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50shadesofrossi · 2 years

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Ruining You

Ser Harwin Strong x Female Reader

Summary: You’re Viserys’ eldest daughter, the blood of the dragon running thick. You have a temper, and it seems Harwin is the only one brave enough to tame it despite your mutual loathing

Warnings: Smut, angst, fluff, swearing and depictions of violence

A/N: Holy shit. This was originally 13k words but in the last thousand the plot went a bit haywire and the writing was bleh so I deleted that and just fixed a few things to make it where it is now. I sincerely apologise if this isn’t what you thought when I originally posted the idea, it did kind of run away on me but at the same time, I lowkey love it. Enjoy, this 12k fic :)

Rage boils deep within your veins, the bubbles extremely close to spilling over. Your father always said you and your sister Rhaenyra share the blood of the dragon, especially the hot temperament, though he underestimated just how ferocious you can get, even as a child.

You feel every emotion with such a raw intensity that sometimes you don't know what to do, or how to deal with it and it explodes, consuming you whole and turning you into someone entirely different. Your alter ego, as your uncle Daemon calls it.

Much like now, wildfire blazing within your eyes, steam simmering out of your ears and blood spilling into your mouth from grinding your teeth so hard. It takes every ounce of strength to not erupt, destroy anything in your path and embarrass your father further.

"Are you even listening to me?!" Viserys yells from the throne, his voice echoing down the great hall for all to hear.

No, you're not listening to him, too busy trying to direct your anger elsewhere, direct it at someone else. Pain flares up your arms, wrapping around like a snake as your nails dig into your palms.

Viserys calls your name and almost stumbles back in response to your attention flickering up to him. "Is that all, your grace?" You grit.

The small group of occupants cease breathing. Viserys sighs exasperatedly, gesturing for your dismissal. Without hesitation you spin on your heel, marching your way out of the hall and toward the fastest exit out of the Keep, away from prying eyes.

Servants, lords and ladies all evacuate the premises, steering clear of your path of destruction as you make your way toward the back of the gardens, your secret area you call it. Your dress swishes around your ankles, your heeled boots clipping the ground.

You barely make it in time, rounding the large tree and searching for your hidden blade. The steel glints under the sunlight, ringing as it slashes through the air and makes contact with the already-exposed bark. Bits fly everywhere with each swing, your bottled-up rage slowly leaking out.

You don't hear the person approach, nor do you feel the eyes watching you intently, silent and observing. To say the knight is used to your outbursts is an understatement. You never fail to remind him of who you're descendant from, the unyielding anger and raw emotions of a Targaryen.

A dragon.

"Fuck!" You scream angrily, tears pricking the corner of your eyes and your knees buckling. You hit the earth harshly, staining your dress, not that you care at this moment.

The sword falls from your grip, landing amongst the dirt.

"I half expected you to climb atop your dragon and burn King's Landing to the ground," the knight muses from behind you, making himself known and slowly approaching you like a rabid animal.

You squeeze your eyes shut, wishing him away and hoping to awaken from this horrible nightmare. You hear the debris snap under his weight with each step closer, reigniting your hatred.

With precision, despite the dress, you come to your feet and whirl around, your hand having grasped your blade in the process. "And you best believe I'd burn you first, you fucking snitch." You seethe, pointing the end toward him.

"Princess-" he starts, daring to place his foot down and inch himself closer.

"Unless you want to be choking on your blood Ser Harwin," you address him. "I'd stand down and leave me be."

Harwin swallows thickly, an inkling of fear rolling down his spine. "It wasn't me," he starts off carefully, deciding to keep his distance. "I never told anyone, certainly not your father or mine. But to be truthful, I'm glad someone else did."

"Liar," you approach him with purpose, resting the point of the blade on his knitted tunic. "You have the most to gain by staying on his good side, being rewarded with his favour; Commander of the Gold Cloaks." He holds your eye, his fingers twitching. "My uncle is bound to screw up eventually and when that happens, you'll slide right into his position. All you heirs are the same."

"Princess," he tries again.

"Breakbones."

His jaw flexes. You've struck a nerve, a nerve you love to hit. "Don't," he warns.

"Go guard your honourable princess, and leave me alone. I'm in no tolerable mood." You indicate your younger sister, Rhaenyra.

Harwin breathes steadily through his nose, ignoring the fact that you're trying to get under his skin, to piss him off like you are. It's almost routine by now, especially when you're this riled up.

"And so you plan to torture the tree? With that flimsy sword, which by the way, will shatter the moment it meets real steel."

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply and exhaling harshly. Harwin makes a split-second decision, one that he's sure will land him as food for your dragon. He knocks your sword away, the unexpected force causing you to stumble back and blink up at him.

"Never take your eyes off your opponent."

Confusion begins to overlap your previous state, your fingers twisting for a better grip on the handle of your sword that now is by your side. "What are you-"

"Who taught you to wield a sword?" You don't answer. Harwin speaks your name, a different kind of fire burning within you. "Who taught you?" He presses, his tone firm, as though he talks to a child.

"Ser Criston Cole."

"Ser Criston Cole," he drawls, almost in disbelief. "Of fucking course." He mumbles to himself. His own kind of anger sparks, his skin crawling at the thought of the two of you alone. "And let me guess, you begged and pleaded with him to teach you how to defend yourself because you know that going outside the Red Keep is a stupid fucking idea."

He should slap himself for speaking so indirectly, informally to you, his princess. Yet, he couldn't stop the words from spilling out.

During your nights, you spend them down in Flea Bottom, or anywhere that's not the Red Keep, spreading your wings and soaring. You hate being holed up, being monitored and being expected to carry out duties you never asked for, never wanted. Even as a child, you wished you of been born to a low-born family, even a lady and lord would be better than King Viserys' firstborn.

When your mother and brother passed, Viserys was prepared to bake you his heir, but you declined. You could think of nothing worse, having seen the stress and duty your father must endure on a day-to-day basis. You know Rhaenyra will be a better Queen.

Not to mention, you wish to marry for love. As childish and dreamer-like for you to want, you gave up fighting years ago.

On most of your escapades, Harwin finds you, and ultimately drags you back to the safety of the Keep. He's the only knight that you know of, that's caught you, leading you to believe he is responsible for reporting it to your father. Hence why you were abruptly dragged from your chambers this morning.

"And you think you can do better? Ser Criston at least understands that I'll do as I please, not try and reprimand me at every given chance." You lower your voice. "And watch yourself, Ser Harwin, I'm still your princess, no matter how much you hate it."

Regret flashes in his eyes before it's gone. "Then let's see what you've learnt."

Harwin draws his sword, knowing damn well he could be executed for doing so. But at this moment, you're both too wound up to differentiate between what's right and wrong. A habit, of the both of you.

You flinch at the large sword, deep down knowing Harwin would never jeopardise you, never put you in harm's way or risk hurting you. You lift your chin, swallowing the lump in your throat and raising your sword.

He watches in amusement, allowing you a heartbeat before he attacks, bringing his sword down. You block with ease, unprepared for how light it is. He's pulling all his strength back. You push the sword away, moving around and keeping your footwork light, smirking.

"Is something funny?" Harwin raises an unimpressed brow, his eyes never leaving you.

You bite back a smile at his clear agitation. "No."

He grunts, striking again. Your reflexes move before you think, blocking and attempting to counterattack yourself, refusing to show your frustration. He's still clearly overpowering you and much more experienced.

You silently pray for those that meet the end of Harwin's fury.

"Tell me, Princess" he starts, a loud ringing vibrating into the area as your swords clash. "Has Ser Criston taught you hand-to-hand combat, or how to escape someone's grip?"

The question takes you off guard, your head tilting as you try to remember. Harwin uses the moment to smack your sword out of your hand, his own dropping for your safety and his arms wrapping around you.

You cease breathing, the constricted in your throat and your heart skipping a beat. An arm gently presses against your throat, Harwin having put you in a controlled headlock, your back flush with his front.

Your lips part, your fingers instinctively digging into his arm. Heat crawls up your neck, blood pounding in your ear. You know this is a training exercise, but you can't help in feeling so safe in his arms. Your muscles automatically relax, your adrenaline calms and your breath slowly comes back to you with each second.

You should hate the situation you're in. Granted, if it was any other person you'd be kicking up a shit storm and preparing to have them fed to your dragon but it's not just anyone. It's Harwin, and that makes you hate him more.

Hate him for having this effect on you, for consuming your thoughts and imprinting himself amongst your dreams. Though you know he's not to blame, it's yourself.

For falling so profoundly, and irrevocably in love with him.

"No doubt, you could handle yourself in an armed fight but what if they get the upper hand, like I did just now, and you're left with close combat, or even worse, they grab you like this," Harwin says to you, his voice thickening with an emotion you can't quite place. "How do you get out?"

You shake with nerves, at the thought of your escape plan. It's stupid, and it might not work and fuck everything up. Though it could work, and once again, fuck it all up. You push the insecurities down, knowing that he's trying to teach you a life lesson, even if you don't want to hear it.

You twist your head, his grip not being tight in any way, and find his lips with ease, capturing them. Harwin falters, his arms opening and allowing you the opportunity to slip through and distance yourself from him.

"That's how." You lick your lips, drawing the taste of him into your mouth.

Harwin studies you with a deep look of something, mixed with unhinged anger and fear. He doesn't say anything, even as he quickly reaches for his sword, sheathing it against his hip and holding your eye for a moment longer.

"One day," he croaks. "You're going to wake up and find yourself all alone." And with that, he turns his back on you.

You watch him leave, shakily bringing the pads of your fingers to your lips, brushing them tenderly. You feel humiliated, shameful and disgusted. You also feel lighter, having finally answered your own question; his lips are soft and the taste of his breakfast still lingers.

"I already am." You whisper to yourself, biting your finger to keep the tears at bay, the anger subsided.

The sun begins its descent from the highest point in the sky before you arrive back at your quarters, dismissing your maids in exchange for silence. You sit atop a lounge on the windowsill, breathing the fresher air from the high distance, ignoring the crestfallen ache in your heart.

You knew something like this would happen, that Harwin would reject you and push you away. It's part of the reason why you hate him because you know you can't have him. Your father would never allow it, as his firstborn. He'd see to it that you marry a beneficial house, to further strengthen your sister's claim to the throne since you turned away from it.

It doesn't make it any easier, or any less hard. You've spent almost every day in each other's presence, in either passing or company. You've known him since he was a boy. Uncoordinated and lanky, until he grew and filled out into the man he is today.

"I don't know what you've done, but I'd steer clear from father," Rhaenyra bursts inside, speaking before seeing you. She calls for you when you don't respond, hoping she'll leave.

She doesn't.

Rhaenyra perches herself beside you, brushing a strand of your curly hair behind your ear. "What's happened?"

"Ser Harwin told father of my nightly adventures."

Rhaenyra frowns, gazing out the window. "It wasn't him, it was Ser Criston," you gape at her, shifting to lean your back against the wall, mirroring your sister. "He said as much when Ser Harwin confronted him about teaching you how to wield a sword, and the two go into it."

"Shit," you murmur, leaning your head back.

"I assume he came from seeing you, with how riled up he was. Never seen him so angry."

She looks at you expectantly. "I kissed him." Her eyes widen. "To prove a point! He asked me how I'd escape from a headlock, and I kissed him, to distract him. It worked because he let go of me."

"Makes sense," Rhaenyra nods, referring to his destructive path. "What was it like?"

You glance at her, a small smile ghosting your lips. "It was only brief, but they are smooth, the complete opposite of him."

You both giggle, dismissing the fact that you dishonoured not only yourself but Harwin. For a few minutes, you sit in silence, relishing in the company of your sister. These moments are rare, as of late, with her newfound responsibilities.

"Are you going to listen to father?"

You stare at her, the answer shining in your lilac eyes. "What do you think."

Harwin surrounds himself with his fellow gold cloaks, in an attempt to enjoy his night off. They laugh and joke, spilling their alcohol and losing their hands on woman's bodies.

He finishes his drink rather frustratedly, slamming it on the counter accidentally. He can't get the stupid fucking kiss out of his head, replaying the scene over and over.

The way your body moulded to his own, your smaller frame engulfed and your erratic heart pounding against his arm. How he divulged himself and allowed his nose to brush your hair, inhaling your scent and losing his control.

And fuck, when you leant up and kissed him, he couldn't help but respond. His restraint snapped at that moment, and if it weren't for you slipping out and distancing yourself-he doesn't want to imagine what he would have done.

From your first meeting, he knew he'd grow up to love you, your hot-headed temperament and stubborn wilfulness. Before he arrived in Kings Landing, his father had drilled into him how to act, how the royal family would act, yet there you stood, unaware of his presence as you yelled profanities into the sky. Not to mention, when you caught him gawking, asked him, the fuck are you looking at?

Your first words ever spoken to him.

He sighs dramatically, rubbing his face and deciding to leave, knowing that drinking his problems away won't solve anything. The cool air nips at him through his woollen clothes, his dark cape swaying behind him as he makes his way back to the Keep.

Approaching the gates, he hears a rustle, pausing to make sure his senses aren't clouded. "Fucking shit," Harwin immediately reaches for his sword, keeping his hand on the hilt whilst cautiously making his way closer to the whispered profanities.

He watches you, straightening your clothes and checking to make sure the coast is clear before you walk off toward the city. He raises a brow at the choice of clothes; black pants and a shirt, with a jacket that is a size too big and a cloak to hide your white hair. Though nothing can cover the deep lilac of your eyes.

He makes the hasty decision to follow you, keeping his distance yet being close enough to protect you should anything happen. Harwin smiles to himself, knowing this is the perfect opportunity to teach you a lesson.

If it's so easy for him to sneak up behind you, imagine someone else, with impure intentions.

He follows you for some time, a small part of him enjoying the look of awe and joy at the sights. Each night you leave, you try to explore new parts of the city, learning about your folk. Harwin must admit, not many royals would do so, preferring to stick to the comforts of the Keep.

The moon is high in the sky, shining down and revealing clear paths as you steer left and right, nowhere in particular yet taking note of each turn. You may be reckless, but you're not stupid.

Harwin chooses this moment to make his move, observing the way you slip steadily down the passageway and pause at the sound of water lapping against the walls. He creeps out, covering your mouth and pulling you to him, stepping out of the light and into the darkness.

You scream against his gloved hand, thrashing wildly and reaching for your concealed knife when, "and just like that princess, I've killed you. Or worse, knocked you out and used you for my pleasantries. How many times must I tell you until you get it through your thick skull that this isn't safe."

You stop, your heart thundering and your adrenaline pumping. You close your eyes, subconsciously leaning further into Harwin. He hesitantly removes his hand, waiting for the explosion.

"I could have killed you," you murmur, the weight of the blade heavy in your hand. You were prepared to stab him in the kidney. The thought of harming him destroys you. "I could have killed you, all because of your stupidity!" You whirl around, still touching him.

"My stupidity?" He repeats.

"Yes!" You fire, glaring up at him. "All to teach me a lesson, when I'm not stupid! Have you ever thought that maybe I just don't give a fuck? I know it's not safe, why do you think I sneak around and blend in." You pause, avoiding his gaze and staring at the Strong house crest on his chest. "This is the only time I feel normal, where my existence is insignificant."

