#cloud slippers

[endorex-official]

Step into Style: Discover the Hottest Men's Summer Slippers - EVA Soft Bottom Cloud Slides for Indoor and Outdoor Comfort

Get ready to elevate your summer style with our latest collection of men's trendsetting EVA Soft Bottom Cloud Slides! These sleek and comfortable slippers are designed to keep you in vogue while ensuring unparalleled comfort for both indoor and outdoor activities.

Step into a world of fashion-forward footwear that seamlessly combines style and functionality. The EVA Soft Bottom Cloud Slides boast a lightweight construction, making them perfect companions for beach outings, poolside lounging, or simply strolling through the city streets on a warm summer day.

Crafted with care, these slippers feature a soft, cloud-like bottom that gently cushions your feet, providing a plush and supportive experience with every step you take. The durable EVA material ensures long-lasting wear, so you can confidently wear them on various terrains without compromising on style.

Our designers have meticulously curated a range of contemporary designs that perfectly complement any outfit, making them versatile additions to your summer wardrobe. Whether you're dressing up for a casual hangout or dressing down for a relaxed evening, these Cloud Slides effortlessly add an element of modern sophistication to your look.

Embrace the ease and elegance of our men's summer slippers that offer a snug fit and secure grip. With their slip-on design, you can effortlessly slide into these slippers for an instant style upgrade, saving you time and effort without sacrificing on fashion.

Don't miss out on this season's must-have footwear! Step into style and discover the hottest men's summer slippers - EVA Soft Bottom Cloud Slides that blend comfort and fashion in a remarkable way. Elevate your summer footwear game and experience the ultimate comfort while staying on-trend!

Click&Buy : https://s.click.aliexpress.com/e/_oDDUYir

[adorkabletwilightandfriends]

Adorkable Twilight & Friends - “Spider Spray”

Adorkable Patreon Pals

Adorkable Twilight & Friends Twitter

Adorkable Twilight & Friends Wiki

Adorkable Twilight & Friends Deviant Art

[piquuroblox]

As thanks for drawing my silly oc Cotton, here’s a doodle dump of Astro I made this morning. He’s a simple guy and very eepy.

SO CUTEEEEEEEEEEEE this is awesome but Wheres cotton. /JOKE i love ur art this is so silly…. YOU MADE HIM SO CHEERFUL HES SO CUTE.BEST TUESDAY EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!

[mags2theythem]

[svtskneecaps]

FRIENDS I HAVE BEEN PLAYING WITH SOME OF THE QSMP MODS AND I AM FROTHING AT THE MOUTH

BEHOLD THESE THREE PARTICULAR BLOCKS FROM THE FRAMEDBLOCKS MOD!!!!! FROM LEFT TO RIGHT, THE "FRAMED SECRET STORAGE", THE "FRAMED DOOR", AND THE "FRAMED ONE-WAY WINDOW"

FRAMED SECRET STORAGE, A BLOCK WITH SOME STORAGE THAT CAN BE CAMOUFLAGED TO LOOK LIKE WHATEVER BLOCK YOU DESIRE!!!! WANT TO BUILD YOUR WHOLE HOUSE OUT OF CHESTS AND STILL MAINTAIN AESTHETIC?? GO FOR IT!! HAVE SECRET CONTRABAND BUT NEED EASY ACCESS? HIDE IT RIGHT IN YOUR WALLS!!!

THE FRAMED DOOR, ABLE TO BE CUSTOMIZED TO LOOK LIKE A WALL!! THE TOP AND BOTTOM CAN BE ASSIGNED BLOCKS INDEPENDENTLY!!

SECRET TUNNEL!!!!!!!!!

THE FRAMED ONE-WAY WINDOW!! ANY ONE SIDE OF THIS BLOCK CAN BE MADE TRANSPARENT, INCLUDING THE TOP AND BOTTOM!!! the transparency can also be REMOVED, so if your friend forgets to look at the name of the block their crosshair is on, YOU CAN TOTALLY PRETEND IT'S A TOTALLY NORMAL SOLID BLOCK AND ADD THE TRANSPARENCY ONLY WHEN NECESSARY >:D

NEEDLESS TO SAY, I AM SO EXCITED FOR WHEN THE PARANOID MEMBERS WITH MANY SECRETS AND MANY THINGS TO HIDE DISCOVER THESE BLOCKS HEHEHEHEHEHE. AS SOMEONE WHO LOVES AND CHAMPIONS ESPIONAGE THIS CONSTITUTES AN ABSOLUTE WIN

[singing-river]

floating on a pink cloud or sleeping inside a flower? drinking water dripping from icicles or dew drops from flower petals? silk slippers or lace up boots? bath or shower? lullabies or poetry? freshwater pearls or white opals? crying pearls or coughing up rose petals? pink blushed mountains or the moon on a bright blue sky? the scent of freshly washed laundry or the scent of old books? sitting by the river or on a pier by the seaside?

[lexa-griffins]

I had a funny thought when you mentioned the long list of farm clexa's kids

When Lexa is mad at Clarke, she'll call her by her full name. "Clarke Abigail Griffin! What did you just do?!?!?"

Naturally, she does the same thing to her kids only this time there's 5 of them s it takes a while for her to finish 😂

🤣🤣 Oh booyyy let me tell you the strength of Lexa's lungs as she calls each of the kids by their full name in one single breath!! 😂

She gets home from the store and there's this silence in the house that simply *sniff sniff* stinks of bullshit. She doesn't even know what they did but with Clarke not even being around she knows damn well she's involved. She'll calmly put the groceries on the counter, take a sip of her water and start yelling the kids and Clarke's full name one right after the other and you better believe those kids are flying down those stairs the moment they hear their full name. And while she will yell their names she will never sound mad or pissed but they all know mommy means business when the names are called so they get their asses there asap, in thats aspect, they sure are Clarke's kids!

And Lexa isn't even out of breath after that, she simply drinks the rest of her water while staring them all down.

Curse the day Abby told Lexa that was the way™ to get Clarke to straighten up and come running 😂

[cricketchirp]

Cloudy Mondate

Between the two of us, My Guy and I have lived within an hour or so of today’s destination for a grand total of 103 years. Yikes. That makes us old. Of course, we aren’t. But for some reason we never visited this spot before. Maybe because it’s a tourist hotspot, and we’re hardly tourists. In fact today, we were dressed in our usual garb because our plan was to hike. And we did. But . . . we also…

[wickedzeevyln]

Apocalypse in Real Time

Lost in the great expanse.A tree in sight.Wait not a tree!A mushroom cloud, golden and fiery,fruits hanging on its branches,a bastion of coffee drinkers on the way to the ocean of paperwork and management requests, where surfing the tides meant getting bound to the clock.“GO FETCH ME MY SLIPPERS.”The poodle, sitting on his golden throne, didn’t take too kindly to the human darting underneath the…

[technicallyhappyarcade]

Shoes: A Guide to Choosing the Right Shoes for You

Shoes: We receive free products and receive commissions through our links. See the disclosures page.

When I started CrossFit in 2015, it only took about a week for me to develop an unhealthy obsession with shopping for the best CrossFit shoes. Even though the NOBULL brand launched that same year, I didn’t buy my first pair of trainers until 2019. Since putting them through hundreds of workouts, I can deliver this NOBULL shoes review.

Based on comments I used to hear at the box where I started my CrossFit journey and from the feedback I’ve collected from other Breaking Muscle staff members, one thing is clear: NOBULL trainers can be pretty controversial. Below, I’ll explore why this is and discuss the shoes’ benefits, drawbacks, key features, and who they’re best suited for.

Key Takeaways

The NOBULL trainers retail for around $129 to $149, depending on which colorway you choose.

The SuperFabric technology used for the upper is durable, but breathability may be an issue — something to consider if you live and train in a hot climate.

NOBULL trainers fit true to size, though the toe box runs narrow.

NOBULL Trainers

3.8

Heel-to-toe drop: Four millimeters

Weight: 11 ounces (Men’s 9 / Women’s 10.5)

Material: SuperFabric®

Width: Wide

NOBULL Shoes Pros

NOBULL shoes come in lots of colors and prints. If you want to stand out in the gym or like wearing color-coordinated gym attire, you should be able to find a colorway that suits your style.

