#breanime

[thewingedwolf]

@breanime the issue is that there’s so many things that could be causing it that basically every time i go to a pcp and say “the nausea is kicking my ass” they just kinda shrug. like it could be the fibromyalgia, the h. pylori, the lactose intolerance, the gerd, or something completely new (my mother actually does think i might have a hernia so you are possibly on the right track there) and trying to impress upon a doctor that my symptoms are severe enough that i’m complaining means they are likely at a point where a normal person would go to the ER, but a lot of them just kinda act like i complain to hear myself talk. like, the last two i had just put me on The Fibro Meds and when i said “hey i’m not sure these are doing much” they went “well those are the fibro meds so keep at it” like they won’t even give me things to ease the symptoms atp and im like 80% sure there’s a sticky note in my file that says “drug seeker and hypochondriac” bc the amount of times i’ve been dropped by a doctor or blown off in the past two years is kind of insane.

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Thank you 😭😭😭❤

Teeth

Part 16

Werepanther! Billy Russo x Female Reader

Masterlist

Warnings: Angst, stalking, anxiety, panic attacks.

The predator yearns.

Looks at you, lying in bed, arms askew, body exhausted and resting.

He makes a circle, anxiety filling up inside of him.

Takes a step closer.

The panther huffs, and startles itself when your eyes open.

Of course, you were a light sleeper.

You lift your sleepy head, blinking, eyes confused, but intention clear. You pull your sheets back, offering him a place beside you. 

When he hesitates for too long, you fall back onto your bed, too sleepy to keep your head up.

“Come, kitty.” You say softly, patting the spot beside you.

The panther likes it, likes the idea that you don’t see him as anything dangerous, he doesn’t want you to. He wants you to see him as safety, as an ease of mind, someone you can reach for when you need it.

He hops up onto your bed.

When he settles in, breathing that scent of freshly picked strawberries, does he finally relax, letting out a soft breath.

You instinctively pull the blanket over him, and inch closer to his furry form.

“Soft.” You mumble, fingers sinking into his fur.

He tries to resist it, but after a minute, he begins to purr, eyes closing as he feels your face press into the side of him. 

This is exactly what he always wanted, a place beside you to rest, where he's meant to be. The only place he's ever felt was right, somewhere deep in his bones where he can barely understand, a primal instinct that tells him that you're one of the most important things in his universe.

He closes his eyes, falls asleep beside you.

When he wakes up in the morning, he's human again, looks over at the other side of his bed and realises that you were never beside him in the first place. 

It had all been a dream.

The rejection burns in his chest, squeezes his throat. He hates it.

He decides to hear it from you, to give himself closure and hear you say the words to him. Maybe it will help him move on, instead of yearn for you, and each passing scent he catches of you.

He tries to send you a message later in the morning, after he’s run five miles to let off some steam, he texts you.

It doesn’t go through.

He waits, refreshes his phone, and still the messages do not go through.

He doesn’t let himself think it through fully, dialling your number.

After one ring, it goes to voicemail.

He feels something die inside of him. Swiping a hand over his mouth, he crushes his phone in his palm without a second thought, violently angry at himself that he let things get this bad.

.

When Katerina pops in, and asks if you have an available minute, you know what’s coming. 

You’d blocked his number, avoided every interaction with him as best as possible for the two days he’d been back, but you knew this was inevitable.

He wants to see you, and you can’t refuse him.

You press your teeth together, smiling softly at Katerina, who you can tell knows more than she lets on.

You probably shouldn’t have asked her where he was.

What else could you have done? Waking up in bed alone after an unforgettable night with him, every limb of yours tangled with his, the smooth skin of his back as you scraped your fingers over his heated body, only to find him gone.

You’d called him several times, numerous texts.

You’d even stood outside of his home, knocking on his door with your heart in your throat.

Nothing.

He hadn’t answered, he hadn’t called.

He’d completely disappeared.

Your last resort had been calling his secretary. Katerina had very kindly informed you that Billy had left the state, and did not say where he was going or when he’d be back. She’d been very kind to you, despite you calling her late on a Sunday evening, with no explanation and only questions.

It was then, curled up on your couch with your phone in your hand, the very same couch he’d reclined you on so that he could bury his face between your thighs, that you’d decided you were done with him.

The only thing left to do was make that clear to him, officially.

Standing at his door, you know Katerina is looking at you while you hesitate. You wonder what she thinks she knows.

You clear your throat as you step in.

“You wanted to see me, Mister Russo?”

.

You have no idea how hurtful your words are to him. The pain your distance causes, the way it shreds at his ribs.

He’s facing away from you, so that you can’t see him close his eyes in bliss when the scent of strawberries fills his nose.

He turns, and there you are. Facing each other, your expression calm and just borderline curious, as if this conversation could be about anything in the world.