"Princess, no one asks to be born into their roles, to be born rich or poor," he starts, remembering all the times you spoke of wishing to be someone other than a princess, other than Viserys' firstborn. "But it's our duty to push through, to become what we're meant to be; Lord of Harrenhal, and Princess, of the seven kingdoms."

Your emotions are high and twisted, a single tear slipping down your cheek as you squeeze your eyes shut to keep them at bay. "I didn't want to be a Queen, I sure as hell don't want to be a princess. I just want to be someone's wife, someone's mother. Someone's greatest love. Is that so hard?"

You can't control the words, the heartfelt words that shatter Harwin. Suddenly, he understands you. He knows you. He says your name, softly, bringing his hand to your chin and tilting it up. Forcing you to look at him.

Harwin wipes at your cheek with his thumb, tenderly caressing the flesh and relishing in the feel of you in his hand. So small and frail. So exposed. He opens his mouth to say more when the sound of metal armour clanging together draws his attention elsewhere.

"Shit." He curses.

He has nowhere to move to. The path spans over a hundred metres, with a wall on one side and the water's edge on the other. He couldn't even go to a corner. Solutions run through his mind, the sound of guards nearing causing him to do the first thing that pops up.

"Sorry, Princess." He mumbles, pushing you against the concrete wall and covering the majority of your body with his, with no space left between you. Your brows furrow in confusion, question flashing in your eyes.

Harwin does what he's always wanted to do: press his lips to yours.

You squeak, given no time to prepare, your eyes wide in surprise. Only twelve hours ago, he was looking at you with utter hatred and disgust for you doing the same thing. The blade clatters against the ground.

The gold cloaks walk past without an issue, chuckling at the two of you but paying no mind. Harwin keeps his lips firmly against you, hating having to put you in this situation.

When they become a dot in the distance, does he pull away, searching your eyes. "You kissed me back," you refer to earlier. That was your first kiss, this you never realised Harwin had responded. Your eyes harden, your lips pursing as you inhale as much air as possible before being your hand up and slapping him. His head snaps to the side at the sheer force, shock yet understandable written on his face.

He doesn't respond, the words unable to form in his mouth. He swallows thickly, his jaw taut. He deserved that. He dares look at you again, his chest rising rapidly and the air crackling.

You push off the wall, shaking your head in disbelief and attempting to round him. Your shoulder clashes with his when he turns to grab your upper arm, halting you. You glare up at him, opening your mouth to hurtle harsh words at him. Harwin moves first, pulling you back to him and claiming your lips.

You're not even given a chance to respond before he pulls back, his face still close and his breath fanning your cheeks. He looks at you with hunger, lust and want. Realisation dawns on you; he's just as conflicted as you are.

Your heart tugs you forward, your hands gripping his tunic and meeting him halfway. Harwin's hands cup the sides of your head.

He devours you, his tongue slipping into your mouth with ease and his hands sliding to the base of your neck and head, titling you up to give more access. You whimper, grappling with his tunic as if he could suddenly move away from you.

He doesn't, shifting to have your back against the wall again, his apparent hard-on pressing into you. Your lungs ache with release, the lack of oxygen making you lightheaded yet desperate for more.

Slowly and reluctantly, you part, his forehead resting on yours. Your lips are evidently swollen, the taste of him still lingering as he peppers you softly, not quite wanting to stop.

"Harwin," you whisper, gliding your hands up to his cheeks, running the pads of your fingers over his beard and around his features.

"I know."

He could be executed for this, you could be disowned. But gods, does it feel right. Right to be in his hold, to be desired and kissed. You never want to stop.

"Fuck I know." He repeats, lower.

You nuzzle each other, refusing to leave the comfort of one another's warmth and touch, despite that nagging thought tugging in the back of your mind. Harwin murmurs that he needs to return you to the Keep, reluctantly standing straighter and removing himself from you.

You follow him in silence, sticking close and for once, not giving him grief. A step up from your usual nights out.

You soon arrive, pausing before you part and he enters through the main gates whilst you scamper up your hidden passageway. "I know it wasn't you, who told my father." You start. "It was wrong of me to accuse you, and I hope one day you can forgive my insolence, and accept my apology."

"Of course, Princess. It is known for spoilt children to lash out when they don't receive what they want," he begins to walk back with a teasing smirk.

You narrow your eyes, watching him for a heartbeat longer and then turning to disappear yourself. The journey back to your quarters is always short, your footsteps light as you work to not attract attention to yourself.

Heaving the door open, you stop dead in your tracks at the sight of your father standing in your room. "Father-"

"Where have you been?" He says in a low, deadly voice.

"Taking a walk,"

"Don't lie to me!" Viserys yells.

The room falls silent. You stare at one another, refusing to break contact. "What will it take for you to listen to me?"

You think over your choice of words. Is it wise to mention that you wish to marry for love? That you wish he'd allow for you to leave this godforsaken city and be elsewhere, anywhere. Be with Harwin.

"I wish-" you choke, refusing to look at him as you lay yourself bare. "I wish to marry of my own free will."

Silence. More silence, his fury-ignited eyes never leaving you, even as you brave the idea to glance up. "No."

"What-"

"You refused me in naming you heir, you will not refuse me in arranging a marriage for you. That, I can not accept." You gape at him, horror and sickness twisting deep within you. "Take this as your punishment for disobeying me."

"You can't do this!" You yell at his retreated figure, anger surfacing and exploding.

"Yes, I can." Viserys ends the argument, storming out of your quarters and forcibly shutting your door. You release a blood-curdling scream, frustration and betrayal gnawing at you.

You grab the closest object, a cup, and hurtle it across the room. It clangs every time it meets the ground, the metal ringing dying down when it rolls to a stop. Your chest heaves, your jaw clenching and unclenching as you grasp for some control, to leash your emotions.

You can't.

You want to hurt your father, hurt him like he's hurt you. There's only one way you know how, leaving you to quickly exit your room through the hidden passageway, navigating down unfamiliar tunnels.

When you were younger, you explored them all, yet there is only a small handful you use, mainly for your adventures outside the Keep.

You basically float over the ground, your steps carefully placed despite your fast pace, eager to arrive at your destination. You reach the door, knocking quickly but firmly, making sure you don't arouse the Hand of the King, or his younger son.

"Princess?" Harwin questions, glancing beyond you. "Is everything alright?"

You say nothing, surging forward and claiming his lips. Harwin can only raise his brows in surprise, at both your forwardness and boldness, your hands resting on his chest to walk him backward, closing the door swiftly behind you.

"What was that for?" He presses, distancing himself from you. He doesn't want to think of the penalty if you were found at this very moment. "Hmm?"

You nibble your lip, holding his gaze even though you'd rather burn for the next words that come out. "I need you."

The room falls silent, only the crackle of the fire is enough from keeping it dark and noiseless. Harwin studies you, not quite believing you. "You need me?" He approaches, agonisingly slow. "I find that very interesting, since only an hour or so ago, you were quite content."

He stands before you, his fingers coming under your chin and leaning your head up. He observes you, enjoying watching you squirm. "The truth, now." He knows you're lying, or at the very least, not entirely honest.

"I am telling the truth-" Harwin changes his grip, pulling you close to him by your chin. You almost collapse. He murmurs your name, the sound rolling down your back on waves. His eyes glint with a challenge, daring you to protest. Your neck heats up. "I could find little sleep, and my," you stop, wishing for the floor to open and swallow you hole. Harwin raises a brow.

"My fingers were insufficient."

You don't realise, that the previous fire of wrath has simmered down, laying dormant. A different burn ravages your body.

A wicked smile pulls at the corner of Harwin's mouth, his demeanour shifting. "Was that so hard?" His voice holding a certain husk, that you've never heard.

His thumb brushes your smooth skin, braving the course of your lips. You release a small breath you didn't realise you were holding and your mouth parts. Harwin drags your bottom lip down, enjoying your compliance.

"You need me to soothe that ache, Princess?" He tortures you, his mouth ghosting you yet inching up every time you try to close the gap.

"Please," you're not sure what you're begging for, the words just tumbling out. You close your eyes in frustration, his breath fanning you.

He finally relents, coming down on your mouth heavily. You barely have a moment to properly respond, his fingers tightening on your chin and his free hand coming to the base of your neck, keeping you steady as he takes your breath.

"This is all you needed," he pulls a hairsbreadth away, his nose pressing onto the side of yours. "Someone to dominate you, leave you powerless." He realises, looking over your wanton state.

Your hands fist his shirt, desperation clear on your face. He smiles softly, abruptly pulling back and creating a well-spaced distance from you. You feel as if a cold bucket of water has been poured over you, watching as he takes a seat by the fire.

"Go to bed, Princess."

You gape at him, fury bubbling to the surface. "Harwin," you start, taking a tentative step forward.

"What you are asking for, is treason. The fucking death penalty."

You flare up. "So is kissing me! What is going a little further?"

"We are talking about your virtue." He raises his voice, momentarily forgetting about his whereabouts. Gods above, should someone come knocking. "That would be despicable of me, to take something that belongs to your husband."

You frown, coming to stand before him, the sudden rush of heat inflicting goosebumps. "It should be mine to give away, not his to take."

He looks up at you, his curls dishevelled and unruly. He wears a worn shirt, the casual appearance causing your stomach to twist. What you would give, to share days where you are laid bare with each other, to see the other side of Harwin, the improper side of him.

"I trust you, Harwin," you begin, standing between his legs. "I want it to be you. No one else but you, who sees me, and touches me." You hoist a leg over his lap, moving to straddle his lap, your knees digging into the edge of the cushion.

Instinctively, Harwin's hands come to your waist, keeping you situated. He battles with his morals, his body and heart reacting completely opposite to his mind. If you were a low-born, he'd have fucked you back in the passageway, without a care of onlookers.

But your status halts him.

You say his name again, caressing his jaw, your nails scraping through his beard. He doesn't break contact, his palms wandering along your side, moving with a mind of their own. It's plain to see, how much he wants you, how much you want each other.

Painstakingly obvious.

You swallow nervously, inching down to press a gentle kiss on the underside of his jaw, allowing time for him to push you off should he really not want to continue. You wouldn't ask that of him. His fingers flex into your flesh, his head angling up slightly.

A ghost of a smirk plants itself over your lips, a sudden arrogance blooming at his reaction, at his heavier breath intake. You travel to his neck, feeling the urge to nibble lightly, Harwin rolling your hips into him reflexively.

You gasp into his skin at the sudden pleasure, the seam of your pants pulling tightly over your clit. Harwin groans lowly, both at your mouth finding his sweet spot and your hips rutting into him. A sinister thought crosses his mind.

Effortlessly he hoists you up, placing you over his thigh. You sit back in confusion, your initial reaction being that he wants to stop, until he speaks. "You say you use your fingers," your slightly wide eyes are enough of a confirmation. "Then use me. Get yourself off using me."

Your lips part, your eyes searching his. He smiles reassuringly, dragging your hips over his thigh. "Take your pleasure, Princess."

Your head drops into the crevice of his shoulder, an airy moan escaping you at the new sensation. Naturally, you begin to move on your own, a hand snaking up the other side of his head to thread through his curls, using him as leverage.

Harwin jolts his leg up, the action bringing a new wave of pleasure through you. You whimper into his shoulder, your mind reminding you how improper this is, how a woman takes no pleasure from laying with a man yet your body ignores every lesson you've ever been taught.

A low pressure builds, your thighs starting to shake and your movements quickening. Harwin makes the split decision to help, driving your hips down and over, the new motion brings you to your release.

You pant against him, squeezing your eyes shut as he continues to move you gently, drawing your orgasm out. Slowly he comes to a stop, allowing you a moment to really comprehend what's happening before he shifts in a way that he can plant a kiss on your head.

"Was that good?"

You nod, a familiar heat rising in your cheeks. Gods that felt fucking magical, and he barely did anything. You can only imagine how his cock will feel.

He chuckles lightly, coaxing you to sit back and reveal your pretty face. He drags the backs of his fingers down your cheek, memorising each fine detail. Deep down, a small part of him fears this will be the last he'll ever see of it.

In one movement, Harwin stands and gingerly lowers you onto the fur rug in front of the fire, the flames dancing dangerously close. He knows how much you love the heat.

You gaze up at him, allowing him the opportunity to worship you. His large hands slip under your shirt, dragging the material as he roams every inch of your side. You arch your back and raise your arms, allowing easier access to glide the shirt off.

Goosebumps erupt under his hardened callouses, his fingers interlocking with yours once he moves up your arms and allows the shirt to bunch above your head. "Keep them here," he murmurs, capturing your lips.

You figure he means your hands, nodding against his mouth. His tongue invades your mouth, his breath becoming your own and his fingers flexing at the sheer taste of you. You have no idea how much power you wield over him.

His hands begin their descent, grazing your flesh and finding solace on your breasts, his mouth following suit. You grab onto the edge of the fur rug, gripping it firmly.

His tongue flicks your erect nipple, his teeth meeting the tender flesh. He nips and sucks around the area, a hand paying attention to your other breast, careful to administer equally. You gasp and writhe under him, unaware that he could bring you any pleasure from this.

Eventually, he moves on, stopping at your waistline. He flickers up to you, a silent ask of permission in his eyes. You give an airy yes, anticipation gnawing at you. Harwin pulls your pants and undergarment in one motion, the cool air causing you to jump.

He laughs softly, grinning at your nakedness, at the way your skin glows under the firelight. Right now, you're all his, his to take, to touch and love. His mind captures this moment, storing it away for a time when he plans on replaying it over and over.

"How do you feel, Princess, knowing you're about to be my dessert."

Your eyes brows raise at the comment, unsure of his hidden innuendo. A dark part of Harwin relishes in the fact that it's him, that gets to taint you. That he's the one to open the gates to a whole new world of pleasure. He plans on ruining you for any other man.

"What are you doing?" You ask more in curiousness than fear. Of all your lessons, the Septas never mentioned a man putting his head between your legs.

"I'm dining on my Princess, is that alright with you?" A dark glint shines in his eyes from between your thighs, his beard grazing your soft flesh. You whimper, biting your lip and giving him the go-ahead.

You suck in a deep breath at the first contact of his tongue, your body seizing. Fuck. You throw your head back in a silent moan, Harwin's mouth ravaging you. His tongue explores your folds and clit, emitting all pitches of sounds from you.

Suddenly his hands snake around your thighs and grip you thoroughly, spreading them further around his head and giving him easier access. You squeal at the feeling of his tongue entering you, pumping in and out.

"Harwin," your knuckles have since turned white.

This is a high you never thought you could experience, the intensity hitting you like a wave. The combination of his tongue, his lips and his beard is enough to drive you over. Of course, Harwin intends for you to be fully prepared, momentarily coming up to gauge your reaction as he pushes a finger into you.

You release a deep groan at the intrusion, the pleasure brewing. He takes his time, moving in and out of you, slowly adding a second finger at the same time his thumb rubs your clit.

You squeeze your eyes shut, unable to do anything but writhe under his hand. Gods you wish you could put your arms down and grab him, show him how good he's making you feel. Harwin spreads his fingers carefully, intently studying your reaction. He wants you prepped as best as possible, wanting your first-time pain-free.