They are durable. I still have the first pair of NOBULL trainers I bought in 2019, and they don’t look much different now than when I first took them out of the box.

The lug-patterned outsole provides much traction whether you’re training indoors or outdoors.

NOBULL Shoe Cons

The trainers aren’t good for running or jumping due to the lack of cushioning, poor arch support, and minimal forefoot flexibility.

While their price point of around $129 to $149 is on par with other CrossFit shoes, other brands regularly offer sales and discounts. NOBULL shoes are rarely on sale, which can be a drawback for budget-conscious CrossFitters.

The SuperFabric® material used for the upper can be stiff, and the trainers may take a few weeks to break in.

NOBULL Shoes Rating

At Breaking Muscle, we’ve tested dozens of training shoes, including the latest CrossFit-specific shoes, like the Nike Metcons and Reebok Nanos. I have also bought and trained in at least 20 different CrossFit shoes throughout the years. Here’s how the NOBULL trainers scored after we put them through our proprietary factor methodology system.

Factor Rating (out of 5)

Appearance 4.5

Materials 3.5

Outsole 4.3

Midsole 3

Heel-to-toe drop 4.2

Versatility 3

Price 4

Durability 4

NOBULL Shoes Overview

NOBULL shoes are a somewhat minimalist, back-to-basics type of training shoe. They’re designed to withstand rope climbs, burpees, handstand push-ups, powerlifting, Olympic weightlifting, and anything else your workout of the day (WOD) has in store.

However, they can be pretty polarizing. Some CrossFitters claim NOBULL trainers are the most comfortable shoes they’ve ever worn. Others claim the shoes lack design ingenuity and don’t perform as well as other well-known shoes, like the Nike Metcons.

While NOBULL has released new shoe models over the years — for instance, the Rec Trainers and the NOBULL runners — the original trainers haven’t changed much. The NOBULL Trainer+ came out in 2022 with some improvements over the original trainer, which I’ll discuss later in the comparison section. But in general, NOBULL hasn’t strayed too far from the design of their original trainers.

Who Are NOBULL Shoes Good For?

The overall stability of the shoe and the rigidity of the flat sole can make NOBULL trainers suitable for athletes who focus primarily on strength training.

In our experience, NOBULL trainers don’t have a super wide toe box, so they are ideal for athletes with narrow feet.

Who Are NOBULL Shoes Not Good For?

Because of the hard bottom, lack of arch support, and minimal cushioning, the NOBULL trainers may not be suitable for anyone who wants a comfortable sneaker they can wear all day.

Athletes who prefer to wear heeled weightlifting shoes for squats will likely not enjoy the four-millimeter heel-to-toe drop on the NOBULL trainers. (Note, however, that NOBULL sells weightlifting shoes with 17.5- and 18.5-millimeter heel-to-toe drops.)

NOBULL Shoes In-Depth Review

Appearance

The design of the NOBULL trainers is one thing that makes them so controversial. Some people love the minimalist aesthetic, while others consider it essential and uninspired. I’m part of the latter camp — I don’t necessarily think that NOBULL has accomplished anything groundbreaking or unique with its trainer.

However, NOBULL makes up for this by offering its shoes in unique colors and prints. For example, as of this writing, the women’s shoes are available in fun colorways, such as neon blue, bright pink camo, multiple floral patterns, and highlighter yellow. If you prefer more understated footwear, you can opt for solid colors, like black, gray, or navy.

I don’t like my gym shoes too flashy, but I don’t want them to be too dull. When I bought my first pair of NOBULL trainers, I chose a gray upper with a blue, pink, and purple patterned sole and matching laces. I like that this colorway has a small pop of color that keeps them from being too drab without being so bright that you can spot me from a mile away when I wear them.

The NOBULL trainers also have one of the largest selections of prints and colors I’ve seen in any gym sneaker, let alone a CrossFit shoe. You can get them in high tops like the Converse Chuck Taylors. They get a solid 4.5 out of 5 stars for aesthetics from this CrossFit shoe junkie.

RELATED: Is CrossFit Bad for You?

Materials

NOBULL shoes are made with SuperFabric® technology. NOBULL takes regular mesh fabric and applies tiny guard plates, resulting in a material that is highly resistant to abrasions. I’m not always gentle with how I treat my shoes, but my NOBULL trainers hardly have any scuff marks or imperfections.

However, the SuperFabric® material is not very breathable. I appreciate this in the winter when I’m training in my cold garage because it helps keep my feet warm. But I don’t particularly enjoy the lack of breathability in the summer because it makes my feet hot and sweaty. The suede tongue has holes for ventilation, but I don’t think they do much.

The material is also stiff. I still have to loosen the shoelaces nearly all the way to get the shoes on, and I’ve had the trainers for four years. Because of the material’s stiffness and minimal breathability, I give it 3.5 out of 5 stars.

Outsole

NOBULL trainers have a flat, stable carbon rubber outsole with a grippy lug pattern and a reinforced sidewall. The shoes don’t slide around easily when I’m lifting on the rubber gym flooring in my garage, and on the rare occasions that I have worn them for outdoor runs, I haven’t felt like I was going to slip.

The bottoms have less traction now than when I first got the shoes, but the outsoles haven’t worn down as quickly as many of my other cross-training shoes. I gave the outsole 4.3 out of 5 stars for this reason.

Midsole

The midsole features a lightweight foam material that doesn’t compress. This is a great feature when you’re lifting heavy weights, as you want your shoes to help you feel balanced and stable. However, it’s a drawback for sprints, jumping, and other high-impact activities because the midsole isn’t very shock-absorbing or responsive (meaning it doesn’t offer much energy transfer when your feet hit the ground). I only scored the midsole 3 out of 5 stars because, as discussed below, the shoe’s minimal midsole limits its versatility.

Heel-to-Toe Drop

NOBULL trainers have a four-millimeter heel-to-doe drop. The low heel-to-toe drop makes it ideal for heavy lifts because it keeps you more balanced and stable. The NOBULL trainers are my go-to shoes for days of only doing strength training.

However, I give them 4.2 stars for the heel-to-toe drop because I prefer a heeled lifting shoe for heavy squats. I’m 5’8 and have long legs, and a higher heel-to-toe drop makes it easier for me to squat below parallel.

They’re good shoes for lifters who prefer squatting in flatter shoes. They don’t work for me for most barbell squat variations.

[deebris]

The Mysterious Visitor 1

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: On a cold, snowy dawn, a naive young girl knocks on the door of Wayne Manor in search of her brother, whom she hasn't seen in a long time.

Warnings: The reader is 13 years old and is Damian's twin sister; the tone of the story is somewhat sad.

Word count: 2.1k

Note: I felt the need to emphasize that Talia is very attached to the reader and kept her hidden from Bruce. Although it's obvious that the reader is their biological daughter, I still haven't specified her physical characteristics.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

It was late at night when the doorbell of Wayne Manor rang. Much to Alfred’s dismay, he seemed to be the only one awakened by the sound, as he didn't hear anyone else getting up to answer the door. Whoever was waiting outside seemed patient, or perhaps shy, since it took a good two minutes for the bell to ring again. A single chime, just like the first time.

It was snowing now; no one would be crazy enough to show up in the middle of the night in this cold unless it was something important. Because of this, Alfred hurried to slip on his slippers, moving as quickly as he could to the entrance, but still cautiously peering through the peephole to see who the visitor was.

All he could see was the top of the head of someone very short, with a few strands of hair standing up, covered in snowflakes.

“Who is it, Alfred?” The sudden question from behind didn’t scare him, but it did surprise him. Dick had been awakened by the sharp sound of the doorbell the second time it rang and came down quickly to check.

“I don’t know yet, Master Dick,” the butler replied, intrigued, glancing quickly at the boy to see him rubbing sleep from his eyes. Alfred noticed how he stepped forward, obviously cautious about who might be on the other side. “I can handle this, sir,” he stopped him while turning the knob and opening the door without giving him a chance to protest.