The words die in his throat as everything comes back to him. 

Everything.

Every piece of you that he’s held onto for the last couple of days while he was without you in the wilderness. Every touch, every cry, every breath he swallowed in a desperate attempt to feel all of you.

To know you, like he would never dare know another person.

The panther urges him to say something.

“I’m sorry to call you in like this, but, you- you weren’t answering my calls and- well I’m not sure-” His voice cuts off when you raise your eyebrows.

“We-” He tries to continue, looking down, “We’ve had some type of… miscommunication somewhere, and I’d like to figure out where.”

“Miscommunication?” You utter in disbelief, “More like no communication at all.”

“That’s not true.” He tries, “I left a note.”

You frown, eyebrows crushed together and he aches to smoothen your frustration.

“I never found a note.”

“I left it on your pillow.”

You swallow, turning away from him.

“And what did this mythical note say?” You ask.

“That I didn’t want to leave.”

“That’s it?” 

“It was all I could do. There was an… emergency.”

You huff.

“You could have woke me, or something- anything other than having me wake up alone and realise that you weren’t there.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shake your head, already done with this conversation.

“Regardless of what you meant to do, you did that, and… while you were gone, I decided that whatever this-” You wiggle your finger to indicate the space between you, “- is… is over. I’m no longer interested in being your friend or anything else.” You say calmly, even though you want to cry, turning away from him.

He says your name softly, and when you glance up, the pained expression on his face almost makes you crumble.

“So, have a nice day, Mister Russo.” You whisper, turning on your heel and leaving the way you came, with more weight on your chest than ever before.

.

You drive to Amy’s house after work, beelining and flopping onto Amy’s couch as soon as she opens the door.

Her cat, Loki, a grey maine coon takes a delicate leap onto your back and you grunt at his weight.

When he starts purring, you smile, thinking about the panther.

Amy puts on a funny movie, pulls strawberry sorbet out her freezer and presents it to you. You’re forced to eat it face down on her couch as Loki makes biscuits on your back.

She lets you mope quietly, doesn’t ask about it, and you talk about everything else other than him.

It’s peaceful, exactly what you need, and still the knot in your chest refuses to unravel.

.

He wanted to go after you, but he’d been stuck in meetings for the last couple of hours. When he finally gets a moment, it’s only to watch you drive off, leaving him behind. 

The meetings go on around him, and he feels like he’s not really here. He suspects that when you’d walked away last, you’d taken a piece of him with you.

It was a new feeling, one he’d never experienced before with past relationships. He was completely enraptured by you, and he’d only been with you once.

His fingers tighten around the pen he’s holding. The panther urges him to keep fighting.

.

When you get to your car, after leaving Amy’s apartment, it’s just a little after seven.

You almost miss it, too much in your head, but as you get closer, it catches on the corner of your eye- a manilla envelope, tucked under the windshield wiper of your car.

Suddenly, every bad thing you’ve tried to forget has happened to you, has come back in full force. Your heart clenches tightly in your chest, refusing to move with the fear trickling into your limbs, paralysing you from the neck down.

You can’t move, unsure of what to do. A group of teenagers walking past, prompts you to move out of their way and closer to your car.

There’s a ringing in your ear, a lump in your throat, heavily dissociating from your reality and being unable to make a move because you’re not sure what the right move is.

You swallow, closing your eyes for a second, months of therapy working its way in, like a system trying to reboot itself. You suck in a slow breath through your nose, feel the way it fills you, your lungs expanding. It’s like grasping at a single foothold, you’re no longer spiralling, but able to at least hold your ground. You listen to the sound your breath makes as it leaves through your mouth. 

Eyes open now, you realise that you’re probably being watched at this very second. Anxiety swims in your head and you’re dizzy for a moment before you reach for the A4 sized envelope, pulling off the windshield and examining it carefully. It’s not sealed, and you bend the envelope back and forth to try to get a gauge on the thickness of it. It seems like only one or two pieces of paper, and you figure you know what it is from past experience.

You’re not sure if getting into your car is a good idea, you glance at your back seat through the window to make sure it’s empty. After that, fear prompts you to kneel on the street to look under your car. There’s nothing there that you can see. 

You needed to find a safe place, turning back to face the direction of Amy’s apartment. She would let you crash there if you asked, no questions.

But then what? Should you call the police?

You figure it’s the safest option, and you take a step in her direction. 

One step turns into two, and two into three and you’re moving now with a little more purpose inside of you. You’re a little ways there when you notice someone coming toward you. Your body instantly locks up, and you turn back, unlocking and sliding into your car without any further thoughts. 

Head empty, body moving on its own accord, heart hammering in your chest as you lock your doors, starting the car, and pulling out onto the street. Your rapid breathing is loud in your ears and your hands shake as you begin driving. After a few moments, your phone connects to your car speaker and there’s something soothing playing in the background.