With all these motions and pleasantries you fall over the edge, calling out his name. Harwin continues his movements for a second longer before removing his hand, allowing you to come down from your high.

He skims over you, capturing your lips and emptying your lungs. You instantly wrap your arms around him, eager to keep him close. He grinds himself into you, allowing you a moment to feel how hard he is.

You lick your lips whilst you watch him undress, tossing his clothes somewhere before diving straight back down to you. You barely get a chance to admire his hard-earned body, instead running your fingers deep into his back muscles.

"Give me your hand," he guides it down, wrapping it firmly around his cock. You suppress a giggle at his involuntarily deep groan. "This is what you do to me," he says your name. "This, and so much more. You have no idea the kind of control that's in your favour."

You can't help but smirk. You leave your hand wrapped around him, a little unsure of what to do. "You take the lead, whenever you're ready." Oh. He means for you to put him in.

You glance down, hesitantly gliding to the tip, drawing it closer. "Can you help?" You have no fucking idea what you're doing.

His hand envelops your own, guiding it to you and nudging your opening. You suck in a deep breath, flickering up to his own deep blue eyes. He leaves you to your own devices, gritting his teeth at every inch.

The feeling is unlike anything you've ever experienced. For the time being, it's uncomfortable and unnatural, your body's initial reaction to close your legs and get him out of you. But you don't, removing your hand and granting Harwin the opportunity to ease in.

"Harwin." You grunt, clawing at his shoulders.

"You're doing so well, taking me so well." He praises, finally stopping once he's filled you. As time passes, your body begins to relax, climatizing to having his cock stretch you open.

"Move, please move." You strain, wanting this first part to be over with.

He does, slowly rocking out and in, the slight pain shifting to pleasure, your deep breaths becoming short. You have no idea what to do besides lay here, wrapped around Harwin as he thrusts into you, restraining himself from fucking you into the rug.

That will be for later.

For now, he intends on showing you a softer, gentler side of him, one where he tenderly brings you to release.

He fists the fur beside your head, his other hand on your hip as he steadily moves within you, your back arching slightly when he reaches parts of you, you never thought he'd reach.

You bring a hand to his face, brushing a part of his curls back and revealing his prominent features, trying desperately to hold contact.

He uses the hold on your hip as leverage, lifting your hips ever so little when he ruts into you, eliciting all frequencies of sounds from you. Your walls begin to clench around him, alerting him of your impending orgasm.

Slipping his hand over, Harwin teases your clit, eager to really please you. With this being your first time, your climax quite quickly, Harwin's name falling from your lips.

You gasp at his sudden eviction, a small part of you wondering if that was it. Harwin soon answers, scooping you up off the ground and planting you beside the fire, your front pressing against the wall. Thankfully the fire leaves it warm.

"Harwin, what are you-oh fuck!" You cry out at his sudden intrusion, entering from behind.

Harwin leaves no space between you, your legs spread to give him better access and a hand weaving through your hair and pulling your head to the side. "You wanted this, Princess, and you'll take it." He grunts into your ear, his thrusts hitting sharply. "But don't worry, you'll find yourself soon enjoying it."

You almost flutter around him, the words sinking in and leaving you in a hot and bothered state. His guttural voice mixed with those cold, demeaning words.

In a way, he's not wrong, the new position causing all sorts of pleasures to tremble through your body; your nipples grazing the stone, his cock hammering into you and his dominant hands manoeuvring you like a whore.

You snake an arm around, cupping the back of his head, keeping him close. With your cheek melted into the stone wall, his breath moulds with your own, your lips dangerously near, yet not touching. You close your eyes, enjoying the brutal fucking and not to mention, Harwin's own grunting and groaning.

It brings you joy to know that he finds great pleasure in you.

"You have no idea what you've just done, allowing me the honour to be the first to have my way with you. It wasn't a smart move Princess because I intend to ruin you," it's as though his own words spur him on, harshly rutting into you and carving you into the wall. You can do nothing but take it, and endure his treatment.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

"I intend on breaking you in to my cock, destroying all hope for you to ever enjoy someone else." He lowers his voice almost menacingly. "No one will ever fuck you like I am."

You attempt a nod, knowing he's correct. As fucked up as it seems, you know that only Harwin can bring you to these highs. He's the only one you'll ever allow to treat you this way. Like an object, a vacant hole.

You know your close, your legs beginning to shake and your breath quickening. "Harwin, please," you whimper, once again not entirely sure what you're pleading for.

Whatever it is, you know he can grant it.

Somehow he hits a deeper angle, leaving you to cry out clenching around him. He falters for a second, close to spilling over himself. He so desperately wants to, but he's holding out. With the new tempo, you crumble, spilling around Harwin as he continues to thrust into you.

You whine against him, the overwhelming pleasure causing tears to prick in the corners of your eyes. He doesn't stop, only slowing as he whirls you around, picking you up by your thighs and clamping them to his waist.

"Gods," you moan airily, his cock ramming against your sensitive walls.

"The seven won't help you here." He muses, observing your expressions.

Amazingly enough, Harwin increases his tempo, similar to before. You choke, pawing at his chest. "Harwin I can't,"

"Yes you can, hey," he cups your jaw, forcing you to open your eyes and look at him. "One more, be a good girl and give me one more, you can do it."

You bite your lip at the pain beginning to throb, your body exhausted and to be honest, your pussy used. His dark eyes watch you, a hand coming down to press against your clit, helping in relieve that pressure building once again.

He groans your name, his other hand moving to brace against the skirting around the fireplace. With his strength and subconscious force, he breaks the corner of it. You barely react to the stone crumbling at his feet, more focused on climaxing for a third and final time.

He swallows your scream, the rush of you around him enough to bring him over, spilling his seed deep. You lean your head back, your chest heaving and no doubt your back scratched. You feel content, Harwin slumping into your shoulder, nuzzling your flesh.

"I never imagined it would feel like that," you say more to yourself, your fingers threading through his sweaty curls.

Harwin lifts his head. "It's never like that, Princess."

The wild winds blast through your hair, your dragon's head blocking the majority from hitting you smack bang on your chest. At this height, the force is unimaginable.

You slowly begin your descent, dreading the moment you land and go back to reality, your cruel reality. In these last few months, you were made to follow your sister during her tour, allowing the lords to put themselves forward for your hand, alongside Rhaenyra.

You scowled the entire time. A cold, blank sheet was over your face, your eyes narrowed and dark. You could burn your father for the agony he's put you through, refusing your one ask of him. He's strained his relationship with you.

As more and more days pass, you ponder the thought of running away, denouncing your blood and flying off into the distance, far from this heartache.

You know it's foolish, that you must uphold your duty, but fuck duty.

Your dragon lands smoothly, his large frame dwarfing you once you climb down, your hand brushing against his scales and his head. He growls softly, leaning into your palm and hoping to draw this time out. He's missed you, much like the dark-haired knight that only just received word of your arrival.

You and your sister returned in the night, and since dawn you've been up in the skies, forgetting the situation at hand for a while longer.

You gesture for the dragon keepers to guide your dragon back into his nest, turning swiftly and making your way up to the Keep. Eyes watch you, studying you with every step. Since your last conversation with your father, you've turned into a cold little bitch.

It's the only way you know to protect yourself.

Your steel gaze burns through anyone who makes contact, challenging them to speak their mind. You know of the rumours that spread, how you've turned down every suitor, how your attitude has changed and you are no longer the nice Princess.

You don't notice the deep blue eyes following your every move through the courtyard, studying your behaviour. A part of you wonders how your first interaction would be, having not spoken a word to him since that night.

After he helped you dress, you snuck back into your room riddled with guilt. Suppose you came to your senses, realising exactly what you'd just done. But somewhere, you didn't care, you still don't. The next day you prepared yourself to send him away, should he come looking, but he never did.

And then you left, following your sister around Westeros.

"Have you seen him?" Rhaenyra sidles up to you, accompanying you to your quarters where you must prepare for the large feast. Your father has organised a large gathering where he can personally meet both of your suitors.

"No." You answer plainly.

You confessed the incident to Rhaenyra, trusting her to keep it to herself. She has and is more excited for the two of you to speak than you are.

"We should have you dressed your best tonight, show him what he's had a taste of, and what he's no doubt missing."

You roll your eyes, looping an arm through hers. She's been your rock through the whole ideal with your father, understanding both sides, yet gravitating towards yours.

Rhaenyra takes the opportunity to order your ladies as she sees fit, demanding your hair be styled up to accentuate your chest and collarbone, as the dress she picks is an off-the-shoulder. The black and red material falls to the floor, the sleeves being a cape, tying to the bodice only at the shoulder and leaving your arms to be either hidden or shown.

The dress plunges down your breasts, opting for a revealing look, courtesy of Rhaenyra. She finishes it off with a dragon-like necklace, alluding to the animal protecting your neck. Throughout the design, scales to represent your house has been embroidered, making it one of a kind.

Your sister's dress is similar, in the revealing sense. The both of you are definitely pushing your father's buttons, and you have no care.

The hours past by swiftly, and soon it's time to present yourselves. You walk side by side to the great hall, an anxious tug pulling within your stomach. You can't help but wonder how the evening will play out, and just what will happen with Harwin.

The great doors swing open, Rhaenyra being introduced first as she's the heir, and you second. Your heart rate quickens with each step, hundreds of eyes staring. You debate whether to search for his, your pace faltering as you connect.

Gods be fucking damned, he looks divine.

Your mouth dries at his black attire, at his curls being pulled back and revealing his defined features. It seems he's had a similar thought, dressing his best.

So many words portray through your eyes, so many thoughts and emotions. His jaw flexes as you draw near, his seat being close to the high table. The rest of the room fades, his gaze agonisingly slowly moving down your body, images of your naked figure coming to mind.

He pauses at your breasts, subconsciously moistening his lips before he flickers up to your face. He inhales sharply. These past months have done you justice, or you've simply become a woman since he had his share of you.

Your exchange doesn't go unnoticed, by both of your fathers.

Rounding the high table, you opt to take your seat, unlike Rhaenyra who greets Viserys before joining you. Neither of you bothered for Alicent, who flares daggers at you in particular. She normally leaves you alone, yet since the altercation with your father, she guns for the both of you.

You keep silent through the speech, given by your father, focusing on the detail of the cloth before you. A burning sensation spreads through you, almost like a sixth sense, sensing a pair of eyes boring into your skull.

You clench your jaw, preparing to scare them off when you pause. It's Harwin, unable to keep his eyes off you. Your skin heats up, your thighs pressing together. Fuck, the effect he has on you.

Viserys takes his seat, the people either beginning to eat or taking to the dance floor, music filling the air. You decide to eat, keeping your attention locked on your plate, desperate to finish it before you go looking for Harwin. You want answers, and one way or another you'll get them.

At some stage a young lordling braves the high table, asking for your hand. You pause your chewing, your eyes venomous. "As you can see, my lord, I have yet to finish my meal," you gesture to the full plate.

The boy's cheeks redden, and quickly he excuses himself. You scoff, resuming your meal with your eyes scouring the hall. You watch the people dance, eventually ditching your plate and leaning back in your chair, your eyes narrowing at Harwin's empty place beside his brother.

You find him amongst the crowd, his attention on a young maiden. Or so you thought, until his gaze flickers up to you, before averting again.

He wants to play that game.

Rising, you round the high table and descend the small flight of stairs, accepting the first person to offer a dance and joining everyone else. At first, you attempt to pay attention to your partner, your bodies moving in partial sync across the floor.

It's not until you spin outward, that you notice Harwin, now with a different girl.

With each movement, you glance over at him, a shadow of annoyance covering you as you realise he refuses to acknowledge you.

You inhale deeply, deciding to ignore your heart's biggest ache and try to enjoy your time without him. You switch partners, losing sight of Harwin as the night progresses. You've lost sense of yourself, spinning and moving to the flow of the music, changing partners every so often that you have no idea who each one is. Your cheeks are warm, your eyes alight. You haven't had this much fun in a while, the suitors flocking to you for a chance to dance.

Your current partner twirls you around, his grip firm and unwavering. For the first time, he matches you, each movement sturdy and confidence clear in his steps. He makes for a great dance partner. You can't help but laugh as he draws you to him, only to raise his arm over your head and redirect you.

His hand slips from yours, signalling a partner change, and you spin to stop in someone's chest. You instinctively brace yourself on his chest, an apology on your lips as you glance up. "Ser Harwin," you breathe his name.

"Princess," he curtly acknowledges.

His chest tightens at your appearance, wide and excited eyes, wisps of hair falling from their place and framing your face. Not to mention, your delicate hands still pressed to him, leaving only a splinter of a gap between you.

You follow his gaze, realisation dawning. You go to remove yourself from him, when his own hands cover yours, gently plucking them off his chest. You expect him to let go, throw you aside and move on, but he doesn't.

Harwin grasps your hands, leading you into the next dance. You follow him, lost within the depths of his blue eyes, so many words threatening to tumble out. You move fluently, matching his pace.

"Harwin," you say lowly, unsure of how to proceed.

"Don't." Your brows furrow, your chests pressing together as you both move in. "Just don't say anything."

You scoff. "You expect us to dance in silence?" He says nothing, despite the electricity sparking around you. "I've been gone for months and this is how treat me?"

"What do you want me to say?" He grits.

"Anything!" You say a little loudly, breaking contact to stare at his house emblem stitched to his chest. You sigh, closing your eyes. "Why didn't you come to see me?"

"My apologies, Princess, I didn't realise I was your lap dog."

You snap up to him. Fire burns within your hard stare. "What is your problem? Why are you like this?"

He raises an eyebrow, extending you away from his body, only to snap you back to him. You collide with his chest harshly, flashbacks of that night coming to your forefront. Reminders of how easily he dominates you.

"Are you so dense, Princess, that you can't see your actions have consequences."

You gape at him, matching his hard levelled glare. "Careful Ser, anyone else and I'd have their head." Normally, Harwin would never dare speak so freely, yet at this moment the mere presence of you sets him alight. He grunts in response to your warning.

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling deeply to keep the dragon at bay. The last thing anyone needs is for you to boil over and explode. "What actions are you speaking of?"

You honestly have no idea what he's referring to. "Ahh, so you're ignorant as well. Tell me again why you came to me that night, why you begged,"

"I did not beg!" You almost growl. Fuck he makes you angry, almost rivalling your father at this moment. Your veins simmer, your stomach twisting in rage. "I told you why-"

"I don't believe you." Harwin cuts you off. He lowers his face, so close to your own. His breath bares down on you, his lips dangerously near, yet Harwin's movements are calculated. There's no warmth in his eyes. "I think someone got angry at daddy, and decided to get back at him using me."

You freeze. You never expected him to say that, to call you out. "Harwin," you start, desperation filling you. You need to explain yourself, to make him understand.

Betrayal flashes across him, his back straightening. "Good evening, princess." He spits out your title, removing himself from you entirely.

"Harwin," you choke, reaching for him when a figure steps in front of you. You barely give the man a glance before you intend on following the knight.

"If I may, Princess?"

You ignore the man offering his hand for a dance, staring off at Harwin as he makes his way through the crowd and exits the hall. Distress floods you, your body shaking as you fight the urge to heave.