Alfred tightened his robe as he felt the cold air rush in, ruffling the white hairs on his head and making the hairs on his arm stand up. He looked in astonishment at the young girl standing before him, clearly suffering from the outside temperature. Her lips were trembling and chapped, with a trace of dried blood coming from one of the cracks. Her rapid breathing also did not go unnoticed, forming a cloud with each exhale.

“Can I help you, miss?” he asked with furrowed brows, feeling pity for her condition. Perhaps she was just a street child seeking shelter; you didn’t seem dangerous in any way.

“I-is this the W-Wayne Manor?” The question came out stuttered, and your eyes had a confused expression. He wasted no more time and extended his arm to pull you inside. It didn’t seem right to leave you out there.

“Come in, come in. Don’t stay out there, it’s not healthy.” He had that concerned, almost paternal tone, and you didn’t refuse his gesture. You grabbed the old man in a hug to keep safe from the cold, grateful he didn’t push you away. In fact, he pulled you closer, placing both hands around you and guiding you to the largest couch in the room.

“It’s just a girl,” he announced to Dick, who had been trying to peek at your figure since the door had opened.

“And who is she?” Dick moved closer, sitting on the couch facing the one where you and Alfred were seated and embraced. You didn’t seem to want to leave Alfred’s side anytime soon, appreciating the warmth he provided, clutching him firmly.

“What is your name, dear?” You heard the old man’s question, but it took you a while to respond. Alfred didn’t mind being ignored, or at least he thought he would be, already averting his eyes from you until your fragile voice was heard.

“Y/n,” you pronounced your name simply, so quietly it could only be understood due to the common silence of the early morning.

“What were you doing out there? Where are your parents, young lady?” Alfred pressed on with more questions, rubbing one of his hands on your back to bring comfort.

Now that he could look at you more attentively, he saw how well-dressed you were. And just by feeling the fabric of your coat, he knew it was an expensive garment. Your knowledge of Wayne Manor also didn’t escape him. It didn’t seem like something important to note in this situation, but you certainly weren’t an abandoned child; you were probably lost and knew them somehow.

His question seemed to upset you, as you turned your face to hide it, avoiding giving an answer. He noticed your reaction and decided to change the subject: “Let’s take off this coat and get a blanket. What do you think?” He moved you away, already pulling the sleeves of the garment off your arms, and you didn’t resist. The coat was damp from the snow and definitely no longer served to keep you warm.

“She’s going to get hypothermia if she stays like this,” Dick said hurriedly as he went to get a blanket, finding a thick enough one on one of the armchairs. Someone must have left it there before going to bed.

“I will light the fireplace,” you heard the old man say as he got up from the couch and picked up some sort of stick, probably a large lighter, to start the fire.

You opened your mouth to try to thank him, but stopped yourself, finally feeling shy upon realizing you were in strangers’ home. You felt a large, soft blanket wrap around you, turning your eyes to see the tall boy crouched in front of you, draping it over your shoulders.

“In a few minutes, you’ll feel better.” His voice sounded genuinely concerned, and you felt guilty for disturbing their night. You regretted disobeying your mother; you were supposed to be home now.

Dick saw your lost look, wondering who you were. Your expression was distant, and he thought you were lost in thought, until he felt your hand grab his wrist, preventing him from getting up. Your touch was gentle, yet cold, and now your eyes were focused on his.

“Does Damian live here?” you asked hopefully.

“Damian?” This caught him off guard. He was confused, processing for a few seconds what he had heard. From his confused tone, you felt your hopes fading, thinking he had no idea who you were talking about, but his next words encouraged you a little more: “How do you know him?”

You hesitated. At first, you weren’t sure if they were trustworthy, and your mother always said to be careful with whom you spoke. Growing up within the League of Assassins made you aware of how evil some people could be, and having grown up under Talia’s extremely protective arm, who treated you like an untouchable jewel, you were limited to conversations with few people, developing an abnormal fear of strangers. But bad people wouldn’t have taken you in as they did, would they?

“We’re siblings. Is he here?” Your confession didn’t carry the same weight for you as it did for the two men in the room. Alfred heard well, and like Dick, widened his eyes. Neither of them remembered Damian ever mentioning he had a sister. If you were truly an al Ghul, where was Talia? That woman might have had the blood of a viper, but she didn’t seem like the type to let her daughter wander alone at night.

“You said… He’s your brother?” Although Dick’s question was directed at you, he looked at Alfred, who returned an intrigued frown.

“Yes.” Your voice sounded simple to him, still not noticing the tension in the room.

“Master Dick,” Alfred said his name as a cue to follow him, walking away from the couch, and the boy quickly stood up. You found it strange and turned your neck to see them going to talk in the corner of the room in whispers, watching them with curiosity.

“I think it would be wise to inform Master Bruce.” The butler sighed, trying to speak as softly as possible, knowing you were watching them. “If she is Ra's al Ghul’s granddaughter, it’s convenient to take her home as soon as possible and avoid any unnecessary conflict with the League of Assassins.”

“You think she ran away from home?” Dick asked, turning to see you, who now was no longer watching them but had your gaze down, playing with your hands.

“I suppose so,” Alfred said punctually, moving away and walking to the stairs, climbing them with his usual formal posture. “I’ll wake him up. Stay here.” He seemed calm, but inside he was worried.

“Right…” Dick murmured to himself while taking slow steps back to the couch. He analyzed your face for a few seconds before sitting hesitantly beside you. You were almost disappearing inside that blanket, wrapped up like a cocoon, and he found it a bit amusing. All he could see was your head and hands.

You didn’t bother to say anything, nor did he. Instead, he clasped his hands together and paid attention to anything else, trying to hold back the urge to ask questions but couldn’t help himself: “So, you’re Talia’s daughter?”

“You know my mother?” You raised your gaze, and your tone was excited by the possibility.

“Not personally.” He picked at his nails before deciding to keep the conversation going, as the silence was becoming too uncomfortable: “My name is Dick, by the way. But you probably know that.”

“The old man is your grandfather?” For the first time, you referred to Alfred as “the old man” out loud, which made him smile amusedly. Dick found it funny how the nickname sounded innocent, imagining how the man would react knowing someone had referred to him like that.

“It's like he was. He's family.”

“Is Dami your family now?” You asked, trembling with the answer. It wasn’t something to be proud of, but you couldn’t help feeling jealous, and you hated it. It was an excruciating feeling, mixing sadness, anger, and other confusing emotions.

Dick frowned at your question. You seemed disappointed with the idea and it didn’t escape his notice how you were completely unaware of Damian’s current life. It’s been more than two years since he came to live here, enough time for Dick to see him as he always saw his other brothers and participate in patrols as an equal.

“He’s my brother too,” he tried to sound compassionate, and suddenly the silence returned, as you didn’t want to talk anymore and he didn’t know what to say. A lump formed in your throat and your heart felt heavy with each new beat. “How old are you?” He tried again, this time changing the subject.

“Twelve,” you answered immediately, but then shook your head and corrected yourself: “Thirteen.”

“Twelve?” Dick repeated the first answer to try to confirm, letting out a muffled laugh at your strange confusion.

“It’s thirteen.”

That was impossible. Damian was thirteen.

“I still haven’t gotten used to the new age. My birthday was on Monday.”

Damian’s birthday was on Monday.

Dick swallowed hard. He lost his voice for a few seconds, trying to piece things together in his head. He felt his heart race with nerves, doubting if he had been hearing voices all along.

“Y/n, right?” He said your name, seeing you nod positively. “Are you and Damian by any chance… twins?”

You heard him well, but couldn’t help feeling your heart ache with sorrow. He had no idea who you were, even after you knew Damian saw him as a brother. The realization that Damian hadn’t even mentioned you was painful, and as you felt the tears start to roll down your cheek, you quickly wiped them away.

“Hey, hey. Why are you crying?” He moved closer, brushing your hair back with his fingers. You seemed to be the type to answer yes or no questions with gestures, as you nodded positively to him once again.

“Twins…” Dick whispered to no one, trying to come out of shock.

“Y/n,” he called your name hoping you would pay attention, but you continued trying to dry the unstoppable tears. “Y/n,” he called for the second time, and you finally looked at him again.

Now, analyzing your face after what he had just discovered, he finally noticed how much your features resembled Bruce’s. It was like he had been blind and now could finally see.