When you’re halfway home, you realise you’ve done the exact opposite of what you’d wanted to do- all because a person you didn’t know was walking down the street.

You groan, continuing your drive home, fully aware of the risk you’d just taken. 

You climb out of your car carefully, but not before shining the flashlight of your phone under your seat. All your ideas of stalking have been influenced by the media, and you feel absolutely stupid when you find no fancy pressure switch under your driver’s seat that’s been rigged to explode your car if you move.

It makes you laugh in derision, before you slide out of your car, grabbing your bag and the manilla envelope and entering your apartment building.

The guard at the front desk gives you a nod when you walk past and you return his acknowledgement with a smile, waiting for the elevator quietly.

When you get in, you finally feel brave enough to aggressively open the manilla envelope and tug the single glossy photo out.

You swallow, examining it carefully, as if it doesn’t send massive waves of fear down your spine.

It’s you, in the parking garage of the supermarket the day Andrew confronted you. 

It’s taken from a small distance away, you can tell that the photographer was standing concealed behind a concrete pillar.

When the elevator door slides open, you’re still focused on the photo, you don’t even realise that there’s someone standing in front of you until he says your name.

You flinch, stiffening and taking a step back with wide eyes as you look up. Your heart slams into your ribcage as your back hits the far wall of the elevator.

Billy blinks, tilting his head in concern at your reaction, his eyebrow twitching for just a moment.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

You open your mouth, starting to say something before changing your mind.

The elevator doors try to close, he reaches a hand out to stop them, keeping his hand there to ensure they don’t try to close again.

You keep the photo pressed to your chest, trying to figure out how to act normally in his overwhelming presence.

“Hey,” You say calmly, sliding past him and out of the elevator. You walk ahead, wondering why he’s here.

“Look, I really don’t have time for whatever this is.” You rush out, glancing back to see that he’s following you.

You wonder if you should tell him anything, he was technically equipped to handle it. 

Pausing, you look back at him for a moment. He studies you intently.

“Did something happen?” He follows up, eyes warm on you. You study him too, messy hair, a little too long beard, just overall shaggy in a way you’d never seen him before, but in no way less attractive.

Maybe even more hot, if that was possible.

“I’m fine.” You answer, looking away from him for a second, “What did you want?”

He doesn’t speak immediately, seeming to gather all of his thoughts all at once.

“I- didn’t like where we left things.” He says slowly, and you feel your heart clench for an entirely different reason altogether. At this point, you’re not sure how much of this you can take.

You blink, willing yourself to be strong.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You say with absolutely no sympathy in your tone.

He takes a deep breath.

“I understand that I might have made some mistakes, and I’m not asking to be like we were… before but,” He sighs, “I really would like to be your friend again.”

You turn away from him, unable to look him in the eye when you say your next words.

“I’m not interested.”

“You don’t mean that.” He tries.

You walk away from him, an ache deep in your chest that hurts so bad that you just want to get as far away from it as possible. He follows.

“I do.” You respond, trying to find your keys in your bag, usually it was clipped at the top for easy access, but maybe you hadn’t thought to clip it back into place when you’d put it in your bag earlier.

Billy stands beside you, looking at you with worry, as if he can tell that something is wrong.

“Tell me how I can fix this.” He tries again softly.

You feel the frustration build inside of you and struggling to find your keys makes it worse. You finally get your fingers around it at the bottom of your bag but in the struggle the photo slips from its place pressed between your arm and your chest and slides right to the floor.

You groan, glad that it’s landed face down at least, tugging your keys out of your bag and reaching for the photo. You don’t anticipate him reaching for it before you.

“Um-” You stutter as he picks it up, flipping it around to see.

Shit.

“What is this?” Billy says in a low voice, with a mild inflection of anger there.

“It’s nothing.” You breathe, reaching for it as you get your door unlocked, letting it swing open.

You stop in your tracks as you spot another manilla envelope, on the floor just inside your apartment.

“This doesn’t look like ‘nothing.’” He says, inching forward for an explanation. Unfortunately, you’re too busy staring at the much thicker envelope on your floor to worry about anything he’s saying.

You hear him take a deep breath, finally noticing your reaction, and turning to look in the same direction you are. 

Your breathing is laboured now, as you watch him step in front of you and reach for the envelope at your feet.

You want to protest his being here, but you’re kind of glad that he is, because once again, your body has locked into place and is unable to move as you watch him open the envelope.

He flicks through them quickly, nothing but microexpressions on his face, a shocked blink, the clenching of his jaw.

“Is it bad?” You whisper, trying to read his reaction.

He looks up at you, a dangerous amount of anger in his eyes. He takes in your terrified expression, and you watch him blink, face softening.