You feel sick.

"Sister, are you alright?" Rhaenyra notices, immediately coming to your side. You can't say anything, darting between her and where Harwin just left. She nods in understanding. "Go, I'll tell father you're feeling ill."

You squeeze her hand gratefully, before making your way toward a different exit, with a plan of cutting him off. You have vague ideas of where he would go. With everyone in the hall, it leaves the corridors vacant.

Picking your dress up at the knees, you pick up a run, your shoes hitting the floor lightly as you intend on making minimal noise. Blood roars in your ears, your heart pumping erratically.

You round corners, desperate to slip out of the Keep before anyone realises. Finally, you enter the gardens, stopping when you spot Harwin storming his way toward you, unaware of your presence.

You step into his view, flinching as he stops dead in his tracks. He goes to speak, but you beat him to it. "I am to speak, and you are going to listen." You raise a finger, keeping him rooted whilst you close the distance.

You stand dangerously close, your chest heaving and your hair falling to your shoulders. "Yes, I came to you because I was furious because I knew that it'd destroy my father much as he'd done to me. He asked what it would take to contain me, and I voiced a marriage of my own free will. He refused." Harwin stands rigid, his fingers flexing at his sides. "But I came to you-"

"Because you knew I'd do it. You took advantage of my affections for you, you used me!" Harwin raises his voice, his emotions controlling him. You deny it, trying to explain yourself when he talks over you. "You have no idea how I felt the next morning when my own gold cloaks told me that the King was to select your hand. You shattered me," you close your eyes at the sound of your name leaving his lips with such pain, tears building.

"Yet you have such a fucking hold on me that I stupidly offered my hand."

Your eyes fly open, meeting his own despite the darkness. The bright moon shines down, lighting the area as best as possible. "You," you drawl, comprehending his words.

"Yes, and I had to endure your father and his court's laughter."

"But your his Hands son-first born son! Heir to Harrenhal!"

He chuckles darkly. "Exactly, all I have to offer you is a half-burnt castle, courtesy of your ancestors."

You can't fathom that your father didn't even consider Harwin, that he belittled him. He has no idea what he's done.

"Harwin," he shivers. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that. What my father did is cruel,"

"A trait that runs in the family."

A tear slides down your cheek, defeat seeping in. It seems no matter what you say, Harwin refuses to hear. After a heartbeat of silence, Harwin moves to round you, pausing at your palm coming into contact with his chest. The feel of him sends a shiver down your spine.

Harwin slides your hand off as if you've burnt him, continuing on his path. An intense wave of pain surges through you, obliterating every part of you without remorse. Your chin trembles, your mind steaming at you to stop him, to fuck the protocols and policies.

You open your mouth to call out, to tell him the truth but it falls short in your throat, lodged well. You fear for what happens when you lay yourself bare, what he'll say and do.

"I'm in love with you."

Harwin completely seizes, as if he was close to falling off a cliff.

"I came to you, because deep down I knew my father would never approve, especially of us marrying." With each word Harwin approaches you, his body weightless. "So I decided that before I became caged and forced into a dull marriage, that I'd take control and choose who takes my virtue. That I'd lay with the man that I love, even if it were for a night."

Harwin stands directly behind you, his front pressing against your back, his breath on your neck. "If you're lying to me,"

You turn to face him. "You think I'd allow anyone to treat me like a whore?"

A flicker of understanding passes between you. How he manoeuvred you, how he controlled you like a puppet and fucked you against the wall without mercy.

"What do you know of being a whore?"

You tilt your head, standing on your toes to brush his cheek. "I know I'd let you do whatever you want, so long as it pleases you."

Harwin inhales sharply, his body itching for you. He murmurs your name, his voice trembling and his restraint slipping. He allows his fingers to loosely hang off your hips, drawing you closer.

Your mouth ghosts his, the temptation seeping in. You move your arms to his neck, threading your hands through his hair. Harwin groans, his hooded eyes burning through you, his control snapping.

He captures your lips, his grip on you tightening and his palms travelling every inch of your back, one of them ending up in your hair, the other on your neck. You whimper softly, Harwin using the opportunity to slip in his tongue and ravage you properly.

You're powerless against him, the lack of oxygen having its effect on your brain. You feel him move you backward, directing you through the garden until you stand flush to a wall, out of sight. Harwin found this hidden spot behind the bushes when he was a young lad, oft venturing here as he grew older to escape his reality.

He skims down the skirt of your dress, lifting it to cup your pussy. You whine, pulling apart to lean your head into the brick. Harwin smirks at your state, his palm moving in circular motions.

"Your drenched Princess. How long have you been like this?" He taunts you.

"Since I laid eyes on you," you answer airily.

Harwin hums in satisfaction, removing your undergarment and tapping the inside of your thigh to signal you step out of it. A chill shudders down your spine in realisation; Harwin plans on having you against this wall, where anyone could easily happen upon you.

"Hold this," he refers to your skirts, bunching the front into your stomach. You do as he says, biting your lip as he works to remove himself.

Harwin pauses, his cock hard and throbbing in his hand. "Tell me you want this," he rasps.

"I want you to fuck me."

A cold smile tugs at his lips, "as my princess commands."

He nudges into you, giving you a moment before he slides all the way in. You tense, having only had him months ago and nothing since. It doesn't exactly hurt, it feels uncomfortable, like he should be there but he is.

You grapple with his shoulders, hissing once he reaches the hilt, filling you with every inch of him that you can take. He shudders at your walls clenching around him.

Slowly he eases out and in, working you to a steady rhythm as to make sure he won't hurt you, that you've accustomed to him. You have.

He slams his hand onto the wall beside your head at the same time his hips rut into you. Your mouth opens in a silent groan, your forehead pressing against Harwin's as he intends to watch you.

Each thrust is intentional, his cock hitting as deep as possible and his slow but hard movements driving you crazy. Your whimpers and small sounds spur him on, a hand on your hip to help leverage him into you.

Though he's fucked you before, you still have no idea what to do, not wanting to just stand here and take his brutal pace. You remember how it felt to have your legs around his waist, how he was able to hit deep angles and completely fill you.

Lifting a leg up, you hook your ankle around his waist, Harwin instantly shifting. His hand glides down to your thigh, keeping it locked to him and his hips drive deeper into you.

You begin to feel that burn within your abdomen, brewing with each thrust, especially as he switches to almost completely vacating you before he hits home. You cry out, Harwin instantly covering your mouth.

"Quiet Princess, otherwise this ends very quickly." Harwin grunts, referring to someone potentially finding you.

You attempt to nod. He doesn't exactly trust your control, keeping his palm where it is as he continues to piston out of you, his heavy pants signalling how close he's getting.

You dig your heel into his lower back, so close to falling over the edge, desperate for him to follow. Harwin glides his hand from your thigh to your clit, paying particular attention to the bundle of nerves and the added sensation being enough for you to climax.

Your moan is muffled, Harwin's hips faltering at the feeling of you gushing around him. His own restraint slips, his cock ramming into you one last time, his seed spilling. His head falls to your shoulder, his hand slipping from your mouth to rest on the side of your head.

Your chest heaves, a slight sense of fatigue threatening to wash over you. "I hate you, with every fibre of my being." He whispers into your skin, his lips grazing your exposed collarbone.

"I know." You reply, your mouth dry as you run a caressing hand over his hair. You don't know what to do from this point onward, whether you and Harwin go your separate ways or you fight for him.

It ultimately falls on him.

"I would burn this fucking city to the ground for you," you murmur, wanting him to comprehend just how much he plagues you, how much he wields you, how nothing else matters in this lifetime but him. Hesitantly, Harwin lifts his head, unprepared for the serious glint in your eye. "Don't give up on me, not yet."

"Then don't leave me."

Your lilac eyes shine with fire and determination. "Never. I love you too much," he looks away, releasing a heavy breath as though he doesn't believe you. "Hey," you grab his face, forcing him to meet your stare. "I have loved you, since I was a girl. You, are why I hate my status. If I were a lower-born daughter, we could have wed a long time ago, without the burden of our duties."

"Show me," his words are barely audible, but you catch them. Show me.

Steadily you lower your leg from his waist, ignoring the slight irritation from your hips and sudden blood flow. His soft cock slips from you, hanging limp. Pushing down the nerves that erupt along your body, you sink to your knees, glancing up at him through your lashes.

A flicker of surprise passes over Harwin. He didn't exactly mean this. Though he'd be stupid to pass up the opportunity.

"You're the only man I'll get on my knees for," you quip, tentatively wrapping your fingers around his cock.

Harwin hisses at the contact, his hand bracing himself against the wall. You allow instinct to take over, cautiously pumping him, studying Harwin's reactions. His lips part, his breath becoming heavy with each glide, his cock hardening under your touch.

"Am I doing it right?" You ask nervously, unsure of what else you could be doing to him.

"Princess," he grits, his fingers curling into a fist above you. "You keep that up and I won't be able to last."

Your cheeks flare at his comment, your thumb brushing over his inflamed head. Harwin grunts under your ministrations, his other hand flexing as he withholds the urge to grip your hair.

"Can you teach me, how to use my mouth?"

Harwin's eyes fly open, instantly finding your own. "You don't have to, what your doing is just fine."

"But I want to," you pause your movements, looking up at him expectantly. "Either teach me or I'll learn myself."

His eyebrows rise to his hairline. "You are a determined thing, aren't you?" You scowl, gently tightening your grip on him. "Alright alright," he repeats, his body stiffening. "Put it in, and for the love of the seven, don't use your teeth."

A wicked grin spreads across your face, setting Harwin on edge as you take him into your mouth, inwardly cringing for a moment. Harwin shudders, his hip's reflexively jutting forward.

"Just," he pants, at the mere feeling of his cock inhabiting your mouth. "Move like you were before, and use your tongue."

Your brows furrow slightly, hesitantly gliding along his cock and back down, dragging your tongue on his underside. He groans, his hand coming to your hair and threading it. How he so desperately wishes to face fuck you, but he won't. Not until you're his.

You bob your head, following Harwin's instructions as he guides you to bring him to a climax, his leverage on your head allowing him to gingerly rut his hips into you. "Good girl," he murmurs, his eyes closing in pleasure.

An idea flickers, your tongue swirling around his swollen head and your hand wrapping around the base of him, a small smirk threatening to spread as Harwin stammers.

You feel powerful, knowing that your mere mouth can bring Harwin to this state, his moral restraint close to breaking like the chains kept around your dragon.

Harwin calls your name, his cock twitching in your mouth. He's close, dangerously close and he fears that if you don't stop, he won't pull out in time. You remember how he felt you near your climax the night he disappeared between your thighs, sucking gently on your clit to bring you over.

You wonder if the same applies to him.

You move to his tip, gently sucking. Harwin cries out at the unexpected sensation, forcing his hips forward and ultimately thrusting his cock further into your mouth as he shatters.

You squeak, his seed filling your mouth and slipping down your throat. You can't help but cringe at the taste, pulling off him to wipe your mouth.

Slowly raising, you observe Harwin's state, as he comes down from his high. He releases a heavy breath, his senses clearing. A sense of pride runs through you, for being able to please him as he did to you.

Being with a man, is not at all what the Septas told you.

Harwin grabs the underside of your jaw, pulling you up to him. You fist his jacket, a small moan escaping you when his tongue slips in. He doesn't care that he can taste himself.

He steals your breath, your lungs aching and that familiar burn searing through your abdomen. He reluctantly pulls back, his forehead leaning on yours, his lips feathering you, refusing to completely stop.

"Harwin," you whisper, your hands sliding to his neck, playing aimlessly with his loose curls. "What are our next moves?"

"Hmm?" He hums absentmindedly, too lost in the feeling of your cheek against his. He nuzzles you, an act of intimacy that even fucking you couldn't compare to.

You chuckle, deciding to leave it and enjoy the moment, as much as the two of you should plan out the next steps.

"You're mine," he says lowly, his gravelly voice sending chills down your spine. "And I'm yours."

You nod, a smile gracing your lips. "You've ruined me for anyone else."

Tag List: @iwillboilyourteeth @sageshorrorblog @gibbsgirl7 @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @missusnora @jdm-traash @happynerdtale @westeros-needs-me @killthedarkthoughts @stardustdragon9 @my-watch-begins @ietss @znanaworm @fulla02

#ser harwin x reader #harwin strong smut #harwin strong x reader #hotd #ser harwin strong #ryan corr #harwin strong imagine

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50shadesofrossi · 2 years

Text

I do apologise for this fic taking so long, I’m honestly estimating it to be 10k words…

But I thought I’d allow you all this small snip it to enjoy:

His thumb brushes your smooth skin, braving the course of your lips. You release a small breath you didn’t realise you were holding, your mouth parting. Harwin drags your bottom lip down, enjoying your compliance.

“You need me to soothe that ache, Princess?” He tortures you, his mouth ghosting you yet inching up every time you try to close the gap.

“Please,” you’re not sure what your begging for, the words just tumbling out. You close your eyes in frustration, his breath fanning you.

“This is all you needed,” he pulls a hairsbreadth away, his nose pressing onto the side of yours. “Someone to dominate you, leave you powerless.” He realises, looking over your wanton state.

Damn 🥵

#harwin strong smut #harwin strong x reader #hotd #ser harwin strong #ser harwin x reader

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50shadesofrossi · 2 years

Text

I am currently writing my eldest Targaryen x Harwin fic, it’s at 6000 words and so much left to add, but I’ve just had another thought.

Stark x Harwin, where they are forced to marry whilst Harwin is with Rhaenyra, and the reader finds out after the birth of Jacaerys where she leaves to go back to Winterfell for some time apart and Harwin has to win her love and ends up falling in love with her.

Any thoughts???

#harwin strong smut #harwin strong x reader #hotd #ser harwin x reader #ser harwin strong

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50shadesofrossi · 2 years

Text

I’m currently writing another Harwin x Reader, and I’m honesty so keen for you all to read. It’s an eldest daughter (Targaryen) x Harwin, enemies to lovers. They loathe each other and yes, there will be some spicy hate sex.

Ngl, it’s not gonna be historically, politically correct, but fuck it, this is for us Daddy Breakbones lovers.

Enjoy a snip it:

“I half expected you to climb atop your dragon and burn King’s Landing to the ground,” the knight muses from behind you, making himself known and slowly approaching you like a rabid animal.

You squeeze your eyes shut, wishing him away and hoping to awaken from this horrible nightmare. You hear the debris snap under his weight with each step closer, reigniting your hatred.

With precision, despite the dress, you come to your feet and whirl around, your hand having grasped your blade in the process. “And you best believe I’d burn you first, you fucking snitch.” You seethe, pointing the end toward him.

“Princess-“ he starts, daring to place his foot down and inch himself closer.

“Unless you want to be choking on your blood Ser Harwin,” you address him. “I’d stand down and leave me be.”

#ser harwin x reader #ser harwin strong #harwin strong smut #harwin strong x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #harwin strong

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50shadesofrossi · 2 years

Text

Want Me

Ser Harwin Strong x Female Reader

Summary: You're Rhaenyra's lady in waiting, by her side at all times and thus leading you to spend many hours within Ser Harwin's company, drawing the two of you together

Warnings: Smut, mentioned violence, swearing, angst (if you squint), fluff

A/N: Hi, small warning, haven't written a full smut scene for a while so I'm a little rusty, but I hope you enjoy :)

"Want me to kill him?" You absentmindedly offer to Princess Rhaenyra.