“Does the name Bruce Wayne mean anything to you?”

“He’s the owner of this house,” you said nonchalantly, as if that was all that mattered and you needed to know.

His next breath came out shaky, completely incredulous. ‘Damn Talia,’ he cursed mentally. This night would be long and, undoubtedly, very complicated.

[luvrxbunny]

fangs

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

Summary: You see Miguel’s fangs for the first time. 

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fangs, very minimal self-doubt, cum in pants (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 1.9k

A/N: I used google translate for the spanish so if anything is incorrect im sorry 

‘Your package was delivered’

Your face brightens at the notification as you hop out of bed and rush to the front door. When you open it you’re met with the broad, muscular back of your boyfriend, Miguel O’Hara.

“Miggy?” You say with a laugh. “What are you doing out here? Oh my god, are you my package?!” You’re hunched over, laughing at your own joke as Miguel stands from his seated position, casting his large shadow over you. 

“Hi, amor.” He places a kiss on your forehead and walks in. “How has your day been?” He asks as he strips off his suit top and walks to the bedroom but you don’t answer, still wondering about something. 

“Why were you just sitting out there?” You ask while closing the front door and taking your slippers off. Miguel hasn’t said anything, letting a long pause draw out before answering.

“I was calming down.” He comes back out in a t-shirt that’s tighter than it needs to be and some gray sweatpants. 

“The fight was pretty intense, a little demanding y’know? So I just wanted to- I wanted to calm down before coming inside… But how was your day?” You don’t let the subject change, still confused with his statement. 

There have been plenty of times when Miguel would burst in, still aggressive and amped up from the latest fight, adrenaline still coursing through him. The first time it happened you were a little scared of course, you’d never seen him like that, eyes clouded with violence, his claws out in the air and threatening, with a deep scowl on his face. But that was a long time ago.

You’ve mastered the art of turning him from Spider-Man to Miggy. You learned it quite some time ago, which just furthers your confusion from his response. He’s rummaging through the cabinets, muttering about how he’s starving and you realize he hasn’t met your gaze since you found him which is incredibly unlike him. 

“Miguel, is that the truth? I mean- You’ve come in all amped up before so…” You trail off as Miguel freezes in the kitchen before sighing and running a hand through his hair. He closes the cabinet gently and turns to you, eyes cast downward before meeting yours. He takes another breath and walks to you. “It’s the technical truth uh… The whole truth is that my fangs were out and… I just- I don’t want you to see them.” He finishes his sentence and walks past you, to the bathroom and closes the door. 

You stand at the entrance to the kitchen in a stupor as you process his words and go chasing after him. You’re pounding on the bathroom door, begging him to let you see them, to let you kiss him with them out, and every other thought that comes to your mind, hoping it lightens the situation. You stop pounding after a few minutes, arms growing tired and getting a little embarrassed at his silence. You make your way over to the couch as you wait for him. 

You think about what he said, that he doesn’t want you to see his fangs and you feel a little pang of hurt in your heart that ripples through your body. 

He doesn’t want me to see them? Why though… Does he think I won’t like them? Does he think my opinion of him will change or something? I love him though, doesn’t he understand that?? Maybe it’s something super intimate, maybe he just doesn’t feel enough for me, for him to expose himself like that. Maybe he doesn’t trust me enough to be that vulnerable, to give all of him to me… 

Your thoughts turn your mood sour as Miguel finally emerges from the bathroom, teeth brushed and face newly washed. “I don’t want to show them to you.” The words strike your heart again as you nod your head at him, not even looking up at him as you fall into your negative thoughts. He watches you stare into the carpet, obviously deep in thought but you look sad. 

“You okay, hermosa?” He wipes his hands in the towel around his neck as he sits beside you on the couch. You don’t hear him, too inside your own head, leaving him ignored. He watches you for a bit before grabbing one of your thighs and turning your body to face him, knocking you out of your trance. You have a deep, heartbreaking expression on your face that you quickly mask with happiness when your eyes meet his. “I asked if you were okay, baby.” 

“Oh! Y-yeah! Yeah, I’m fine, sorry.” You giggle at him but it sounds hollow, making him guilty. He already knows why, he knows how your mind works, he knows how you think. He pulls you in, one leg is extended past him and the other is folded on the couch, touching his leg, your face a few inches from his. 

“Mi cariño, no tiene nada to do with you, okay? Nothing. I just-” He emphasizes ‘nothing’, willing you to believe him. He’s absently rubbing your calf as he tries to piece together what he wants to say. “They’re weapons. I feel like… I don't think I want you to see that… A part of me that’s a weapon. You look at me like… como si fuera tu todo, like I hung the stars… I love that and I don’t want it to change. Nunca quiero que eso cambie.” His eyes are looking at your calf, how his hand wraps around it instead of you. 

(“My love, it has nothing to do with you okay?” “...like I'm your everything…” “I never want that to change.” )

If he had been looking at you he would’ve seen the look of utter disbelief that rested on your face. You put your hand over his and pull yourself closer to him, placing a kiss on his forehead before speaking. “Miguel, I look at you that way because, despite the way you feel about yourself, I believe that you deserve every good thing the world has to offer. I want you to know that you don’t have to show them to me if you really don’t want to but be aware… I will love you for the rest of my life.. and there is nothing that can change that, my feelings for you literally cannot decrease.” 

He stays silent, avoiding your gaze still but you let him. You know that expressing himself is hard for him and hearing people speak positively to him is even harder. You giggle softly at his silence and place another kiss on his head. You’re about to get up from the couch when he pulls you back in, pressing his lips to yours with a bruising intensity that has a fire starting up in your stomach. Your lips part for him as he sighs into you, his hand grips your hair and he grunts as you feel something push against your mouth. He’s breathing faster, kissing you more passionately as you try to pull away. 

Eventually, you break from his grasp and try to look at him but he’s already turned from you. You want to protest but don’t want to push him. You bring one of your hands to rest at his nape, playing with some of the hairs there, trying to soothe him. You’re about to tell him that he doesn’t need to turn away, you can leave until he’s calmed down but he turns to you. His mouth is shut but his eyes are so fragile, like they’re pleading with you to be gentle. He holds your eye contact for a bit before opening his mouth in a smile-grimace expression. 

A gasp slips from your mouth and your hands come up to hold his face, pulling it to yours. You inspect his fangs as his warm breath floats over your face. You bring one hand from his face to tail over one of them, earning a flinch from Miguel but you run your other thumb across his cheek, attempting to soothe his worries. 

They’re much bigger than you expected, they look like they’d barely fit in his mouth. They’re smooth and glossy like marble, cleaner than you expected too. You wonder silently if he lets them come out, brushes them, and then retracts them as your other hand comes from his cheek to his mouth. They’re thick, they look like they could leave a sizeable puncture wound if he bit you. Your fingers squeeze around both fangs, feeling their width for yourself. Your fingers run along the length of his fangs and then go up to his gums. 

You’re completely captivated by his teeth, you haven’t even looked back up at him since he opened his mouth. You absently caress his fangs while inspecting his gums, trying to understand where they go when retracted. You give up on that when your thumb runs over the bottom of his fangs. 

He groans out, loud and ragged against your face. 

Your eyes flicker up to look at him and his eyes are rolled back into his head, eyebrows furrowed as he moans out a loose rendition of your name. You’re staring at him in awe as he mutters out a mix of unfinished words. You immediately look down into his lap and see a patch of dark gray spreading out. 

A moan rips from your throat as you press your hand against his hard, twitching, leaking cock and kiss him. His hips instantly twitch up into your hand, using the friction to prolong his orgasm. He’s moaning into your mouth, his hands are frantic as they push your head into his face, his fangs digging into your lips almost painfully. You slide your tongue into his mouth when he moans again, you explore it, feeling the fangs instantly and running your tongue over them. 

The action earns a gut-wrenching whine from Miguel as he starts to tremble. His hips are still bucking up into your palm, overstimulating himself as his cock spurts out mini loads. 

You pull away from him slowly, your hand gently massaging his cock as he comes down. He drops his head onto your shoulder as he pants, unsteady syllables of your name falling from his lips. 