“How long have you known about this?” He asks softly, precise in a way that shows you his rage.

You shake your head, struggling to recall anything in your state of panic. You reach forward, trying to take the envelope from his hands.

“I really don’t think you should-”

“-If they’re pictures of me, then I want to see them.” You argue.

He says your name in protest as you tug the envelope from his grip, tugging the small stack of photos out and dropping them on your kitchen counter nearby. 

Your stomach twists as you spread them out.

You hear your door close before Billy is at your side.

They were all of you.

You driving, you at the grocery store, you leaving Anvil, you standing at Billy’s door. There were even multiple shots of you being mugged in that alley a couple of weeks ago. You. You. You.

Your entire body shakes. Your vision sways and so does your body.

Billy says your name, his hands on your shoulders to turn you away from the array of photos.

You can’t hear him, ears fuzzy, like they’re packed with cotton.

It’s hard to realise exactly when it happens, but suddenly, you can’t breathe.

You gasp, panic overtaking every thought in your head, terror like a train moving too fast on a track that wasn’t made for such speeds.

Your eyes squeeze shut, you feel like you’re derailing, falling through the air with nothing to hold on to.

There’s no air in the room, there’s no air anywhere, it’s just you and darkness and you don’t understand why you can’t breathe. 

His hands on the back of your neck are the first thing you feel, and suddenly his forehead is pressed to yours.

His actions do something to you, inserts himself into your head, and like before, there’s a foothold where there wasn’t one before.

“-Breathe.” He guides, his fingers pressing into that spot at the base of your scalp, reminding you that he’s here, and you’re not alone, and if anything, friend or lover or nothing at all, he will always protect you. 

The tears come next.

A brick wall breaking, a dam bursting, your panic dissolving into a flood of tears and you reach for him, clinging tightly, till your legs are no longer able to support you.

He sweeps you up easily, and you cry into his chest, feeling when he finally seats his body on your couch.

You don’t look around, the urge to hide in his chest fills you to the brim. Like he understands, you feel his arms wrap around your shoulders tightly. The scent of him wraps around you, hints of spices and cracked pepper that sparks like a match in your head, burning out the panic and reinforcing his presence. 

You don’t cry for long, staying tucked against him for a few more minutes, before realising where you are, exactly where you’d decided not to be.

He looks like he wants to protest when you move away from him, eyes on you as you drop into the space beside him, pulling your legs up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them for comfort.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” You mumble, wiping at your eyes, wishing you were still in his arms.

“Don’t.” He grunts angrily, leaning forward so that your eyes have no choice but to focus on his.

“How long have you known that something like this was going on?”

You think for a second.

“I got the first photo the day I quit my last job.”

You hear the air leave him. 

“Why didn’t you say something?” 

You sigh, pressing your palms to your face in frustration.

“It was just one photo until today. I thought it was a one time thing.”

“And you didn’t report it to the police?”

“Well… no.”

He lets out a low sigh of your name.

“I have a friend in Homeland. She says she’ll be here in ten. You should pack a bag.”

At this, you finally glance up at him. His phone is in his hand, body angled toward you. For the first time tonight, you feel your heart pick up at the sight of him.

“Why would I pack a bag?”

He glances up at you.

“You can’t stay here. Whoever is doing this knows where you live. I need to figure out how they got in.”

“But… this is my home.”

He gives you an apologetic look.

“I know, sweetheart,” He hums, “but I think you’d be safer crashing with me for a while, till we can figure out who’s behind all of this.”

“With you?” You say in shock.

You study each other intently for a moment.

“With me is… safest. You can stay with a friend, or at a hotel, but,” He glances away, before looking back at you, “No one can protect you like I can.”

“That’s cocky.” You lift a hand to wipe at stray tears that continue to fall even though you’re calm.

“That’s me,” He says, leaning forward to give you a cheeky smile that you return easily, like it’s second nature. 

Your eyes drop down to his lips, a pang in your throat at the memories. 

You turn away from him, sniffling and untucking yourself.

“Alright, I’ll pack a bag.”

.

The amount of rage boiling inside of Billy at this very moment is too much to quantify. 

He braces his arms on your kitchen counter, staring at the photos that someone took of you, searching for answers about who could be doing this.

Every few moments, his vision shifts to that of the panther’s, the fury of them both too powerful to be bottled up like this.

Someone had hurt you, made you feel so afraid, and he knows this is going to end with their blood on his hands.

The panther gives him an approving nudge, the beast inside of him demands that he do everything in his power to keep you safe.

He takes a shallow breath, feeling his teeth sharpen, the rage inside of him too difficult to control.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath.

The scent of syrupy ripe strawberries fills his nose, sharpens his senses like a whetting stone to a blade.

His vision changes to that of the panther’s.

.