She chuckles from behind you, her fellow ladies attempting to hide their smirks and smiles whilst they finish up her hair. "I know how much you crave violence, but I can not allow you to kill him. Besides, how would you even do it?"

You pause in the mirror, your eyes flickering to find Rhaenyra's. "Seduction is a woman's greatest strength." You whirl around to face her, a cruel expression etching into your face at the thought. "A simple poison into his drink and during the night he'd cease breathing and the Maestor would declare a heart attack. An easy kill, if I say so myself,"

The princess raises her eyebrows, her lips pursing together. Tonight is her name day feast, celebrating another year of her youth and thus drawing in all the potential suitors wishing to offer themselves. One of the Lannister twins made a fool of himself, offending Rhaenyra and thus resulting in you plotting his death, should your princess command it.

As her lady in waiting, you take your role very seriously. Though, you are oft referred to as her sister, the two of you becoming close at a young age and growing up together. It has solidified your relationship with her, and in turn, you know each other inside and out.

Your sharp words and cunning nature are a breath of fresh air as opposed to the customary expectations of Rhaenyra's fellow ladies.

You glance over yourself once more in the mirror, your attention spanning over the finer details of your gown and the excellent work of the seamstress. The dress accentuates your frame, the embroidery and accessories dating back to your House and heritage.

You look like a woman, a woman grown and of power.

"Are you ready?" Rhaenyra pulls you from yourself, twirling around to give you a full look at her.

"Indeed, and must I say my Princess, you look divine." You tell her honestly.

She smiles, the two of you making your way to the great hall. Heads turn at the sight of you both, the heir to seven kingdoms and her fierce lady, who would protect her more so than a knight.

Your stomach begins to twist as you near the hall, your teeth grinding together to keep the nerves at bay. You feel a reassuring squeeze on your hand, your dear friend sensing your change in behaviour.

"If he doesn't fall at your feet and beg for your hand, I'll feed him to Syrax myself," she whispers.

You bite your tongue, though a small smile creeps out. In the past moons, you've become acquainted with a knight, the two of you sharing passions and dreams. Nothing more of talk has happened thus far, but you can't help but think that maybe he will ask for your hand in marriage, as the two of you spend most days side by side.

He makes your heart beat rapidly, with the small gestures and whispered words when no one is close. Not to mention, the way he looks at you, like no one else exists but you.

Yet, you can't help but think that you're in way over your head, too consumed to see the reality.

You have no time to ponder Rhaenyra's words, as the two of you arrive at the hall, the chatter dying down instantly. Swallowing, you hold your head high, following Rhaenyra down the stairs and toward the high table where you veer off to your own.

His eyes were on you the moment you appeared, refusing to leave even as you sit down. You look absolutely breathtaking.

Of course, you avoid his gaze, even from across the room, as you begin to fill your plate. Your skin ignites under his heated stare, your desire overweighting your sense of propriety. Glancing up, you meet him, his deep blue eyes burning into your darkest depths and tearing down every wall you've ever built.

Ser Harwin Strong, renowned for his strength throughout the seven kingdoms and his proud house.

Your cheeks heat up under the intensity, neither of you daring to break contact. You admire how he's dressed, his fine threaded clothes making him look regal, his unruly curls neatly pulled back into a bun. Gods.

The grumble of your stomach brings you to your senses, your head bowing down to begin consuming your food. You feel him continue for a heartbeat longer, before he diverts his attention elsewhere.

As the night begins to progress, you drag Rhaenyra to dance, moving with the music and enjoying yourself. You change partners throughout, making yourself known and extending yourself to the other lords and ladies currently attending for the princess's name day.

For once, Harwin doesn't grace your thoughts, until he becomes your next partner.

Your eyes widen for a moment, your breath catching. "Ser-" you start, not expecting to see him.

"My lady, you look exquisite." His rasps, his body feathering your own.

His heat wraps around you like wild vines, pulling and tugging you closer, enticing you to become lost. You hit your chin out, refusing to fall prey.

"And you, good Ser,"

Harwin smiles, a hum of satisfaction rumbling within his chest. His hand brushes your own, a part of him needing to touch you, his resolve almost snapping from the softness of your flesh. His fingers itch to press firmly, to warn off any man or lord that dare think they have a chance with you.

"Are you enjoying yourself, this evening?" He asks, his lips close to your ear as to make sure you hear him over the loud music.

You turn your head, his breath fanning your cheek. Heat pools within your stomach, want gnawing at you and demanding to be free. "I'll enjoy myself once I've had my dessert," you dare.

His eyes narrow, assessing the situation. Little minx. Before he can conjure his own smart remark, a fellow knight of the city watch approaches, pulling him away from you. You watch him go without a word, a sense of humiliation washing over you as you continue to dance alone, searching for Rhaenyra.

You find her with her uncle, enjoying themselves.

Biting your lip, you move off the dance floor, standing on the sideline. You feel deflated, watching your friends enjoy themselves and even sneak out of the hall with their suitors, and your heart's deepest love couldn't even excuse himself. He just left you.

You see him, surrounded by his companions, and more so with an older woman hanging off him. Now you feel stupid, your usual confidence and ego a ghost. The woman wraps an arm around his waist, much like a partner, and him not moving.

Of fucking course, I'm just the plaything to keep him entertained whilst his lover is elsewhere.

Grinding your jaw in anger, you inhale deeply and begin to make your way through the crowd, ignoring Harwin and his group as you have to pass them to ascend the stairs out of the hall. Your hasty exit catches many people's attention, especially the one you were hoping wouldn't notice.

You don't realise he follows you, until you almost reach your quarters. His boots hit the ground harshly, as he tries to catch you, going as far as calling out your name. You pause in front of your doors, whirling around to face him once he draws near.

Fire dances within your eyes, making Harwin pause momentarily. "Ser Harwin?" You snap.

"I wanted to make sure you're well, you left in such a hurry,"

"I'm fine," you start, your thumb running over your fingers anxiously. "The hall became too much, so I'm retiring for the evening."

Harwin tilts his head. He calls bullshit. He knows you, he grew up alongside you and knows that you are one of the last to leave the party, oft enjoying yourself too much to notice the sunrise and thus requiring an escort, usually him.

He reads your body language, depicting your sudden mood change has something to do with him. He chuckles lightly, amusement etching across his features at your frustrated glare. "You're jealous."

"Jealous?!" You repeat in disbelief, your raised voice echoing the corridor. "Me? Of what?" You ask him incredulously. You naturally begin to step closer, "of that woman? Why would I be jealous of some wench when I am the Princesses lady in waiting, I can have almost any suitor I want, I have sway within these walls and no one quite realises the extent I'll go to if I'm pushed, not to mention," you stop just shy of him, your chest heaving. "One word to my Princess, and I can have whatever I want."

Harwin peers down at you, a small smirk gracing his lips at your outburst. "I never said what you were jealous of," he says lowly, almost inaudible if not for your closeness. "I'll be sure to tell my sister you think she's a wench."

Your world crashes and burns. Sister? That was his fucking sister?! Your heart ceases beating, your breath catches in your throat and your skin clams up. Realisation and dread wash over you, embarrassment etching into your cheeks. You become a wounded animal, and respond much as they do,

"Fuck you." You don't know what compels you or who takes over your body, but you can't stop the words from tumbling out and sending them straight at Harwin.

He blinks.

Quickly you spin on your heel and make haste to your door, pulling the handle to only have it slammed shut, and a large body pressing against you. Your throat constricts, feeling Harwin's entire front against your back as his hand looms over your head, keeping the door closed.

One small movement, and he could bury his nose into your hair. "Say that again," his chest rumbles, his mouth angling down to press on your ear. To make sure you hear him loud and clear.

You're frozen, your body shutting down. You open your mouth but nothing comes out. "Go on, don't go shy on me now, my lady," he presses, pushing you.

Licking your lips, you hesitantly shift on the spot, leaning your back against the door and tilting your head to hold Harwin's gaze. He pins you down, the entirety of his body caging you in, almost like a shield protecting you from peering eyes.

"Fuck you," you whisper.

Reflexively, his other hand snaps to your jaw, his fingers digging into the skin. Your lips part, your muscles relax and your body becoming a rag doll. He could very easily suffocate you like he was bunching up a piece of parchment, he wouldn't even feel your bones snap. Yet, in this very moment, your thighs press together, your garment becoming soaked with each passing second.

You know he won't hurt you. His hold on you is firm and delicate, the pads of his fingers gently holding you in place. He tilts his head, assessing you like he would an opponent, his dark eyes roaming your face and his brows twitching in thought.

You test the waters, standing straighter and in turn bumping your nose into his cheek. Harwin exhales shakily, his grip tightening if only a smidge, in comparison to his self-restraint. You nudge your nose against his, his hooded eyes following your every move.

Your breath tangles with his own, desire and hunger transpiring. Harwin's jaw clenches, his palm against the door closing into a fist. You want him, he wants you. Swallowing thickly, your lashes feather your cheeks and you take the plunge, pressing your lips against his own with uncertainty.

For a moment, you float, your body becoming weightless and your mind lost. His lips are softer than you imagined, despite his harsh reputation, soft and plump on your own. Harwin responds, before suddenly pulling you away by his grip still on your jaw.

A bucket of cold water drenches you, his sudden cold demeanour creating a crack in your heart. Not so much that he pulled you away, more how forcible it was, after he began to lose himself under the taste of you. That hurts.

Your eyes flash. You move to release yourself from his grip, but he tightens it, his head turning slightly as though to check for any movement within the corridor. With precision, he pulls you flush to his body and opens the door in one movement, shoving you inside to your quarters and locking the door behind him.

"You naïve girl," he starts, running a hand over his beard.

You scoff, creating distance between the two of you by standing at the window sill. "And they say romance is dead."

Harwin narrows at you. "You have no idea what you've just done, what if someone had seen?" His voice raises, his hand gesturing to the doors.

Confusion swirls within you at his sudden change of behaviour, at his switch from intimacy to frustration in an upsetting kind of way. "I don't see the problem," you cross your arms, raising a brow. "I want you, and I don't give a fuck what anyone else thinks."

"Well, you should!" You're taken aback by his sudden outburst, a sliver of fear creeping up your spine. "I am not good for you," he says your name with such emotion. "I have enemies at every turn, I can't be at your side protecting you every day and not to mention what would happen to your reputation-"

"My reputation?" You cut him off, your voice low in disbelief of what you're hearing. "You think I give a fuck about my reputation! About your enemies? Gods Harwin," you begin to pace, your hands running over your head and falling against your neck. "How fucking dense are you?"

He attempts to ignore the hiccup in his heart rate at the way his name rolls off your tongue. "I'm more than capable of protecting myself," you start after calming down a notch. You cross the room, standing before the brute and taking his large hands in your own. "Is it that hard to believe that I want you? That I don't care about everything else, about your history and reputation, about the fucking court gossip and your enemies? All I care about is you, your health and well-being, and that I know you'd never hurt me, physically and emotionally. I know you'd die protecting me, and you'd make me feel so loved, despite that shield you put in front of yourself every day."

Harwin brings your hands to his lips, brushing them over your delicate fingers whilst he closes his eyes, relishing in the moment. His coarse beard caresses your skin, planting the idea of how it would feel between your thighs.

He opens his mouth to speak, but you drop your hands down, beating him to it. "You want me Harwin?" your voice pulls to him, lulling him in. "I am right here, otherwise there's the door," you gesture.

Your chest clenches at the thought of him turning his back. You wonder how he could kiss you back, then cough up some bullshit about him being bad for you. It confuses and wounds you.

His lips part, the cogs turning in his head as he makes his decision. He surges forward, gently taking your head in his hands and angling you upward to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

He walks you back until you hit the pillar, careful not to slam you into it. His lips move against yours hungrily, his tongue begging for entrance and his breath meddling with your own. Your fingers curl onto the front of his jacket, squeezing out any air left between you, your fronts pressing tightly.

Your lungs burn, your actions becoming erratic as you move up to his hair, tangling his curls and removing the band keeping it back. You pull at the roots, emitting a deep groan from Harwin, his own hands gliding down your body to find refuge on your waist.

You pour all your emotions into the kiss; the hunger, lusting, anger and need. He dominates you, his mouth slowly moving down your jaw, his teeth nipping along your bone and travelling to your neck, unknowingly finding your sweet spot.

You bite your lip at the sound you release, a small sense of embarrassment flooding your body. Harwin immediately comes up, holding you still with his hard stare. "Don't you dare quieten on me."

"Like your girls loud, Ser Harwin?"

He chooses to ignore your comment. You smirk, your usual demeanour washing into the shore, a calculating look flashing in your eye. Before he can do anything you shove him back, pushing him down onto the lounge.

Surprise is evident on his face, his eyes watching you curiously. You crouch between his spread legs, your palms sliding over his thighs in a soothing manner, slowly making your way to his waistband.

You quite like this image; his unruly dark curls free and framing his face, his intense eyes swallowing you whole and his knees bent outward. He looks casual, yet so fucking handsome you have to restrain yourself from fucking him there.

"Don't look at me like that," you scold, tugging on his pants.

"Like what," he grumbles, lifting his hips.

His pants pool at his feet, his hardened cock free from restraints. "Like I don't know what I'm doing." He eyes you suspiciously, waiting for you to shut down his thoughts. "I've been fucked before, if that's what you're wondering."

He hums in dissatisfaction.

"I'll decide if you've been fucked, my lady." You raise a brow at the title.

He opens his mouth to say something more, but only a loud groan escapes, your lips wrapping around his cock. His hips reflexively jut, his hand moving to your head in response to your movements, your tongue flattening along the underside.

Harwin shudders, his chest rising in deep pants under your ministrations and his fingers flexing in an attempt to hold himself back from face fucking you. You work him steadily, glancing up at him through your lashes and feeling a sense of pride roll down your spine at his dishevelled state, his head lolling over the back of the lounge.

"Fuck," he curses, tilting down to hold your gaze.

You move a hand to work the rest of his cock that you can't fit in his mouth, momentarily pausing when he grabs your wrist, and quickly heaves you off him. "You do that, and this night ends very quickly."

"I find it hard to believe that Breakbones finishes in under twenty seconds," you muse, slipping out his grip easily and situating yourself on his lap.

He groans quietly, both in frustration and need. "Believe me, my lady, that when I cum, I intend on cumming in you and filling you up."

"Good."

You begin undoing his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and down his arms before moving to his shirt, heaving it up and revealing his toned stomach. Your fingers splay across his chest, feeling his hard-earned muscles and scars from various fights. You pause on a particularly large wound along his abdomen, feathering the pink tissue.

"Don't worry about it," he whispers your name, reading the emotion on your face.

"This is an assassination attempt, Harwin." You press, flickering up to hold his stare. "Someone almost succeeded in fucking killing you." Unwanted tears spring in your eyes, raw emotion thick within your voice.

The thought of Harwin being killed, frightens the fuck out of you.