He lifts his head from your shoulder once his cock stops jumping in your hold. There’s a rare pink hue over his face as he leans in to kiss you. You accept it with a smile, kissing him back before pulling away again. 

“So…” You start semi-awkwardly, a light laugh in your tone as he groans out, embarrassed. “Did that feel good? Are they sensitive?” A shuddering breath leaves him as he recalls how your fingers felt gliding over his fangs, how arousal punched into his gut the moment you touched them. 

“Yeah… It felt-” His sentence is cut off with a whisper of a whine as he thinks about it, breathing speeding up, chest heaving at the fresh memory. You’re surprised at this, you’ve never seen him so delirious so… fucked out. “Me sentí tan bien, bebé. N-no sabía que me sentía así. I loved it so much, you made me feel so fucking good, amor. Te amo tanto, cariño.” 

(“I felt so good, baby. I-I didn't know I felt like that”... “I love you so much, darling.”)

A smile graces your face at the one phrase you understand, ‘Te amo’. You pull him in for another kiss before whispering. “Good.” He groans and pulls you into his lap, whining when your weight presses against his sensitive cock. You smile into his lips and kiss him again, pulling away again to giggle at him. 

“ ‘S not funny.” He grumbles out as he leans back, laying down on the couch with you on top of him. You continue giggling into his neck and you can feel his cheeks fatten up with his smile. 

You guys stay there for the rest of the night, intermittently waking up to smother the other in kisses before falling back to sleep. 

Thank you so much for reading!! Please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all!

[jksarchives]

NEVER SWAY

PAIRING; jungkook x reader

GENRE; established relationship, hurt/comfort, fluff

TAGS/WARNINGS; jk yells at oc but is actually sweet, husband/wife, fluff, brief angst, oneshot

WORD COUNT; 2.7k

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯! 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘵𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦!

SYNOPSIS;

No matter the situation, Jungkook has never raised his voice at you, choosing patience and understanding instead. He loves you and cares about you too much to see you cry because of him. But his patience is put to a test when a situation arises.

𐚁₊⊹

As the morning sun gently filtered through the curtains, you slowly stirred awake from your slumber. And the warmth you expected from your husband's presence beside you was oddly absent. Confusion clouded your sleepy eyes as you rubbed them and slowly sat up.

“Jungkook?” you called out softly, your voice carrying confusion.

There was no answer, just the faint tweeting of morning birds outside the window. It was Saturday, and he didn’t work during the weekend, so you were confused as to where he could possibly be.

Frowning, you threw off the blanket and stood up, slipping your feet into your fluffy pink slippers. Your first stop was Jungkook’s study room, the place he often disappeared into when he was drowned in work.

You pushed the slightly ajar door open, and to your relief and mild amusement, there he was, sprawled on the couch. He was fast asleep with papers scattered around him.

A gentle smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you approached him. You reached out and carefully removed his glasses and set them aside.

You couldn't help but feel your heart melt listening to the soft snores that escaped him, and his peaceful features as he slept like a contented baby.

Jungkook had been pouring his heart and soul, working day and night, into a demanding project assigned by his boss. And his dedication was something you deeply admired.

However, it also weighed heavily on your mind. You knew how important this project was for his career, but you were worried about the toll it was taking on him. You just wanted him to give himself a break.

“You work too hard my love” you whispered as you gently stroked his cheek.

You leaned down and planted a soft kiss on his forehead, causing him to stir slightly but not wake. You reached out your hand to run your fingers through his hair, feeling the warmth of his presence.

Not wanting to wake him up, you grabbed a nearby blanket and draped it over him, tucking it in with tender care. Then, you turned your attention to the scattered papers and documents that had taken over the study room.

With a sigh, you started by gathering the scattered papers and neatly organising them into stacks on the desk.

You then opened up the windows but kept the curtains closed to keep the sunlight from waking Jungkook up.

After throwing away the litter and sweeping up the floor, you sprayed the room with a floral scent to keep the room smelling nice and fresh.

Looking around the room and feeling satisfied, you turned your attention back to your sleeping husband. You walked over to him and squared down to his level, reaching your hand out to stroke his cheek. With a heart full of love and a gentle smile on your face, you leaned in and placed a soft peck on his lips.

“Sleep well, you really need it” you whispered.

You admired his sleeping form for a moment before standing up to your feet, and you carefully tiptoed out of the room. It was 11:30 AM. You knew it was too late for breakfast, so you decided to prepare lunch and clean up the house before Jungkook woke up.

┄┄┄┄┄

An hour or two later, Jungkook stirred awake, his eyes adjusting the light that was peeking through the curtains. As his gaze wandered around his now-neat study room, his eyes shot wide open. Panic washed over him as he glanced at the clock on the wall opposite him, realising how much time had passed.

He threw off the blanket and jumped up to his feet, knowing he had a lot of catching up to do. “Arghh” he groaned as he felt pain strike inside his head.

He stumbled as he held his head, feeling disoriented and unsteady as he blinked to regain focus. He sat himself back down and began massaging his temples, groaning and mumbling curses under his breath.

“Jungkook?” he heard a soft voice call out for him.

He raised his head and found you approaching him with worry, “you’re awake, are you okay?” you asked as you sat down next to him.

He smiled at you warmly despite the striking pain in his head, and pulled you to his chest. “I’m okay, just got a headache” he sighed as he rested his chin over your head.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked.

“You’ve been working so hard lately and you needed a proper rest. And besides, it’s the weekend” you answered as you pulled away to look at him.

“Weekend or not, I need to get this project finished at the best quality, you know I can’t waste time baby” he sighed.

“Giving yourself a break after continuously working hard is not wasting time babe. I’m just worried you’ll collapse one day if you keep overworking yourself like this, and I don’t want anything to happen to you” you said, grabbing his face.

“I promise you, it’s not going to be the end of the world if you step back a little and take a break. Your health is important, more than anything” your voice lowered to a soft whisper.

Jungkook's gaze softened as he felt his heart swell, his lips curved into a smile as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“You care about me so much huh?” his voice came out hoarse as he pecked your lips over and over again. You giggled at his affection, slightly pushing him off you.

“Come on, freshen up and join me for lunch. I made you your favourite” you winked at him as you got up.

“What did you make?” he asked, raising his brow.

“You’ll see” was all you said, giving him a smile before walking out.

┄┄┄┄┄

After brushing his teeth and taking a quick shower, Jungkook headed back to his study room remembering the important document he was working on last night — it was the core of his project.

Seeing the stack of papers on the table that you have neatly organised, he let out a sigh. Though he appreciated your effort keeping his study room tidy, he knew it was going to take a while to find the document he was looking for.

Finishing drying his wet hair, he threw the towel on the couch and walked over to the desk.

He skimmed through the stack of papers, but frowned when he couldn’t find the document. He skimmed through them again, but he couldn’t find it. His patience was slightly running low as frustration and panic began to build up inside him.

“Babe?” he called out for you.

“Yeah?” you walked into the room finding your shirtless husband in a slight panic mode.

“Have you seen a document that has a red stamp mark on the bottom corner anywhere? I had it with me last night” he turned to look at you.

“Red stamp…I’m not really sure, I just collected all the papers that were scattered and stacked them up on the desk. I’m sure it’s there somewhere” you frowned.

“But it’s not there, I checked twice” he groaned as he ran his fingers through his wet locks.

“Hey,” you said, taking a step towards him, “I’m sure it’s here somewhere. Let's have lunch first and we’ll find it together later, hmm?” you suggested.

But Jungkook, growing impatient and frustrated, shook his head.

“No, I need to find it now. It’s the only copy I have, and if it gets lost then it’s over for me” he said.

Feeling a little anxious yourself, you understood his concern and wanted to help him find the document. “Okay, I’ll look through this stack and you look through that one” you told him, and with a nod, you both began flipping through each sheet of paper.

┄┄┄┄┄

Minutes turned into what felt like hours as you both carefully looked through the organised piles of paper. Papers were shuffled, drawers were opened and closed, and every corner of the study was inspected. Yet, the document was nowhere to be found, as if it had vanished into thin air.