.

.

[breanime]

It's mah birthday.

[ivarthebadbitch]

coccham squad + happiness

(requested by @breanime)

[arcielee]

Quietly, it slips through your fingers

Summary: Rhaena confronts Aemond after dinner. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Rhaena Targaryen Word Count: 2.7k+ Warnings: Aemond is an asshole, but he is the consent king. Sexual inexperience, kissing, grinding, fingering. Then he is an asshole again. Author's Note: This is dedicated to the wonderful @witheredoffherwitch for always encouraging the brainrot, no matter my ship. Thank you to the amazing, the talented @myfandomprompts for this gif, it is perfection ✨ And thank you to my beloved beta readers @breanime and @aemondtarqaryens. Your comments had me cackling and your feedback let me know I was doing this ship justice. This will only have two parts!

“You should not have stopped me.”

Though her tone was accusatory, Rhaena knew well enough that her sister was only expelling steam, her frustration from the night still kindling the fire in her veins. 

Instead, Rhaena said nothing. She followed after her twin and her fury, her own footfalls quiet in the wake of Baela and their father. Daemon peered over his shoulder, a quick glance to catch her gaze, his signature smirk splayed across his lips. He then said to his eldest: 

“Your behavior tonight was hardly befitting for a princess,” Rhaena saw how his eyes teased, glittering in the candlelight that lined the corridor, “much less that of the future queen of Westeros.” 

His intention worked, as Daemon knew his daughter well. He glowed in the amber light, in the proximity of his progeny. He always saw his reflection in Baela, in her passion that bridled beneath; she was fearsome, though brash, and both quick witted and quick to action. Her temper was a weapon to wield, but could be swayed. 

Rhaena knew that their father loved them equally, but Baela was the embodiment of the future of his bloodline, whereas she haunted Daemon with the memory of their mother, Laena. In contrast to her twin, she was a gentle echo of their mother, with the same quiet resolve, a strength kept tucked away. She also had an innate ability to be mindful, to read people in an almost intimate way. 

Which was why she knew to step forward and catch her sister around her waist.

Which was why Baela now had an unrest to her steps, but Daemon knew his words would draw the attention onto himself rather than Rhaena. 

Baela turned her agitation onto him, the very same eyes that were gifted by his blood now curdled near black with her emotions. Daemon met her gaze, amused, unbothered. Rhaena knew their exchange would rumble the cobblestone of the Keep–heated, albeit respectful of one another. Their father always welcomed it, but also knew how to reign in her passion that thrummed beneath. 

“You should have done something,” her lips curled upwards, her tone now taunting the old dragon. 

It was then that Rhaena noticed a slip of silver; Aemond–and she was certain, her face burning with her recognition of his now grown form. After their arrival to the capital, she was quick to see that the petulant child she remembered was now matured, lithe and lean and with a grace to his steps that now pulled him into the opposite direction. 

Was he following us…?

The audacity sparked something within her. As Baela squared off to their father, Rhaena knew she could slip away in the smoke that rose thick from their egos, the same size of the dragons that they rode. 

Her fingers lifted her skirts, allowing purpose to her pace as she followed after the shadow that Aemond made, flitting through the corridors and crevices of Maegor’s Holdfast. His long legs allowed for a long gait, but her boldness borrowed from her twin propelled her own steps after, following him to a tuckaway terrace. 

She paused in the archway to watch the almost familiar sight. Aemond had his back to her, hunched to place his large palms on top of the balustrade that caged, knuckles pressed white. The moon above poured over the seclusion, highlighting the silver of his hair, the slow rise and fall of his shoulders as his tension fell away.

“You are lost, princess.” It was not a question, but a statement.

His voice jolted her, rooting her to the stone. The boldness that burned bright was now slipping away with the sea air, spilling off the ledge as Aemond turned around to face her. She was again reminded of how tall he had grown in their time apart, now looming over her. The silver spilling from above conflicted with a sole torch that was lit, casting shadows across his sharp features, a mixture of both menacing and divine. 

Aemond stepped towards her. “Why did you follow me?” 

Her mind blanked with his question, wiping away whatever had possessed her steps. Rhaena swallowed. “...you know it was not right with what you said tonight,” was what she decided on.  

There was something cruel in the way his lips curled–amused almost–and he turned away from her, moving back to look out over at the waves of Blackwater Bay. “Perhaps its implication could be considered indecent by the standards that have been set by the king,” and he looked back over his shoulder, half cast in shadows, his good eye fixating on her. “But I was merely toasting my nephews.” 

Rhaena shifted under the weight of his words, of his diction choice when acknowledging his own father–King Viserys. The title had been spoken like it was poison on his tongue. She felt a pull at her heart, the same that had been crafted from her mother. “Regardless of your intention,” her own words were chosen carefully, “I still feel it distracted from the matter he spoke on earlier.” 