He cups your cheek, his thumb tenderly wiping a tear. "This is what I meant," he refers to his previous statement about his enemies. You still, your features hardening.

"Don't you dare, Harwin. Don't you fucking dare." You spit.

He stays silent, observing you whilst your fingers continue their path along his torso, grazing each other his scars. "Seven Hells help the next man that makes an attempt on your life," you vow, your hand splaying out over his heart.

"My little warrior," he rasps, pulling you down to him.

Your lips collide, the taste of him invading your mouth and stealing your breath away. You whimper at the feel of his hands sliding up your arms and resting on your collarbone, toying with your dress. Blindingly he reaches for the lace tying it together, pulling it apart and loosening the top section.

Goosebumps rise along your flesh as Harwin gently tugs the dress down your arms, exposing your breasts and stomach once it pools around your hips. You rest your forehead in the crook of his neck, gasping under the ministrations of his hands along your breasts, his thumb tweaking the bud.

You thread through his curls, your nails scraping his scalp and your lips seeking out his neck.

Suddenly he lifts you off him, placing you down on your feet. You raise your eyebrows in surprise and a little confusion, unsure of his next motive. "Take it off," he commands softly, the low rumble in his chest making your heart rate spike.

The dress falls to your feet and you step out of it, mindful of taking off your shoes and being left bare before him. He slowly takes his boots off, never breaking contact even whilst he removes his pants.

You watch him stand, tilting your head as he comes near. He doesn't speak, nor does he kiss you again. Instead, he hooks his hands under your thighs and hoists you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist and your arms coming to the back do his neck.

He walks toward your bed, gingerly laying you down. You stare up at him with adoration, every fibre of your body knowing you're safe with this man. Despite his reputation, you could almost laugh, knowing that there is a softer, more caring side to him than anyone realises.

No one has ever touched you like you're glass, like you could shatter and slip through his fingers. He kisses you with so much passion and care, in stark contrast to his daily goings. You've witnessed him in a brawl, smashing the men to the ground without a worry and pummelling them to an inch of their life.

Yet you know, these hands handle you with love.

You slide up to the head of the bed, brushing the hair from Harwin's face when he comes to hover above you. He descends, missing your face entirely and planting kisses along your neck, slowly travelling south.

Airy breaths leave you, your body responding to his attention, more so as he pauses over your breasts, taking an erect nipple into his mouth and tugging. Fire pools within your stomach, threatening to pour out. In a way it does, your head falling back into the cushions and your lips parting to release sounds of pleasure.

Harwin continues his way down, his eyes flickering up to you through his loose curls, intently watching your reaction as he nears between your thighs, softly blowing cool air on your sensitive region. You grit your teeth, glaring down at him.

"Hurry up."

"As my lady commands," he chuckles.

Your flush at the incredibly loud moan, not exactly expecting him to dive right in. Harwin drags his tongue up your slit, finding your clit and sucking. He switches between flicking your clit with his tongue and sucking, groaning lowly to himself at watching you writhe under him.

He draws more sounds out of you, snaking a hand up to tease your opening, carefully entering a finger. "Fuck!" You arch your back, your hands reaching for his hair.

He slowly pumps it out of you, enjoying the way you feel around him. He can only imagine how tight you'd be around his cock. The thought almost makes him fuck you right here.

Your stomach twists, your knuckles turning white. No man has made you feel like this, even with just his mouth and finger, the two bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

He adds a second finger, wanting to properly prepare you for him, and enjoying watching you lose yourself to the pleasure he's giving you.

He can feel you get close, teetering along the edge as he begins to increase his pace. You whimper at the ache, rutting your hips upward. "Harwin," you whine at the contact of his lips enclosing over your clit and sucking, hard.

The fire burns brighter, scorchingly hot and desperate for a release.

"Let go," he murmurs, gently nipping your clit. You do, your orgasm crashing down like a wave, engulfing you.

He slowly continues to move his fingers through, allowing you to experience your high as he draws it out. He can't help but clean you up before he even thinks about moving away from the safety of your thighs.

With ease, Harwin climbs back up, claiming your lips. You taste yourself, rummaging your hands through his hair and down his back, his muscles rippling under the pads of your fingers.

He pulls away from you, question shining in his eyes; do you still want this?

You nod, leaning up to kiss him again, solidifying your answer. He hums, guiding his cock to press against your slit, teasing you for a moment before he nudges your opening. You gasp on his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders at every inch.

Harwin falls into the crook of your neck, groaning at the sensation. He stops moving once you've taken all you can, pausing to make sure you're comfortable. You clench around him in reflex, eliciting a deep rumble from his chest, his beard grazing your neck.

"Harwin," you pant. "If you don't move in the next five seconds,"

He chuckles at your warning, slowly pulling back. You bite your lip, closing your eyes at the high pleasure rocking throughout your body. Harwin lifts his head, his forehead brushing your own. He intends to watch you complete shatter underneath him.

He slams home, somewhat slow but hard, rutting into you like wild waves against a rock, your back arching and pressing your chest to his. You can't help but rake your nails down Harwin's back, ignorant to the fact that you're close to drawing blood, desperate for a way to show how easily he's unravelled you.

"Gods Harwin," you cry out at each thrust, harder and deeper than before.

He grins, his lips on your ear, "I know quiet isn't exactly in your nature, but maybe don't alert everyone in the Red Keep of our rendezvous."

"Oh fuck off."

Harwin reaches for the headboard, his knuckles turning white from his harsh grip, using it as leverage to pound harder. You chant his name, subconsciously clenching and unclenching around him, causing him to falter each time.

That burning ache brews within you, gradually growing with each slide into you. His free hand comes down to your clit, playing with the bud and drawing you closer to the edge. Overwhelming sensations spark up your body, your legs starting to shake from the pleasure.

"Harwin," you whine.

"I know," he grits, picking up his pace. He hits parts of you that you never knew existed, fireworks erupting each time he enters you deeper, if that were possible. "Good girl, you're taking me so well, hmm?"

Your head is tilted up by his hand leaving the headboard to cup the side of your face, forcing your eyes on him. You struggle to keep your eyes open, a drowsy, drunken look coming across you.

Without warning, you let go, bursting around him. "Gods, fuck!" Harwin calls your name, following you over. He couldn't last any longer, not after feeling you come undone from him.

You gape in a silent moan, relishing in the feeling of him fill you up, his hips slowing but not yet relenting. You shiver from the sensitivity, thankful for when he stops. You struggle to hold contact, fatigue seeping in.

You sigh at the feeling of him remove himself, your muscles relaxing and your spine calming. You don't see where Harwin moves off to, until he comes back and murmurs for you to spread your legs, gently wiping his seed from your thighs.

For a moment, you wonder what happens now. Does he just leave? Does he stay? What happens between the two of you? Thoughts rummage, ruining your come down.

"Hey," he brushes your forehead. "Come here." He pulls the sheets back, indicating for you to crawl underneath. All those thoughts are momentarily thrown out the window when he slides in beside you, pulling you to him.

You lay in silence, your head on his chest and your hand playing with his loose curls. "What happens now?" You can't help but ask.

"Now?" He hums, his chest vibrating. "You become my lady wife, and I fuck you whenever I please."

You laugh, rolling further into him. "You better, now that I've given you my maidenhood."

He pulls away slightly, making you look at him. "What? You told me that this wasn't your first-" he stops, reading the glint in your eye and the expression on your face. "You cheeky girl, almost gave me a heart failure."

You grin cheekily, not quite saying anything whilst you comb his hair. You've found yourself with an obsession. "Leave your hair like this," you say lowly, loving the way it frames his face.

"But it gets in my way," he grumbles, swatting your hand away.

"And I like it like this," you counter, going for his curls again, but this time running your nails along his scalp, smirking at his groan. "And I think you secretly like it too." He gives you the side eye, taking your other hand and bringing it to his lips.

#ser harwin strong #harwin strong smut #harwin strong x reader #ryan corr #ser harwin x reader #hotd #house of dragon fic

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50shadesofrossi · 2 years

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Harwin is the love of my life, that is all

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50shadesofrossi · 2 years

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Also Bishop

living and breathing just to check for new rooster x reader fanfics on tumblr everyday

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50shadesofrossi · 2 years

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Accusations and Apologies

Bishop Losa x Female Reader

Summary: You’re Miguel Galindo’s bookkeeper, who finds out that someone has been skimming. You know only one person that is stupid yet bold enough to try piss off the Cartel

Warnings: swearing, smut [m. receiving]

A/N: I haven’t written anything smutty for quite some time, so I do apologise if it seems rushed

Betrayal, that's all you feel in this moment, hurt and anger be damned. You can't believe you allowed yourself to lower your guard, to allow for this situation to happen. It makes you wonder if it's the only reason you met in the first place, like this was his only play; lure you in and push the possibility of him doing anything like this, to the back of your mind.

Well, it worked, for a short time at least. For the past couple of months, you never even suspected an issue with the books, not a single thing out of place. Until you were transferring the details over to the laptop, and the numbers suddenly didn't make sense.

Now here you sit, head resting in your palm and the other bringing the cigarette to your lips, the smoke billowing into the room as you patiently wait for the man in question. It made sense at the time to situate yourself in his El Presidente chair at the head of the table, a perfect view from the door.

When you first added up all the missing figures, Nestor had been with you, double-checking you weren't losing your mind. You weren't. Someone had managed to skim over half a million off of Miguel Galindo's heroin trade. Nestor was there when you pieced together who the only bold, yet stupid enough person to try to pull this shit off is.

Bishop Losa, and his little band of hoons.

Nestor agreed to keep quiet as you figure this out, giving you the time to gather enough intel before presenting it to Miguel. Oh, how he's going to have a field day, having been the first one to tell you not to get into bed with the Mayans, especially the President. More so, the fact that you allowed the man to pull one over you and ultimately fuck you up.

You're not sure what hurts more, the fact that he was doing so behind your back or the possibility of why you two got involved in the first place. You don't necessarily have a relationship, only using each other's bodies after a stressful day.

But it still doesn't change the fact that you feel used.

The door to Templo slides open, distant voices filtering in. For a moment no one notices you, too caught up in the previous events until one of them halts. "Who the fuck are you?" He reaches for his gun, alerting all the men of the sudden threat lounging in their President's seat.

You don't particularly remember any of them, having briefly come in contact with the Mayans at one of the exchanges for the books-detailing the weight of the keys, how many went out and how much was paid for-and the money. Usually, that is Devante's job, but sometimes he can't always make it.

The small gathering parts, the man you're waiting ever so patiently to see, steps down the last step. "The fuck are you doing here?" He sneers, dark eyes glaring holes through your figure. Suppose, you sitting in his chair is quite the insult.

You lick your lips, taking a moment to carefully choose your words. "What is it that you call me?" You click your fingers, feigning to remember the little nickname he has for you.

"Number's girl," he steps forward, playing into your hands.

"That's it, number's girl." You inhale another puff of smoke, blowing it in his general direction. "Is that because I can calculate so quickly in my head or because I remember almost every figure on a day to day basis?"

Bishop releases a breath of irritation, "why are you here?"

You flicker behind him, "call off your guard dogs and I'll tell you."

He glances at his Vice Presidente, signalling his boys to leave the room. You smirk at the hesitancy before they oblige and clear out, though you don't miss the glint in their eyes. Once the door slides shut, you sit up, putting the bud out.

"You know what I did today? I transferred all of last year's records into a computer, for our backup, and suddenly the figures weren't adding up." You see Bishop tilt his head with apprehension. "So I went back a few years and everything matched, but not last year. For the life of me, I couldn't understand, until Nestor connected the dots; someone has been taking a small piece out of every shipment, bit by bit. Do you know how much they've taken?"

Confusion swirls in his eyes at your meaning, his body now moving to lean against the table in front of you. "How much?"

"Nearly a quarter of a million."

He lets out a low whistle, shifting his position to fold his arms. "So why are you telling me?" He holds your gaze, searching you for answers.

You pause, your heart hammering against your chest and your nerves spiking in anticipation of the next few seconds. You know it's about to be a screaming fest, how hot-headed he is, especially when accused of something, whether it's true or not. It's the one thing you hate, getting into an argument.

You're more of a cruisey person, relaxed and generally getting along with almost everyone, and your arguments tend to get ugly.

Inhaling deeply, you lean forward, resting your elbows on the table and focusing on the gavel before you. "I need you to tell me right now, if you had anything to do with this-"

Bishop pushes off the table, anger written on his face as he paces. "Are you fucking serious right now?" You reluctantly turn to face him, your stomach twisting at the look he gives you. "Are you fucking accusing me? Is this what this is? You've come to find out if I stole from Mr Galindo,"

"You're a third party, Bishop, I have to ask." You stand slowly, not exactly wanting to get any closer to him but not wanting to have yourself exposed.

"Fuck you!" He shouts, the room falling silent.

His brothers grow weary, trying to figure out why their President is yelling. Not to mention, who you are.

You run your hands down your face, a sense of dread settling in as Bishop tries to gain control of his breathing. "I am his bookkeeper, Bishop, the only person who handles the books on this side of the world, I have to ask this question." You spare a glance at him. "You have to understand, I didn't catch this, I've fucked up and what's worse, is there's a possibility that the man I've been sleeping with is responsible."

"The fuck did you just say?" He seethes, stepping forward.

You hold your ground, refusing to look away. "You heard me." He stops right in front of you, his cologne wrapping around you. Normally you would bury your nose into his chest, inhaling the smell, but right now that's the furthest thing from your mind.

"A thousand dollars goes missing and suddenly a month later we're fucking around, and as each shipment goes, more goes missing, in bigger amounts-" Bishop grabs the back of your neck, his breath fanning your cheeks. Your skin flushes at the proximity and you curse at the way your body responds to him.

"Do you hear yourself?" He says lowly.

"Don't tell me you wouldn't ask the same thing if the roles were reversed." You catch yourself glancing down at his lips, a force of habit you would argue in this situation. You can almost feel his moustache against you, his stubble. "Bishop," you say pleadingly. "I need to know. I'm already fucked, don't put me in a grave."

"You aren't going anywhere," he grits. "He can't hurt you, I won't let him."

"You can't see the future Bishop, so don't try."

Somewhere, deep down, you knew it wasn't him. But it would make sense if it was, shit added up too easily. Bishop leans in slightly, giving you time to remove yourself if you wanted, but you don't. You haven't seen him in almost a week, and there's still some tension left within your muscles that needs out.

His lips crash against yours in a searing kiss, his fingers tightening along the sides of your neck. You grip onto his kutte, pulling yourself flush to his chest as you give in to his advances, your lungs constricting from the lack of oxygen.

His hands begin to wander down your sides, the gentleness stark in comparison to the bad they've done, coming to rest under your thighs for a heartbeat before he hoists you onto the table.

Your lips part, your chest heaving. This isn't how you thought this would end, maybe some more yelling and then you'd leave and everything would go haywire. But not this, fucking on his sacred club table.

Bishop steps between your legs, instantly grazing your jaw and down your neck in tender yet hungry kisses. Your fingers thread through his short curls, slightly tugging at the ends and earning yourself a low groan.

You smirk, yelping in shock at the hard nip on your shoulder.