“Fuck!” Jungkook cursed as he slammed his fists on the desk, feeling panic and anger surging through his body. You flinched, sensing the brewing storm inside of him.

“Where did you keep it Y/n? You cleaned the room” he asked, turning to you.

You felt yourself grow small and anxious under his frustration, “I just gathered up all the papers I found lying around, so it should’ve been amongst those stacks” you answered.

“But if I remember correctly, I didn’t see any document with a red stamp” you then added.

Jungkook threw his head back and let out a groan, “then where did it go?” he asked.

“Are you sure you had it last night and not some different document?” you questioned, “yes I’m sure I had it with me” he quickly answered.

For a moment there was silence, the atmosphere clouded with a thick fog of tension. Jungkook paced around the room trying to keep his cool, but soon, his pent up emotions got the best of him.

He abruptly stopped and turned to you, “this is exactly why I tell you to leave my stuff as it is and that I’ll sort it all out myself” he groaned.

You remained quiet as you chewed on your bottom lip. “I’m sure you have a copy of it on your computer to print out again, right?” you asked.

“If I did then I wouldn’t be panicking right now Y/n” he snapped, taking you by surprise. “You shouldn’t have touched anything in the first place!” he raised his voice.

Your eyes widened slightly in shock, and your face paled as you realised the gravity of your attempt to help. Jungkook was never the one to yell at anybody — he was the sweetest and kindest person you knew. And you have never seen him this upset before, so you knew you had messed up really bad.

“I’m s-sorry, I…I must have put it somewhere else by mistake” you stammered.

“Then where the hell is it?! Why can’t I find it anywhere?!” he snapped again, his voice growing louder and angrier.

You jumped at his tone, feeling tears welling up in your eyes, and you took a step back as you got overwhelmed by his irritation.

“I...I thought I was helping. I didn't know. I'm so sorry Jungkook” your voice quivered as you spoke.

The moment he saw the hurt and tears in your eyes, Jungkook’s anger washed away as quickly as it had flared up. His face, once contorted with anger, quickly softened, his eyes filling with instant regret. He never raised his voice at you like this before, and the shock and hurt in your eyes cut him to the core.

With a heavy heart and hesitant steps, he reached out to you and pulled you into his arms. You, still shaken a little bit by his outburst, hugged him back, tears of relief streaming down your cheeks.

“I’m so sorry honey, I didn’t mean to yell” his voice now gentle and apologetic.

You relaxed in his embrace but couldn't hold back your tears. And before you knew it, you broke down into soft cries. Feeling his heart sink at the sound of your soft cries, Jungkook held you tighter, his own eyes filling with tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry baby” he whispered, his voice cracking with sincerity.

With a gentleness that contrasted his earlier anger, he continued to apologise, his words filled with deep remorse. He pressed gentle kisses to your forehead and your cheeks, trying to comfort you.

“It’s okay” you told him.

“No it’s not” he almost cut you off.

“You were only helping, and I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that” he said, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.

“I’m so sorry” he continued to apologise.

Your cries soon began to subside, replaced by soft sniffles as you hugged him tighter. You then pulled away and looked up at him “but what about your document?” you asked.

Jungkook let out a deep sigh as he reached his hands up to your face and caressed your cheeks with his warm fingers.

“It’s okay, you don’t worry about it too much. I’m sure it’s somewhere, I just need to look harder” he reassured you.

In that moment, Jungkook realised that nothing was worth hurting the woman he loved, not even the document that his life depended on. If anything, seeing you cry was the last thing he wanted — especially when he’s the reason.

“Shall we go and have lunch now?” he suggested with a small smile on his face, trying to lift the mood. You hummed in response and smiled back at him, and with that, Jungkook pulled away and held your hand before leading you out of the room.

“What did you make?” he asked as you both walked down the stairs with your fingers intertwined. “I made kimchi stew, but your way. Some fried pork dumplings too, and rice” you answered, turning your head to give him a smile.

“Mhmm, I’m starving” he groaned playfully, causing you to giggle.

A few moments later, you finished plating the food. As you set the food on the table, Jungkook’s eyes lit up with excitement. He eagerly dug into the kimchi stew, savoring the flavours that danced on his taste buds.

“This is delicious babe” he complimented as he gazed at you with his sparkling gaze. You watched your husband with a contented smile, and reached your hand out to stroke his cheek.

“That’s why I made extra, it’s all yours” you told him.

Jungkook’s gaze softened as his chewing slowed, “I love you” he said.

“I love you the most” you replied, and reached your hand out to wipe away the stew broth that was dripping from the corner of his mouth.

┄┄┄┄┄

THE NEXT DAY

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

After a long and exhausting day at work, Jungkook trudged inside the house, his shoulders slumped and his feet heavy with fatigue. Yet, despite his tiredness, he was eager to see you.

With a sigh of relief, he kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his coat, making his way through the halls of your home.

“Babe?” he called out, but no answer.

“Babe, are you home?” he called out once again, “yeah I’m here!” he heard a distant voice coming from the laundry room.

Soon he found you, sorting the dirty clothes and loading them into the washing machine. A gentle smile crossed his face as he watched you.

“Hey” he greeted you, and you turned around, your face lighting up with a warm smile. He walked up to you and pulled you into a tender kiss, and you instantly melted in.

Pulling away, you stared into each other’s eyes.

“How was your day?” you asked, “exhausting, but guess what?” he returned the question. You frowned and tilted your head slightly in confusion.

“I found the document I was looking for yesterday” he said, and your eyes lit up in relief.

“It was in my cabin at work all along, not at home. In fact, I was working on a completely different paperwork yesterday. I guess I just got things mixed up” he mumbled in shame as he scratched the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you. I shouldn’t have blamed you like that” he sighed, unable to look you in the eyes.

Your eyes softened with understanding, and you placed your gentle hand on his cheek and lifted his face. “It's alright honey” you replied with a voice reassuring, “we all have our moments, but I'm glad you found it” you smiled.

In that moment, Jungkook finally felt the weight of guilt lift from his shoulders. Your understanding and forgiveness was all he needed to keep your little misunderstanding in the past and not let it change the future.

“I promise I won’t yell at you again” he promised, caressing your cheeks.

“And if you do?” you asked, playfully lifting your brow, “then I sleep on the floor for a whole month” he confidently answered.

But you caught him swallowing a lump, causing you to let out a chuckle.

“Actually, I have a better punishment” you spoke up, and Jungkook lifted his brow in curiosity.

“What is it?” he asked, and you slowly leaned into his ear.

“No sex for a month”

Jungkook’s eyes widened in horror, “now way!” he cut in. You giggled and pushed past him, walking away.

“Baby you can’t do that” he argued as he turned around to follow you behind.

𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗦 𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗩𝗘𝗗

@𝗷𝗸𝘀𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗵𝗶𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰

©️

[sharkslides]

Things Need to Keep in Mind Before Buying Shark Slippers for Beach

If you plan to visit one of your favorite beach towns, you should consider the footwear options available to you before making your travel arrangements. Because they are supposed to be casual, sandals or flip-flops are possible options.

To ensure that they are durable and flexible, they must be constructed of either leather or rubber. You must make sure that your Cloud Sharks slides are not only comfy but also long-lasting. Here are some of the important factors to consider while buying comfortable Shark Slippers, which are as follows.

Important factors

Functionality

There is no point in investing in Shark Flip Flops that are not functional in their usage, regardless of the type of footwear being considered. For instance, if you play sports, you need to have shoes that are made for sports, such as ones that are made of good material, good cloth, are durable, and have a good grip.

Something that can be worn while traversing rough terrain. Likewise, if you intend to wear a particular shoe at the beach, that shoe must be appropriate for beach activities for you to do so.

Material

Time and effort can be saved on post-shoe maintenance if you choose shoes made of materials that are suitable for the environment around you. Therefore, the best material for a location such as a beach would be something that can be readily washed, dried, and maintained without requiring a great deal of effort.

The most sensible option would be to go with something made of plastic or rubber or one with a toe that is both open and broad.

Design

When you are trying to find a design for beach shopping, the three things you should be looking for are a design that would complement the environment you are in, a technique that would complement your outfit, and a design that would simultaneously be practical from the point of view of maintenance would be what you should be looking for.