Aemond sneered. “You also choose to ignore her behavior.” 

She would not acknowledge that. Not tonight. “I believe the house of the dragon will fall as long as we remain divided–” 

“Are you the emissary they have chosen?” 

Aemond was now facing her, his head tilting with his second derisive question of the night. She felt her blood warm with his gaze, with how he conducted himself; the smirk that curled on his lips, his goading tone, and his words brimming with an arrogance. “No, I just thought–” 

“Do you truly believe he will be great?” he sneered her words back at her. “Do you truly believe he would give justice to the Lord of the Tides if your grandsire does not recover?” 

The subject change was another jolt, and she balked with her response, not that Aemond would have allowed her a chance to say anything in return. “Do you believe he would be fair and just, hm? A spoilt boy who never suffered the repercussions of his actions?” 

“We were only children,” Rhaena found her voice, though it was a weak protest. She watched him. “All of us were young and mindless, but passionate of the weight of the words that were chosen–” 

“Does this justify what happened?” 

She blinked, her eyes watering. “No, but–” 

“You have never seen it,” his tone grew low, a murmur as if he was lost in thought. Rhaena saw flashes of that fateful night play in the eye he still had. “Would you like to see the aftermath of the actions inflicted by your beloved?” 

Aemond had now pulled away from the edge, a singular step closer to her with his question. To wilt away in this moment would give a sense of satisfaction to accompany his ire, but to gainstand would stoke it further. 

So instead, Rhaena remained rooted. Her eyes trailed along his sharp jaw, to the wrathful red that cut underneath his patch worn before settling onto his good eye. “He is not my beloved,” she corrected him. “He is only my betrothed.” 

He watched her for a moment, his smirk returning to mask whatever unsaid emotion flitted across his features. His large hand lifted to grab his eyepatch and he pulled it over his head. 

She felt her heart tighten in her chest. The rumors that had woven throughout the kingdoms were now confirmed with the gleam of the sapphire stone. The night light and amber that shone from the torch reflected in the gemstone placed in his scarred socket. 

Rhaena recalled how at first she felt a kindred sense with her cousin, though this felt a lifetime ago. He carried the same burdened weight of a dragon egg that only turned to stone. Baela had been blessed for her egg to hatch, but Rhaena remained anchored to the earth. As she watched them soar in the heavens above, she swore that she would be a dragonrider like her twin, like her mother and her father, something that was intrinsically knitted in the blood they shared. 

Rhaena recalled her fury that burned hot in her veins when she realized her opportunity had been taken. It was a second loss alongside her mother, but it did not excuse her response. After that night, his screams haunted her, tormenting her. Daemon tried what he could, but it was the memory of her mother’s voice, her gentle reminder of how dragons were not pets to be controlled. 

And she realized that Vhagar had chosen Aemond, that he paid greatly for this. 

He was just a boy. Rhaena dared to close the space between them, until she was certain her hoarse whisper would be heard by him: “Iksan vaoreznuni.” 

I am sorry.

She watched the rippled effect of her words wash over Aemond. The trained hatred flashed with the amber glow of the torch, how his brow furrowed with his anger and then his confusion when she pressed even closer to lay her hands on his chest. Rhaena could feel the surge of his adrenaline to her touch, his warmth permeating through his doublet and against her palms. She pressed to the balls of her feet, steadying herself with his tensed frame, and her lips touched the lower part of his scar that cut into his cheek. 

It was a moment, it was an eternity. Rhaena could hear the waves roar below, a rhythm that matched her heart beat in response to the intimate gesture she just brazenly showed. She then tilted her head back to look up at Aemond, and found his bicolored gaze boring through her, heating her blood beneath.

His stoicism settled over, mixing with the smoke and the sandalwood that clung to him. All her life she had been praised for her talent to read people as if they were books, but his pages seemed to slip through her fingers, which she slowly began to pull away–

Until Aemond moved to place his hands on top of hers, halting her motion. She could feel the warmth, the calluses that lined his palms, and he leaned closer with a spilled curtain of silver. 

He stopped. His exhale fanned her cheeks until she understood his hesitation.

Aemond was allowing her the chance to pull away, to break this moment. He was allowing her a courtesy that most men would never offer; a singular choice to go or to close the space that still existed between.

And so Rhaena kissed him. 

It was her first kiss, something tentative and uncertain. Her lips were soft and full, melding against his own so sweetly. Her hands trembled beneath his and he moved to wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Rhaena felt his lips curl with his kiss, his pace slow and savoring. 

Her hands trembled beneath his, and she felt his lips curl upwards, moving to wrap his arms around her waist and pulling her closer, his pace slow and savoring. 