The loud ringing echoes in the room, causing the both of you to pause. Instinctively you assume it's Bishop's, but he slides your phone out of your back pocket and hands it to you with a sigh. You don't want to answer it, to have to deal with the problem just yet.

"Nestor?" You answer.

"You're needed over here at the church pew, I'm sending someone to pick you up." Your body goes rigid, Bishop narrowing his eyes at your frozen behaviour.

"Okay, I'll see you soon." You slowly put the phone down, "fuck."

"What is it?" Bishop asks, his hands rubbing along your thighs in concern.

You meet his eye, fear sprouting. "He wants me at the church pew."

You sit in the car for a minute later, still trying to come to terms with the past four hours. It wasn't Bishop and the Mayans who stole, it was Devante, trying to teach Miguel a lesson and frame it on Bishop.

It backfired, and it's given Miguel more of a reason to distrust the man.

As for you, Miguel never expected you to know the exact amounts of each shipment, wanting you more specifically to make everything look legal and in order should anyone other than him go snooping.

Going forward, you will know how much is paid for.

You can't yet move your body to exit the vehicle, stuck sitting in the driver's seat, hearing the loud music and obvious party sounds. You're half tempted to turn around and go home, to speak with Bishop another day, but you want to put this behind you, to forget everything it's put you through and apologise for accusing him of such a lucrative scheme.

Exhaling deeply, you slide out of the car, your shoes hitting the gravel and alerting your presence as you approach the gate. A few of the Mayans lounge outside by the fires, women laying on their laps or hanging close with drinks.

You don't miss the stares, as you stand completely out with your work clothes and slight anxious stance.

"You're not welcome here," a tattooed figure blocks your way up the stairs.

You halt, meeting his eyes. For a heartbeat, you almost turn tail, feeling nervous from the countless glares of the boys that have joined their brother's side. It's intimidating, but not as intimidating as working for a drug cartel.

"Too bad you don't get to make that decision." You climb the stairs, coming face to face with the man.

"Coco," his name is called, shifting everyone's attention to the burly man by the front door. "Let her through."

Coco reluctantly listens, stepping aside for you to move past, his eyes following your every move. You roll your shoulders back, releasing the tension. You weren't about to go head to head with the Mayan, but you don't back down easily.

"Sorry about him, they're a little tense at the moment." The man tries to change the mood, pushing the door further open for you. "Bishop told us, why you came earlier. In case we had to prepare ourselves,"

You nod in understanding, scanning the crowded room for the man in question. "That's why I'm here,"

"He's over there."

You follow the man toward a table in the back, your eyes darting everywhere to take in the scene; men playing a game of pool with women hanging off them, some making out in dark corners whilst others not caring and doing it surrounded by brothers.

You come to a stop, Bishop instantly stopping his conversation. Before either of you can say anything, Taza comes to a stand, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek as he hugs you. "Hello sweetheart, are you alright?" He asks.

"Hi Taza, yeah I'm alright." You've met Taza during the many times you've spent at Bishop's, often making him a little late some mornings and resulting in his second having to come get him.

"So, should I be preparing my boys for war?" Bishop cuts in, nursing his beer.

"No," you shake your head. "It was Devante, turns out he was trying to set you guys up. He doesn't like the idea of a cartel and criminal outlaws mixing."

Everyone around the table laughs, relief falling from their bodies at the news. They can relax tonight. Bishop continues to look at you, tilting his head slightly. "Is that all you came for?"

Licking your lips, "yeah, you gentlemen enjoy your night." They hold up their beers in gratification before turning back to continue their conversation. As you turn to leave, Bishop stands, quickly rounding the table to press a hand along your backside.

"Let me walk you out."

You glance sideways at him, raising a brow. "I'm capable of walking myself to my car."

"You're not leaving just yet," he opens the door, waiting for you to pass before following you down the stairs and out the gate. You swallow, allowing him to guide you past your car and toward the front office. "You really think you can come here and leave without an apology?"

You open your mouth to scoff, knowing you did want to apologise but you didn't owe it to him. Bishop unlocks the office door, almost shoving you in. "I could have apologised at my car," you start, blinking furiously at the sudden light turning on.

"That's not the apology I want."

You knew what he meant, smirking at him. "Come get it then," you tease, a shiver rolling down your spine at the calculated steps he takes in your direction.

He stops, his chest brushing your own and his cigarette and whisky breath caressing your cheeks in close proximity, his dark eyes tracing patterns over your face. It's almost like he takes a moment to remember how angelic you look, before he intends to ruin you.

In a flash, his hand wraps around the top of your neck, his thumb digging under your jaw to pull you to him, his lips crashing down. You whimper under his harsh kiss, your body surrendering but your mind ready to take control.

You walk him back, a grunt escaping him as his back hits the wall. A sly grin spreads across your face, your hands coming to rest on his chest as you pull apart. Your palms slide down his kutte, stopping at his belt buckle to easily pop it open, not once breaking eye contact.

His hand leaves your neck, cupping the side of your jaw with his thumb brushing across your lips. You know what he wants, opening your mouth to take his thumb, flattening your tongue as he pulls it out.

You sink to your knees, internally cringing at the uncomfortableness of the hard floor. You make quick work of slipping his cock out

He sucks in a deep breath at the contact of you wrapping around him, his lips parting as he watches you. You tease him, licking the precum off the head. "Don't," he warns, his hand coming to rest on your head, a warning tug on the roots of your hair. "Be a brat."

Feeling snarky, you take as much of him as you can fit into your mouth, running your tongue along the underside as you release him. "This is an apology, you take what you're given."

A fiery rage ignited in his eyes, his jaw clenching together as he fights to control himself. You know you're about to pay for that later, but right now, he's at your mercy.

You take him again, relaxing your throat to allow the head to slip down just a bit, your gag reflex almost non-existent. Bishop's fingers flex, his head leaning on the wall in response to your ministrations, your tongue working around his cock.

He hasn't had a release in a week, the slightest touch being enough to finish him off; sadly. Suppose, it's what happens once his body grows accustomed to you almost every night. Your jobs are both stressful in their own right, often demanding a little relaxation at the end of the day.

"That's it, good girl," he praises once you settle into the rhythm you know he likes, slowly but surely pumping him.

One hand pays attention to the little bit you can't fit in your mouth, the other holding onto the back of his thighs as his hips reflexively jut out. Quiet groans escape him, feeding your ego and coaxing you to finish him off in due time. You quite enjoy watching him fall apart.

"Fuck," he mutters, revealing in the feel of your cheeks hollowing out and pushing more of him down your throat.

You feel his tip twitch, signalling the end of his composure. You drag your lips over his cock as you move off him, before quickly taking him back in. Bishop grabs the back of your head, his hips rutting out. He face fucks you, his body moving with need and pleasure.

Tears spring from the corners of your eyes at the slight roughness, your lungs beginning to burn from lack of sufficient oxygen. You glance up at him, a half attempted smirk forming at his dazed state. Swirling your tongue around his head, you watch him completely crumble.

He curses, his body shuddering and his cock pulsing as he cums. You swallow, wincing at the taste but getting it down nonetheless. Letting him fall out of your mouth, you wipe the corner of your lips as you stand, giving him a moment to readjust himself.

Normally you're all for whatever happens next, but the thought of being taken against a desk is the last thing on your mind. You want a shower, food and some sleep. He can come fuck you once you've rested.

"What happened today?" Bishop asks softly, reaching into his kutte for a cigarette.

You lean against the edge of the table, shrugging your shoulders. "That's for me to know, and you to not worry about." You dodge, biting the inside of your cheek at the knowledge of him being unravelled only a minute ago.

He frowns, knowing that clearly, something happened when you arrived at the church pew, but he knows not to push. The smoke wafts around the enclosed room, creating a slight barrier between the two of you.

Holding the cigarette between two fingers, Bishop closes the distance, cupping your chin in a possessive manner. Typical alpha males. "Well, I accept your apology," he muses, smoke exhaling through his nose. "Go get some sleep, I'll see you later."

You hum, exhaustion starting to seep into your body. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, stark in comparison to the rough, dominating ones that bruise you. Pulling away, you lick your lips, moving past him to open the door and enter the cooler Santo Padre air.

#bishop losa x reader #bishop losa #mayans mc #bishop losa imagine #michael irby #obispo losa

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50shadesofrossi · 2 years

Text

Insanity and Devotion

Accusations and Apologies

Want Me

Ruining You

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50shadesofrossi · 2 years

Text

Young Johnny Lawrence x F!Reader

Summary: In which you come flying into Johnny’s life, giving him a run for his money in his attitude and martial arts. The poor boy can only try to keep up with you and ultimately you become his biggest devotion.

Warnings: Swearing, smut, violence (more will be added as the story continues)

A/N: This will be only a few parts long, yet the actual part will be lengthy. I’m not changing much to the actual plot of Karate Kid, only adding some details and switching up some reasonings behind Johnny’s actions

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

#johnny lawrence x reader #johnny lawrence #the karate kid #billy zabka

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50shadesofrossi · 2 years

Text

Insanity and Devotion

Young Johnny Lawrence x F!Reader

Part One

Summary: The usual family night at the Country Club turns into something else when you meet a blonde haired Johnny Lawrence

Warnings: Swearing

Author’s Note: Just an fyi, I haven’t written anything in quite a while and I’m trying to get back into it with a short little Johnny Lawrence Fic

Saturday night-your least favourite night of the week. No matter how much you beg and plead, your father still makes you attend the Country Club with your family; forcing smiles and fake laughs until the clock strikes nine and you can bolt out the back door. Suppose, it's your father's way of keeping your family tight, knowing once your brother and yourself are older, you'll branch out and see each other less and less.

You can't fault him, but there are plenty of other activities you could be doing with your gang of friends instead. Three of your friends are also dragged to the event by their parents, making the situation not completely terrible, but it would be better to not be separated by social groups.

Your parents mingle in their cliches, your father with his business partners and your mother with the older, snobbish women. You sneer at the judgmental glares they send your way throughout the night, no doubt your mother expressing how unladylike you've gotten in the past year.

Sure, you used to dress nicely and smile at the handsome boys who stood alongside their parents during introductions and ate food with a delicacy your mother forced you to master and you always kept quiet unless spoken to, but since becoming friends with boys, well, let's say all sixteen years of brainwashing went down the drain.

Goodbye, cute dresses, cute hairstyles and pretty makeup. Hello, jeans and shirt, natural hair and the occasional lipstick. You no longer care about dolling yourself up for others, when you're a natural beauty who needs no 'assistance'. The little heels were replaced with doc martens and on the odd day, heeled boots.

You got piercings and revealed your bad bitch attitude.

Though sometimes, that bad bitch attitude gets you in trouble.

"Damn Baby, I didn't think you and adorable would ever be in the same sentence." Your friend chuckles, gesturing to the cardigan and short-sleeved shirt your mother insisted you wear, tucked into your skirt. You flip him off, walking down the small set of stairs to pinch the joint from between his fingers.

Ever since you could remember, you've been called Baby, your real name saved for the moments when you're in dire trouble. Sometimes your father will throw in your middle name for added exaggeration.

"Ha ha, real funny." You scowl, pressing the joint to your lips and leaning against the building.

The back door suddenly opens and the three of your friends scurry down to join you, having also escaped from their parent's sights. "I don't know about you Baby, but my parents are trying to set me up!"

You exhale, the puff of cloud floating into the atmosphere. "You're almost eighteen Debby, what do you expect?" You hand her the much-needed bud. "I assume I'll be in the same boat in two years."

"Pfft, please," Brett laughs. "As if anyone could handle you."

You all laugh, knowing it's true. Your parents have a hard enough time as it is, your father is a little easier but hard nonetheless.

"The only person capable of controlling Baby, is someone just as insane."

You roll your eyes, passing up the offer of alcohol that Steve managed to swipe on his way out. Normally you are all for it, but you know your father will be pissed if he smells weed and alcohol. He's pretty flexible with your rebellious phase, allowing you to stay out until eleven-thirty, shaking his head at the new piercings or scandalous outfits and occasionally allowing you to skip school.

He likes to remind your mother of the man he was when she met him; the exact same way you are now. He remembers wanting to try and figure himself out, changing up the new styles and having fun with his friends up until senior year when he put his head down and graduated with the third-highest grade in his school.

Realistically, you have a year and a bit of having fun and being carefree, and then you need to knuckle down and do the best you can. You haven't the slightest idea of what you want to do after high school, though you are leaning towards something to do with art.

From the moment you could hold a pencil, you've been drawing, creating images and scenes from your little mind and quite literally putting it on paper. As you've grown, so has your talent, and you're favourite style.

At least you know you'll never fail your art major in two years.

"What do you think, Baby?"

You blink, turning to face your friend Miranda. "What do I think...?"

"I told you she wasn't listening." Deborah laughs, extending the joint back to you. "We're thinking of crashing the Mayfield party afterwards, wanna join? We might run into Gemma."

At this, you perk up, your jaw clenching. Gemma; bitch number one. You used to be best friends, almost sisters from your first meeting in kindergarten, but after you walked into your little brother's bedroom during a party you hosted only a couple of months back, you've been waiting for the right time to pummel her. Your younger brother-by almost a year-was so smashed that he required assistance to make it to his room, and when you managed to get up there to check on him, you found Gemma undressing him.

She tried to take advantage of your drunk brother, and you lost it.

Few people know the true story, recreating rumours from the little scenes witnessed that night. Only you and your friends know the real story; Gemma and your brother included.

"For her sake, I'd hope not." You grit, your mood severely dampened.

"I'm surprised you haven't beat her yet, the Baby I know doesn't have enough control for that," Brett murmurs, remembering the night.

You purse your lips, glaring at the concrete below. "Master Phil told me to wait until the tournament when I can unleash and still beat her; again." At a young age, you began learning Taekwondo, working your way up to a second dan black belt. Every known and again you compete in tournaments, entering the Weapons and Poomsae sections. You try to avoid Sparring at all costs, knowing how ruthless you become.

You originally joined alongside Gemma, an incident at school encouraging your fathers to sign you up. Not long after, you moved to a different dojo, not liking the Master's style and flourishing with Master Phil. At least it allows you to have some friendly competition, which has now changed to a serious rivalry.

You intend on signing up for Sparring.

Before anyone can say anything else, the back door slams against the building, the noise startling you. The bright light casting down on your little area blinds you, blinking furiously to adjust and try to recognise the figure standing at the threshold.

"Steven Phillips! How many times do I have to catch you before you learn your lesson!"

Shit, you scramble to move away, instantly knowing who that angry voice belongs to; the manager. Most nights you attend, your group is caught stealing food or alcohol, creating your reputation amongst the staff.

You stifle a laugh as Brett hauls ass into the darkness, knowing his parents would crack down on him for being caught at the Country Club again. The four of you sprint for the patio along the side, dodging people and ducking around objects to slide through the glass doors and into the crowded room.

You lose sight of your friends, your adrenaline pumping and your ears burning at the frantic movement and rush of getting away. Something tells you that your father will be less than pleased if you get into trouble again.

Weaving your way through the scattered people, you swivel your head to try to catch sight of the manager, releasing a sharp breath when you see him following Steve up the stairs. With your attention fixated in front of you, you don't sense the person behind you, until you collide with them.