Comfortable

You will be sorry that you bought those Sharks Slippers because they are so light and airy on your feet, and you should either return them to the store immediately or put them away permanently.

Because of this, you were putting the shoe on your foot, and determining its exact dimensions is of the utmost importance. If you buy slides in your regular feet size, they will likely be too loose for your feet because slides are more open and less secure than our traditional footwear. It is more likely that they will fall off, which is a great tip to keep in mind when doing beach shopping.

Do you want to buy Kids Shark Slippers for the beach? Shark Slides offers different slippers and shoes for men and kids. We offer the best quality material with comfort.

[mayullla]

Title: But he didn't want to let go.

Character(s): Neuvillette (Genshin Impact)

Summary: Part 2 to There is no love here.: Neuvillette did want to let you, he didn't want to lose what he already had but also tried to make it grow into something more. He didn't realize that he had already destroyed it. Warnings/tags: Yandere themes, fem!reader, arrange marriage, one-sided love, unrequited love, unrequited pining, jealousy, possessive behavior, angsty, creepy Neuvillette watching you sleep, 6.1k words

Late in the night he could not help but stare, your closed eyes sleeping so peacefully in your own bed away from his own. Was this normal... for a husband and wife to sleep away from each other? In different rooms as if they were strangers. Silent questions darkly swirl in his mind, he felt almost broken as he watched your sleeping form. His strength seeped away too quickly as he could not help but crave your touch.

He stayed there, for how long he doesn't remember. Unable to leave your side yet never touching as if scared that this world that he lived in would crack and shatter. He could not move at all, not even when you start to stir your eyes slowly fluttering open.

"Hmmm... you are awake" Pushing yourself from the bed slowly with one arm to support your body. He didn't answer silently, looking at you as you yawned and rubbed your eyes. Looking to the side, the window you could see the dark dreary sky as rain fell from the darkened clouds. 

He watched as you looked at him, eyes still sleepy and tired yet there was also understanding. Did you understand that he was crying for you? He doubted it, yet he could not help but hold his breath. 

That same hand that rubbed you rubbed your eyes was tiredly raised towards him, the palm down as if you were reaching for him.

Neuvillette looked at your hands reaching out towards the air, awkward and unsure of what to do at this moment. Was he supposed to take your hand and hold you up when he was caught sneaking into your room? When he didn't make a move, he watched your eyes still sleepy and hazy, soon giving up as you pushed yourself out of the bed by yourself to the floor. Your slippers were forgotten as you rubbed your eyes again to get more of your sleep out.

He thought that you would ask him again why he was here, if not you would ask him if he was okay and to talk... Yet instead of talking you took his hand and pulled him away from your bedside, leading him out of the room.

Your hand holding his, Neuvillette started at your hand so foreign on his. It was odd and uncomfortable. Why? He didn't understand why he thought so when he had escorted you many times even in the past and even now. What was he thinking back then? When you were by his side. You would wrap your arm around his own or how he would take your hand to support you when you walked out of a vehicle or steep stairs. 

Then he realized that this was the first time that the two of you held each other's hands bare without any leather gloves or dress gloves covering each other's hands.

Your hands, well taken care of were soft and delicate, unlike his calloused and rough hands always working and writing. The feeling of your hand in his was unique, unlike anything else that he ever held, it was something that made his heart beat. 

Your hold on his hand was light, still tired from your sleep. If he wanted it with just a little strength he could break out from your grasp yet instead he made sure that you would keep holding his hand. His body tensed thinking that you would drop his hand because of the lack of strength. He didn't want that. He didn't want that at all. 

Time was either too fast or too slow, Neuvillette wasn't sure as you and him went out of your bedroom and into the kitchen yet he could only wish for it to be a little longer. He could not help but almost voice his want when your hand dropped his. As if the coldness of Fontaine's night made his hand become ice without your hand. 

He watched you silently, too awkward to speak for once he wanted to say something yet could not as if his tongue was tied into multiple ribbons too complicated to unknot. You seem not to care for this silence as if you were already so used to this. Why were you so used to this? Why didn't you look surprised at all that he was here? 

The clicking of pots and pans, and the sound of pouring water in the dimly lit kitchen was all he could hear as you started to boil water to prepare tea and also plate some desserts. 

He watched you place the teapot on the table, also getting teacups and a plate for something to eat. Taking a seat on the opposite side of the table you took a sip of your tea staying quiet. Neuvillette examined you as you drank your tea, tiredness still evident in your eyes but the sleepiness was all gone.

He continued to stare at you, and you let him. He doesn't know how long you and him have been in the kitchen, yet the tea that was steaming hot had now cooled in his hand as you looked at him. Your eyes were calm and inviting, inviting him to tell his thoughts, to still the anxiety tinted in his eyes.

But for the first time, he didn't want to. You didn't know these confusing and obsessive thoughts, dark and muddy, unlike the clear waters of Fontaine. He dreaded the idea that you would ever find out…It disgusted him so much that he was like this yet he was still unable to control these emotions. 

"I am okay now... I... I apologize for disturbing your sleep." Neuvillette apologized only for you to shake your head, the soft smile on your lips was enough to tell him that you would do it again. That it was okay to look for you.

It was okay you told him, a soft voice that promised to be by his side whenever he felt lonely or needed help. He could not help but wonder just for a moment if he impulsively asked would you listen? If he asked you to stay by his side every single moment never to leave him would you do it?

It was later that you told him that he would look for you late at night when stress had been catching up to him. This was not the first time you had woken up with him right beside your bed.

Neuvillette could not help but sometimes watch you from his seat when trials were held, high up the court it was easy to see you in the corner of a front seat that he had arranged for you. Sometimes you would visit the Opera Epiclese to watch a trial of your interest. While not often you would ask him to reserve a seat for you if there was a spare. Even back then he made sure you would have a seat however now he would offer you a seat there hoping that you would accept it.

Neuvillette could not help but hope for those moments to happen more often sometimes as when he finally had the free time you would often come with either a packed or bought lunch, dinner, or just snacks for the two of you. That on those stressful moments, he could relax just for a moment with you by his side.

Sometimes you would tell him of something that happened while you were coming here, or maybe you told him the show that you watched with the tickets he had gotten you just a week ago. Mindless chatter it would be hard to go into something deep or important without the privacy of home or his office. Not when people were always looking at you and him.

But he could not help but listen wholeheartedly, keeping all your words in mind, feeling almost like he was in a trance as he watched you talk. The light danced in your eyes in amusement at the story you were telling. The smile that graced your lips as you recall the memory. There was nothing more beautiful than that for him.

"What do you want?" Neuvillette asked, words finally pushed out of his lips like removing the boulder that was stuck in his throat that had been there for a very long time. You looked surprised at his sudden question, tilting your head as you covered your mouth with your hand. 

"Pardon?"

"Is there something you would like to have?" Neuvillette asked again patiently waiting for an answer, yet his hold on his pen was tight as he wondered what you were going to say. The answer didn't come immediately, instead, you were deep in thought.

Both of you were in his office while he worked on a few documents. You were at the other side of the room reading a book when he suddenly asked that question.

It was not often he would ask this question, most of the things you touched in shops and stores all fell into your hands the next day when you first got married a long time ago to the point that you had to nag him to stop this. Neuvillette wanted to keep the promise to your parents that he would give you everything that the meka following you had recorded all the things you looked and touched. It was overdone, and rather than happy and satisfied you told Neuvillette that this wasn't what they meant.

He still bought gifts but not as many as before after that, both sides compromising to certain degrees that you would accept them while he would not suddenly send over 30 boxes of articles of clothing in one day. If you absolutely needed something you got it by yourself, though rarely would you need something so expensive. So in a sense you were satisfied with what you have, you have nothing you necessarily want.

Yet expressing that you could not understand his reaction, silent for a moment as he nodded at your words. 

"Alright..."

You didn't understand why he was acting like this and when you heard a knock on the door you left glancing back once in wonder and concern but in the end, forgetting about that moment. Neuvillette watched you from the corner of his eyes, whatever expectations he had crushed when he thought that there was a chance that you would ask for something else. This delusion that he tried to weakly make that you want what he wanted just as desperately.

