next time he sees you, it's in a completely unexpected place. Dragon—pit. He was about to ride on Vermax to patrol the skies, when he stops. There you were, sat on the hard rock, legs swinging at the edge of it and his dragon's head in your hands. You..you were feeding him. “What the hell do you think you're doing?!” he shouts, eye wide.

You turn your head to him, a smirk on your lips grows. You enjoyed the fact he was on his nerves, furious.

“What does it look like? I'm feeding this cute little angel right here.” you coo, talking to his dragon in a baby voice. Vermax was known for her temper, yet with you it magically dis—appears? a little bit inside him was flustered, heart beating faster than ever that you and his dragon, a very important part of his life, bonded flawlessly. But he shrugs it off, he has to. Flushing over you isn't his duty.

Protecting you is.

As much as he would like to deny it, you're his now. Lawfully so. And he wouldn't let anything happen to you. Especially Vermax. He wouldn't know how to live with himself if his own dragon were to be the cause of, of.. your demise. His throat burns, even the mere thought of harm coming to you feels as if he's being drowned to death. After Luke, he cannot lose anyone. Jacaerys cannot lose you. Even if that was the first thing he tried to do after meeting you. You were the most part of his frustrations yet the only thought when he's in his bed at night.

“Have you lost your mind?” he asks, his voice harsh, as if you were his child and he was scolding you for doing something childish.

“Have you had no fear? you could have died what were you even thinking?!” you falter for a moment, upon seeing the trembling of his hands and the tightness in his voice.

“Jacaerys—”

“No!” he interrupts you, “You, you could have been...do you even realise..”

Your eyes widened as he struggled to even breath, huffing for air anxiously. You quickly get up, walking towards him. He's so much inside his head that he doesn't notice your hands coming up his face, slinging through his dark curly hair. An act that slowed and claimed his beating heart down. Your soft palms make contact with both his cheeks, a peaceful shush in your voice and he finally breathes. Properly. He sighed, eyes closing as his hands came up to hold yours.

This, you, him? this felt oddly peaceful. This felt like home. Vermax watches the whole interaction with a quiet huff, turning away back to the pits. You nudge closer towards him, resting your forehead against his. Love. This felt like love. “Promise me” he starts out, his voice low and timid, “promise you will never do that again.” Instead of putting on a fight like you usually do, you nod, gently caressing his cheek. His head leaned further into your touch, putty in your hands.

“I promise.”

That, gives him great relief. “Good.”

Time seems to slow down, Jacaerys could count every freckle on your nose to cheeks, every small cut in between your knuckles or lips, every curve of smile you put on. And all the scents coming from your body that drove him crazy. You notice his lips still trembling, and above your judgement, you decide to kiss it better. He inhales a sharp breath as your lips touch his, but makes no movement to push you away. It's gentle, barely brushing against his. Jacaerys realised how they fit perfectly amidst his, and how much he was craving it all these months until he finally tasted them.

You slowly pull away, hesitantly. His eyes are still closed. Hands crawling up your waist. He speaks again, a whisper almost.

“I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

He's talking about the library, and you smiled softly, shaking your head.

“It's okay. You can't get rid of me that easily, Jace. Should have known that when you got betrothed to a dornish princess.”

You had already forgiven him. But he didn't want you to. He didn't want to be at your mercy this easily, not when he wasn't able to forgive himself. You, you had crept your way into his heart when he didn't want you to, and now he never wanted to let you go. It was all your fault.

“No I...” he shakes his head, “I never should have said that. Not only because it was so wrong but also because it was completely untrue.” Jacaerys swallows his breath, every bit of him wanted to turn away and never look back, but he couldn't do that. “I have been called names, about my heritage. Ever since I was a child. About my parenting and what not. And it's very...when anyone talks about it, it's like a bandage ripping off a new and fresh wound. No matter how many years pass by, it's still like that for me.”

You nod your head slowly, in understanding. This was raw. He had finally told you one of his darkest parts, his worst fears, and you hadn't run away.

“I understand. I should have never said that. I did not know it was like this for you.” He feels relief in your words.

But there was still something he needed to let out.

“But I...” he didn't know how hard this was for him until he started to actually say it, “I really could never mean it. What I said. Even if you have committed the worst treason or crime, even if you had taken my heart and carved it out, I still wouldn't be able to do one thing that might be even close to harming you. Believe me I have tried. And I have failed.”

He looks away from you, cheeks closing red. Jacaerys had just poured his heart out and gave it to you. But the chances of you, and feeling the same? were very dim. He sees stars when he sees you, what do you see? just him? or even worse? a filth in the name of a true born prince. A gasp leaves his lips as your fingers trace the outlines of his jaw, trailing down to his neck to his chest. You stopped at the red and black three dragons symbol made on the polish cloth he wore.

“Why do you think I agreed to this marriage? not because of this.” you point to the very symbol engraved on his chest, of the house targaryen, “If it was just for this, I certainly would have never.”

He turns his head back to you, confusion in his face. He also feels a bit of guilt in him. At first, he only agreed to this pact because his mother had no choice. Because of your house. Nothing else. And you're saying that his house didn't even matter to you when you agreed to this betrothal? then why? you did not even know what he looked like, and you simply agreed?

“Why then?”

That's the question that's now left in him. Why, if his house and title didn't matter?

“Well,” your lips curl up, a glint in your eyes, as a blush arose your cheeks, “From years I had heard stories of Targaryen princes. How arrogant and unkind they were, your cousins, Aegon and Aemond, well I certainly didn't hear anything good about them. And then you came. The velaryon prince, the son of the realm's delight, born with a kind heart and a fierceness to protect. I knew I had to marry someday, but I only agreed to marry you because I knew—you wouldn't mistreat me. Because I fell in love with the stories of the dark haired prince who had the most beautiful brown eyes ever, who protected his brother when he was a child himself, who stole my heart before he even claimed it.”

Jacaerys doesn't know what to say, his throat falls dry. It doesn't feel real, when he's wanted something so dearly and someone just gives it to him freely; it does not feel real. You do not feel real. But you are. He knows you are when your hands tug at his collar, his face close to you as you pull him towards you and your breath fanning on his cheeks. He knows this is real, and it's better than any dream he's ever had.

“I do not want our marriage to be an unhappy one.”

You say, a plea in your voice.

He smiles, wide. And he doesn't even have to make an effort this time, “For me, the words unhappy and you? well they don't go in the same sentence.”

That seals it for you, he can see that. As you kiss his words, an unspoken understanding and passion in it. Jacaerys realises he could get used to this. Kisses, hugs, reading each other books, waking by the warmth of your body besides his; in fact, there's no one else he'd rather do it by. And nothing he would want more.

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑚:) 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛! 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒.

3K notes · View notes