Hands reach out to steady you, your own grasping anything to keep the both of you upright. "I'm so sorry!" You blurt, your eyes wide in shock.

"Hey! You should watch where you're going," they cut off, their eyes finding yours.

You pause, taking in his azure blue eyes that fixate on you. They're the first thing you notice, the bright colour capturing your attention. You could probably spot them from a mile away. For a heartbeat you stare at them, the pools of colour swirling the longer you go before you blink and really notice the guy.

His sandy blonde hair covering his forehead yet swept slightly to the right, freckles painting his cheeks and nose. His dark coloured suit complimenting his skin tone, and hinting at the fact that he's from money. You've never seen this boy before, making it a tad bit awkward for the blatant staring and for bumping into him.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention." You cringe at the slightly higher octave in your voice, hoping he doesn't notice.

"No it's alright," he smiles, his hands still gripping your forearms gently yet firmly. "You seemed like you were in a hurry,"

You falter at the sight of his smile, the corner of his mouth twisted up. "I was-I am." You correct yourself, breaking eye contact to find the manager descending the stairs. You don't know if they've spotted you, nor do you want to find out. "Again, I apologise for the disruption."

Almost reluctantly, you pull away from his grasp, turning to continue your way through the bodies and effectively out of sight. You don't feel the gaze following you until you slip around a corner. You also don't feel the heat in your cheeks from your encounter, too focused on finding your family and blending in for the rest of the evening.

You approach your table, your father standing at the sight of you. "Baby, where have you-really?" He scolds, smelling the weed.

Your face flushes at the realisation, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. Did you seriously just have that entire encounter with the handsome boy, whilst smelling of pot? Your father raises a brow at your stupidity to cover your tracks, gripping your shoulder. "Go to the ladies' room and freshen up, before your mother sees you."

You nod, ignoring your snickering brother from the table. How could you be so stupid, the number one rule is to douse yourself in perfume afterwards and you couldn't even do that. And, you were in close proximity to a boy, smelling like you do.

Amateur.

"Sorry, daddy," you mumble.

"Go," he urges, gesturing for the bathroom before turning to return to his conversation.

Your brother stifles his laugh, quickly jumping out of his chair to escort you to the bathroom, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. "Did you at least save any for me?"

"No, Brett took it."

"Aw man, why don't I ever get any?" He whines.

You roll your eyes, shrugging his arm off and placing your hand on the door of the bathroom. "Because they're my friends, and not yours." He pouts. "If you cover for me later, I'll bring some home."

Classic sibling bribery, the only way the two of you get along. Once your brother was old enough, you began 'training' him on it, using it for almost everything. Of course, you're a little better at digging up the dirt on him, as any older sibling is.

"You better," he points, narrowing his eyes and slowly backing away for added effect. You chuckle at his antics, finally pushing the door open and entering the bathroom.

The light reflecting off the white tiles blasts into your eyesight, causing you to blink erratically as you make your way to the sink. Most of the women here attend daily, all know each other and thus leaving products for everyone to use, should anything arise. Thankfully, it gives you the perfect opportunity to dose yourself in perfume, wrinkling your nose at the pungent smell.

Behind you, a small group of girls your age rush in, occupying a small selection of sinks and two of them jumping up onto the counter, all the whole animatedly chatting. You nibble on the corner of your lip at the conversation, pretending to check yourself over.

"Have you seen Johnny tonight? He looks absolutely dashing." One of them giggles, reapplying her lipstick.

For a moment you swallow the heaviness in your throat, opting to tune out the dreamy sighs as they relive their encounter with said Johnny. As much as you love your friends and the way you all are, sometimes you wonder what it'd be like if you were different; you don't talk about crushes or prom or anything like that. It's normally about parties, something stupid the boys did and getting high.

Sometimes you wish you were close with them, much like the girls next to you clearly are with each other-encouraging the first girl about the boy and reminding her to play hard to get, presenting herself to be uninterested but pursuable.

Ugh, what am I thinking? I couldn't imagine anything worse.

Turning to exit the bathroom, you make haste in retreating back to your table, sitting across from your brother. Your parents have learnt to separate you both since the last altercation you created.

You lean back in your chair, huffing at the way your mother acts with her friends, hand movements, fake laugh and her voice raised a little high. On the other side of the table, your brother sits straighter, mocking your mother's movements and mouthing a conversation.

You chuckle, amusement dancing over your features at his antics, your mother completely unaware.

"Ah Sid, it's good to see you," your father voices beside the table, shaking hands with the wealthy man.

Your brother abruptly stops, his cheeky grin giving himself up as your father turns to introduce the man to your family. You glance sideways to inspect the man when you come face to face with the boy from earlier; the one with the azure eyes you stumbled into.

"Oh fuck," you mutter, averting your attention to your empty glass in front of you.

Your father calls your name, gesturing to the both of you and your brother, Sid shaking his hand. You smile politely, wanting nothing more than to remove yourself from the awkward situation, even more so as Sid reveals the boy's name.

"This is my wife Laura, and her son Johnny,"

You reluctantly glance up, meeting Johnny's gaze. He smiles almost hesitantly, like he isn't sure what else to do besides hold your attention. You think back to the girls in the bathroom, blurting, "so you must be Johnny."

His eyebrows raise in surprise. "You've heard of me?"

"Only in passing." You smirk, already sniffing out his inflated ego.

He nods slightly, a little confused though interested in seeing where this could go. "Yeah? Where?"

The adults take a seat, claiming dinner is soon to be served and your father has much to discuss with Sid, Johnny situating himself beside you. "The bathroom, this group of girls couldn't stop fawning over your, what'd she say? Dashing features."

Johnny perks up at the comment, his neck heating up. "And who is this girl? I must meet her."

"Oh, that one over there with the blonde hair." You lean close, pointing to the girl over his shoulder.

"Ali?!" He says her name a little loud next to your ear, causing you to wince.

You tilt your head, smirking at his excited expression. She must mean something to him, otherwise, he would've kept cool and brushed it off, going off his personality trait you can already pick out.

"She your little crush?"

For a heartbeat, Johnny forgets where he is, his features darkening at the possibility of you making fun of him, until he notices the amusing spark in your eye and the sly smile threatening to spill. So you're a cheeky little thing.

"She's a girl I go to school with, a pain in my ass."

"Mhm, sure." You lean back. From his reaction, she must be a real thorn in his side. You've never met this boy before and here you are, making easy conversation and actually enjoying it. Most of the time you roll your eyes at their incessant rambling about sports or cars or even big talk to make themselves seem cooler.

A real charm, the boys at your school are.

"I've never seen you here before," he starts, capturing your brother's attention.

"That's because she's usually out the back smoking billy's."

"Hey!" You scold, your mother jumping in her seat at his language. She uses his full name, alerting him that he's in serious shit for using that mouth in this building, around these successful people.

Beside you, Johnny uses his hand to cover his laugh, choking in an attempt to keep it down. You scoff are your brother, glaring daggers at him.

You can forget our deal.

What?! I was only half-joking!

Forgotten.

"Baby!" He whispers harshly once you break contact, knowing you'll stick to your word. "Come on, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry."

You cock a brow, daring him to say more. Johnny watches from the side, unaware of the stakes yet curious to know the hidden meaning behind your silent conversation.

The appearance of waiters placing food down cuts the large room in half, voices dimming down as people eat and quietly converse between bites. You slowly eat, not feeling hungry yet knowing you should have a full stomach. Your father has a sudden interest in the boy beside you, asking him questions about school and his future plans.

Sid laughs, causing Laura to frown and encourage Johnny to continue anyway. He slips one hand down to his lap, blinking drastically and pausing for a moment before starting. You notice his hand clench, his knuckles turning white at the comments his stepfather makes. If you didn't know any better, you'd say Johnny is two seconds away from throwing that fist.

Something compels you, your hand reaching over to cover his. He feels warm, a tad on the hot side and a little clammy in comparison to your cool touch. You don't stop your eating, acting normal despite him going silent and allowing the adults to take over. You peak out the corner of your eye, taking in his red ears and tight jaw, glaring holes into his plate and his chest rising.

Hot temper.

The colour begins to fade, his breath evening out and his hand slowly relaxing under your own, making you turn your head slightly. You can't help but piece together that Sid must treat Johnny like some sort of financial aid, a kid he never wanted but let's stick around because of his mother. You could only imagine the emotions brewing inside the boy, the hatred and humiliation.

He meets your eye, gratitude spiralling within his own.

You eventually remove your hand as the dinner progresses, you and your brother chatting about some of the people you know when you catch a glimpse of your friends going up to dance. Deborah meets your gaze across the floor, a subtle flick of her head to signal you get up there. No doubt to plan the rest of the evening.

You lick your lips, sending a small nod of confirmation to her. You know your father will be suspicious if you just waltz up to them or try to meet somewhere away from the public eye, leaving you with the only option of dancing, and 'coincidently coming into contact with her and your other friends.'

Sparing another glance at Johnny, you tilt your head at his quietness, that arrogant, cocky boy from earlier, nowhere to be seen. "Let's go dance," you say lowly.

"You want to dance?" He turns, confusion swirling within his azure eyes.

You nod. "We can leave these old crones to their chatter, whilst we go have fun."

Johnny flickers over to his mother and Sid as though weighing his options and coming to a decision. He stands, the movement catching the attention of the adults. "We're going to dance." You tell them, quickly grabbing Johnny's hand and leading him near Deborah and some lad on the dance floor before your father can object.

One of his hands comes to rest on your back, the other holding your own with a delicacy you would only imagine as hesitancy. You rest on his shoulder, taking the time to fall into the rhythm of the song and relax. Johnny takes the lead, his jaw tense and his figure a little uptight as he burns a hole through your eyes.

He seems a little out of his element, despite his impeccable footwork and efficient movements, revealing his athletic side of him. If only you knew it was because of his years of extensive training in Karate.

"Baby!" You turn your head, smiling at Deborah.

"Steve didn't get caught did he?" You ask, mildly aware of the fact that you are still moving.

She shakes her head, grinning like a madwoman. "We're thinking of meeting up at Brett's? His little boy toy can take us up to Mayfield's."

Brett constantly denies the fact that he has a boyfriend, calling him a thing, nothing serious, even though he looks at the man so much adoration. His boy toy has a license, and generally hauls your asses around the Valley. You all brush Brett's antics off, knowing deep down he still struggles with his sexuality because of his parents.

"Sounds like a plan. Say, 10:30?"

You and Deborah lock in the time, Deborah leaving to alert Miranda and Steve of the plans when you shift your focus back to the boy in front of you, tilting your head at his serious gaze.

"So that's why I'm here,"

"Hmm?" You step forward, your chests brushing and the air heating up alongside the beat of the music.

"Just a front for your daddy."

You shrug, ignoring the feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach. You've only met the guy a little over two hours ago and your body is already responsive to his close presence. You blame it on his charming looks. "That, and it looked like you could do with some space." You lower your voice, not wanting to impose on his situation yet uncovering the fact that you could read the room.

He swallows, avoiding your eye as you both continue to move, his fingers flexing along your back. Goosebumps erupt along your flesh, your blood pumping under his warm touch. "Sid, he uh," he starts, his brows furrowing in concentration.

"You don't have to explain it to me."

Johnny's azure pools dart up, surprise etched across his features. He's so used to people prying, that he almost forgot what it's like to have someone not care about his private life, to not making him lie and protect his stepfather's reputation.

You smile sweetly, readjusting your grip on his shoulder as a sudden flash of confidence bursts throughout Johnny, his steps becoming more strong and his form straightening. You'd never picture this boy to be a fantastic dancer, leading throughout the song without a fault.

Suddenly, the tempo changes and a new song begins. Your eyes widen in recognition, excitement coursing throughout your body as you sway your body to the beat. "The warden threw a party in the county jail. The prison band was there, and they began to wail." You belt out the lyrics, forgetting your stunned dance partner and turning to face your brother who leapt out of his seat the moment the song started.

"This is our song Baby!" He yells excitedly, grabbing your hands and sending you both into your practiced positions. You and your brother adore Elvis Presley, creating dances to the majority of his songs and memorizing the lyrics.

Your body flows with the beat, most of the people on the floor making room for you both as you become the centre of the attention. You move away from your brother temporarily, pointing your finger at yourself then at him, following the words. "Number forty-seven said to number three, you're the cutest jailbird I ever did see,"

He laughs at your enthusiasm, finishing the verse, "I sure would be delighted with your company. Come on and do the Jailhouse Rock with me!"

Johnny stands alongside your parents, chuckling at you with surprise. The last thing he expected tonight is to see someone so joyous in a song, allowing the energy to enter your body and take control.

"Go Baby!" Miranda cheers you on during the instrumental solo.

Your body warms from the excessive movements, blood pumping and your cheeks heating up. Glancing up, you spot Johnny fairly easily, observing you from the outskirts. "Come on," you mouth, jutting your head back in an attempt to coax him onto the dance floor with you.

He shakes his head, putting his hands up and slightly backing away. Put him on a mat against anyone in a tournament with hundreds of people watching, but out there on a dance floor? Fuck that. You roll your eyes, a laugh escaping you as your father not so subtly nudges the boy forward, right into your reach.

You grasp onto his hands before he can retreat, pulling him further out. "That's not very nice," he grumbles.

"I'm actually helping you out here, but if you don't want it,"

He frowns, loosely following you. "Helping me how?"

"Little miss pain in my ass, hasn't been able to keep her eyes off you since we came up here." You tell him, having noticed Ali the moment you and Johnny stood and left the table. "Don't look!" You quickly stop him from turning to see for himself, bringing his attention back to you. "You don't want her to know we're gossiping about her."

"And you’re helping me because...?"

You shake your head lightly, rolling your eyes again at his antics. "Ali's playing hard to get, which is fine and all, but she needs to be reminded that after a while it can get tiring, and there are other options out there." Understanding flashes across his features, his eyes sparkling. "Trust me, after tonight, she'll adjust her attitude toward you and you'll be taking her on a date in no time."

"So, you’re making me look like a player?" He muses. In all honesty, the boy had forgotten about the blonde-haired girl from school, enjoying his time with you.

You deadpan, barely registering how close you've become, his breath fanning your own and your hands still clasped with your fingers laced. It's hard to believe you've only met the boy this evening, having felt like it's been at least five years.

A bright smile spreads across his face, his azure iris' lighting up. Jailhouse Rock finishes and another starts, the both of you getting lost amongst yourselves, enjoying the music and floating around the other.

"Baby, we're going home." Your father calls out.

Immediately you both stop, a twinge of disappointment churning in your stomach. For the first time in a long time, you've really enjoyed yourself with this stranger. You don't really want to leave, knowing he won't ask for your number and deep down you want him to, meaning this will probably be the last time you see him.

Running a hand over your head to compose yourself, "goodnight Johnny, it was fun dancing with you." Johnny licks his lips, his neck warm and his heart pounding in nervousness? "Yeah, you too." He breathes, his chest rising heavily. His azure eyes flicker with emotion, his thoughts spiralling and the only thing he can say is, "goodnight, Baby."

#johnny lawrence #johnny lawrence x reader #william zabka #the karate kid

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