She felt her heated blood begin to simmer in her veins, and she moved to wrap her arms around his neck, her body now aching to feel his lithe and lean frame crushing against her. His hands followed the curve of her backside, pulling her even closer, and when she sighed, Aemond dared deepen the kiss, his tongue curling to taste. Rhaena burned when she felt him, thick and heavy and wanting. Her hips rolled against him, begging for friction, and his hand dipped to the small divot between her thighs. 

She gasped. “Aemond,” she whispered, breathless against his lips. 

Aemond tightened his hold, lifting her enough for staggering steps until she felt the cool stone pressing against her backside. His arms caged her against the wall and her hands grasped to pull him close again, her mouth desperate to capture his own. Her tongue now found a pace with his and Aemond moaned in response; a low rumble, a sensation that rolled down her spine and kindled the heat that was building in her core. 

“Aemond, please,” but Rhaena was not even sure of what she was asking for. 

While one palm remained on the wall, his other fell to her hip, pressing and moving along her lower abdomen. His hand continued lower, grabbing a fistful of her skirt, his head tilting up with his hushed command against the curve of her neck, “Help me,” and she began to ruck the heavy fabric up around her waist. 

Aemond pressed his thigh to guide her legs apart, his hand dipping to cup her clothed cunt. Her thin chemise now melded against the wet warmth that pooled between them, and he pressed his lips to muffle his low groan against her skin; gooseflesh rippled with her response.  

Her fingers bit into his shoulders, bracing as he pulled back. Rhaena dared not look at him, still trembling despite his careful touch that slowly pulled at her remaining layers: the hem of her chemise brought up for her to hold, and her smallclothes falling away. The night air was cool against her skin and her vulnerability was fleeting when she heard his breath hitch in his throat. 

Rhaena looked to see how the black now eclipsed the lavender of his eye as he took in the sight of her. It rolled over from her grasp of the fabric now bunched around her slender waist, to the curves of her legs and the silver curls nestled between. The golden hue of the flames crackled loud, spilling over her brown skin; a glowing sepia that was smooth and inviting. 

She saw his heady stare, the bob of his neck as he swallowed. 

Then Aemond surged against her, a delicious pressure that pinned her against the wall, head bowed to press his lips to her collarbone for a kiss. He was gentle, his dexterous gliding through her velvet folds that were slick with her want, and he hummed against her skin as he drew patterns, listening for her response.   

His touch sparked through her nerves, her soft sounds spilling against her own volition, and Aemond moved to capture her mouth, swallowing her pleasure. Her hands let go to comb through his hair, knotting at the base of his neck. His heat enveloped her as his pace continued to coax something new, something bright that was thrumming in the marrow of her bones.

“Aemond,” she swallowed the salt air, the perspiration that now gleamed on his neck, the smoke and leather of his scent. “It’s too much…” 

He only hummed, his lips finding hers once more to now swallow her surprise as his finger curled within her, shifting so the heel of his palm now pressed against her bloom of nerves above. She mewled with the new touch as he added a second finger, curling in tandem with his first, a sensation licking up her spine and dissipating in the stars above them. 

Rhaena gasped, rolling her hips against his hand and he praised her with a rasped, “Sȳz riña.”

She pulled him in for another kiss or else she would scream. It was a searing desperation, a trilling pleasure fluttering and feeding her intrusive thoughts of his lithe and lean form, bare and pressed sinfully against her own. She mewled pitifully and he quickened his ministrations, the come hither curl of his fingers sparking a euphoria she was not even aware existed from the depths of her; it was a quivering release that rattled her bones. 

Aemond remained pressed against her, his spine curved to rest his forehead against her own, his other arm moved to anchor around her waist and hold her upright. His hand pulled away from her core, taking the warmth of his touch away, and her layers fell to cover her. He remained close, waiting until her breathing evened, until her grip finally softened its hold. 

She ached to kiss him, but he then pulled away, stepping back into the shadows that shrouded the terrace. Rhaena saw his smirk had returned, as arrogant as before.  

“If you ever wish to find satisfaction,” his tone was not cruel, but almost teasing. “I am certain you will be able to find me again.” 

And he was gone, leaving Rhaena to fall back against the cobblestone, the sea air cooling against the perspiration on her skin. 

Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @black-dread @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @hb8301 @snowprincesa1 @namelesslosers @darylandbethfanforever9 @helaelaemond @qyburnsghost

part 2 - arcie's hotd masterlist

[transfinan]

#his sleeves get longer the sadder he gets

Poor guy how does he get anything done

Beautiful Osferth and Uhtred moment <3 this was right after he killed skade to free himself of her curse.

Look at Uhtred looking all sad and wet and pathetic 🥺 why do his sleeves even go that long?

[callsign-fangirl]

Tommy shelby text pt 7

@the-makingsofgreatness @zablife @flysafepapi @mrs-gray @peakyblinded @peakywitch @huntingingoodwill @fortunetellingnonesense @drabbles-mc @cillmequick @cillpill @bonniesgoldengirl @breanime @broiderie @potc4life @peakysabrina @deepdonutkid @murderousginger @caelys @peakyblinders1919 @peakyv @weeo @findinghisredrighthand @thomashelbyswhore @johnshxlby @peakypolly

[emilyhufflepufftlk]

SIHTRIC (& FINAN) | THE LAST KINGDOM 2.06

@morosemagick @medievalfangirl @persephones-journey @solinarimoon @trenko-heart @cibs @gemini-mama @finanmoghra @synindoodles @whitedarkmoonflower @purpleskiesandroses @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @wreckersbioniceye @willowbrookesblog @shianshian4315 @magravenwrites @grumpyblackbird @itbmojojoejo @huldraausdemwald @breanime @lady-writes20 @bubblyabs @ilikeitbetterangsty @hb8301

[blackterrae]

BIPOC, Latina(x) & Hispanic tag-list Pt. 1 (remastered)

This is an updated version of my post from my previous account (mysticalfairytales)

@heathenarmyimagines @cinewhore @cocoamoonmalfoy @blackcupidangel @lilvampirina @breanime @blackmissfrizzle @afro-hispwriter @stargirlfics @lavenderursa @pettyprocrastination @theblvckvenus @plantvenuss @thekrazykeke @supremethunda @n-slayaaaaa @queenoftheworldisdead @canumoveurseatup-no @iridecsense @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @hiatuswhore @onsunnyside @afriendlyblackhottie @gotnofucks @p---ink @clearlydiamondz @valeriethepussycats @kikilefangirl @syntheticavenger @avintagekiss24 @livingmybestfakelife @rustytricycle @ebonyslasher @chocolate-milk-fanfics @artemiseamoon @limbo-limbo-limbo @iguessweallcrazyithinktho @tropicalchiaa @xximpressions @papi-chulo-bucky2 @madamslayyy @angrythingstarlight @blackgirlsimagines @xsapphirescrollsx @jin0 @bri3ll3 @mphountitled @babeyvenus @tennisracketpacket @blkshoyo

[drabbles-mc]

I love all your fics about Miguel Galindo!!! I need more of him!!! 🥺🥺

Ahhhhh omg thank you so much!! I'm so glad that you've enjoyed my Miguel fics! 💖

My muse when it comes to Miguel is extremely fickle, I must say 😂 But! If you want some other writers who have written for him I can happily send you in the direction of a few!

Feel free to check out Miguelfic, but also fics for all the MC boys by: @darqchilddaydreamz @withmyteeth @imagineredwood @crowfootwrites @perfumeofsighs

@breanime @itsjustmyfantasyroom @blackmissfrizzle

I'm sure there are other writers out there that I'm completely drawing a blank on, but I assure you that there are plenty of amazing writers to go to for your Miguel fix 😘

[breanime]

@thesandbeneathmytoes I love easy tag games like this, haha!

lockscreen, last song played, and last photo saved*

* uh, there’s a story behind the last photo saved…

Thanks for the tag @massivecolorspygiant !

Tagging @thesandbeneathmytoes @nuvoleincielo @mariamariquinha @dreamlover31 and anyone else that wants to play!

[thewingedwolf]

Put your music library on shuffle, then list the first five songs that come up in a poll to let people vote for which one they like the most!

tagged by @sirenascelestiales and i’m gonna tag @woongminrome @bemybabymp3 @shoeeatingshark @pinkhysteria @allyriadayne @breanime @monstersandheartache

[cambion-companion]

Do yall have those fanfic authors/fanfics that you STILL think about?

God, I can still remember a Nuada x OC fic from forever ago that had over 100 chapters.

And there's @prince-aemond-targaryen Fool and the Dragon fic (if I am remembering that title correct).

And there's also @shenanigans-and-imagines and the impeccable Thrawn fics.

And @breanime Aemond fic where he sees OC for the first time in the throne room.

Like...just so yall know your art still lives in my brain years later.

[breanime]

Honestly trying to pinpoint The Vibes of this particular look, so lemme know what you think 🤔

[xo-arcie]

WIP game

make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous

let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

tag others to continue the game

Thank you my loves for the tag 💜 @triptychgrip & @cinderella-ish

This is the least amount of WIPs I have had in a while. They all are or will be smutty.

the salver & the sword (jjk)

Sukuna x you (jjk)

if it makes you happy (Fruits Basket)

no pressure tags: @angstigone @thedivinecharis @miraclechatbug @asharasasylum @breanime and anyone else, if this comes across your dash, consider yourself tagged!

[ivarthebadbitch]

sihtric + every season

(requested by @breanime)