Yes... that chance was one in a million something that was never going to be.

Just for a moment, Neuvillette had become bitter about the whole situation. 

Still hot to the touch you waited for it to cool down and instead took a cookie from the tray as you looked up at the people passing by at the outdoor cafe seats. This was usually one of your personal times alone, something that you often told him about when you saw something interesting that happened that day. You enjoyed such hobbies, still finding interest in humans and their minds alike even after marriage.

Unlike before, he was here this time.

It wasn't the first time in a hundred years that you and he went out. He took the time every so often to be with you still, even if it wasn't the lovey-dovey couples date that the novels love to express they were still enjoyable enough. It took care of most rumors or whatever people love to think of. You were always like that, even in an arranged marriage you cared about his reputation not wanting any rumors to tarnish it.

It wasn't something he expected to be honest at first, when you told him so long ago that you would never love him. He didn't think you could go this far. But you did because he was your husband... even if you didn't love him.

Sometimes you and he would go for a walk around Fontaine, the Melusine ones that have a trill for adventure or maybe stumbled into an area would often tell you and him about the some pretty areas that you didn't get the chance to see before. You and Neuvillette would listen to them when they talked to you, both of you with soft smiles sometimes making mental notes for presents. Those lead to small shopping dates between the two of you and for others to see.

Some shopkeepers were familiar with your visits, and asking if you were searching for something in imparticular with your husband had created an image of him being more than a judge. Someone who was soft in heart. (Though that image would quickly be forgotten when they were forced to stand trial under his watchful eyes. That image just never sticks for long...)

Other times he would tell you of shows and events happening around the Opera Epiclese when there was a lack of trials asking if you were interested in joining stating that he would reserve a seat for the both of you which more often than not you accepted.

This was enough for you.

There was never more to it, aside from a few times you ate out at restaurants which would not result in much as the two of you would return home for the night or he would abruptly get called due to some serious matter. 

How odd it was for you Neuvillette noticed that he started joining your many walks alone around the Court of Fontaine. Usually, he would tell you that he needed paperwork to be done yet not as much anymore. Instead, now he was demanding those moments with you. 

Most times you would tell him where you would go now he would ask, his voice a little sharp when he saw you dressing up but didn't tell him where you would go. There was a tint of accusation in his voice which he was able to hide, yet his eyes hardened as he asked why you were taking the time to dress.  He could not hide his anxiety though, a pained tone of voice barely hidden away.

something he didn't ask often he would now constantly would ask you if you would be visiting him. Seeing that he asked you did say that you visited a few times, but you still remembered that one time you declined stating that your schedule was unfortunately rather full that day. His eyes dyed with hurt and anxiety.

It was more often that rain fell high from the sky, more often that you would look at him worried. It felt that both you and him were walking on eggs, yet he could not help himself not when you would look at him more often than before. That he had occupied your mind. That you were by his side. That you were looking at him. 

That he was in your world. 

"Is there something in my face?" Neuvillette asked, looking at you with that solemn look on his face. You knew what he looked like when he smiled, a soft look as his eyes lightened up was just the opposite of what you were looking at right now. What were you looking at now?

"No. I apologize." You shook your head leaning on your chair a little more. Looking elsewhere but at him, for a moment he could not help but inwardly frown the bottom of his chest frustration and unease curled only to be gone the moment you looked at him again looking as if you were reminded of something. "How was work?" You asked, taking a sip of your tea right after.

".... Nothing much has happened apart from the trials that I told you." Neuvillette frowned thinking, there was nothing that was interesting to talk about his work. Nothing was more interesting to him than you.

Even when you asked about Furina the Hydro archon you have gotten a rather blunt answer that she was doing well. He didn't care much for her either, yet he could not help but stop for a moment.

When you asked him about Wriothesley, the muscles in his face all stiffened while his eyes narrowed. "May I ask why you are asking about him?" He asked his hands holding the teacup, his back straightening. It was as if one wrong word would cause something horrible to happen.

You could not help but raise an eyebrow at his question but you didn't say anything, "I am just wondering, his work is something related to yours after all. I have met him a few times too and I do adore the small dear right beside him." Small cute red eyes looked at you curiously the first time you met. It was easy to get close to her as the two of you would talk about her stories and thoughts.

You didn't see the expression on Neuvillette's face but you did hear his answer. "Wriothesley is doing fine. His work isn't easy but he is always alert and keeps an eye on the prisoners... Would that be a fitting answer?" You casually nodded at his question, taking a sip from your drink. The waiter soon arrived with another teapot with hot tea.

Neuvillette could not find a way to calm himself, as he stared at his tea. His mind was going around in crazy circles almost drowning in his thoughts. The idea that another man was in your thoughts was a vile feeling as if some sort of sticky sludge clung to his chest never letting go.

It was nauseating.

But he kept them in his heart, never letting those feelings out no matter what. It wouldn't do any good to tell less you think that he was accusing you. Whatever your relationship was he felt like it was only standing on a thin line that one wrong step at that moment would break it.

It scared him, it scared him so much that suddenly you would look at him instead towards another man. When you looked at him he would see nothing there but only recognition and friendliness that he didn't want. That he was worth nothing more than the man. 

"Dear...? Dear." Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, concern in your eyes. He blinked for a moment realizing that he had zoned out and that you had been talking to one of Steambird's journalists, Charlotte. Both you and her had concern evident in your faces, looking at each other and then at him again.

"I am fine... Thank you for your concern."

He reassured you and her that he was fine, and while Charlotte chose to believe it thinking that work was just catching up to him it seemed that you didn't believe them. 

You were sharp, or maybe it was because you had been his wife for such a long time. Neuvillette wondered if you knew his thoughts and if he would like you to actually know what he was thinking… yet at the same time to him it was a terrible thought.

Yet it seemed that there was a small surprise today.

Charlotte's eyes sparkled as she looked at you and him, pushing her glasses as she readied her kamera. "It might be too much to ask but I was wondering if I could get a show of affection between you two, a kiss on the cheek or something." Her request startled the two of you, eyes widening a little at what she wanted.

"Unlike before we are now starting to see you and Neuvillette started to spend more time together. We often see you holding each other's arms but never more than that people are curious if you guys even show affection towards each other!!" Charlotte explained. She tried to say it as casually as possible yet Neuvillette saw the seriousness in her eyes. This would be a huge scoop if it would actually happen.

"Sorry dear, but this is a little too embarrassing for me." You apologized to Charlotte, a hesitant smile on your face as you turned down Charlotte's request. Neuvillette watched as you gently yet vaguely answered her, kindly giving a reason as to why you didn't want to do such a thing. Most would say to mind their own business that whatever they do should not be something that they should care about. 

But you and he were in the end likened to idols or celebrities to some degree and no matter what you do people would watch and judge for themselves, snapping back at them would only cause a negative image rather than be helpful. You seemed to know that very well after being married to the Chief Justice for a long time now.

However, Neuvillette could not help but wonder if that was what you really think. If you wouldn't mind doing that sort of display in front of others if you truly loved that person. One where you were loved and kissed even in the privacy of just the two of you instead of sleeping in separate bedrooms in a loveless arranged marriage.

He always found it awkward to be in the public eye often. Other than a few specific reasons or important schedules Neuvillette doesn't show himself much. But here he was right beside you, following you as you shopped and walked around the city as you often do. 

He watched your eyes always taking in the beauty of human life around you. It wasn't something that he particularly noticed before only thinking that you and him were similar in some ways but unlike him people were more willing to come closer to you, willing to talk to you more than him. The friendly eyes, as they greet you familiar towards your visit only for their eyes to widen when they see him. It made his heart bitter again, far too often that he realized again and again that he was not in your world.

Even between you and the Steambird journalist Charlotte. It seems that the two of you were also close judging from the closeness of both of you or how Charlotte while still a journalist was rather comfortable around you and you around her. He wondered who else you knew, who else you were close to. 

Was there someone in there you had eyes for?

Who could be potentially someone who could take you away from him? The muscles in his face stiff again at the thought that someone could potentially take you and you would accept their love… rather than his. That you would abandon him freed from the contract of a marriage without a single lick of love.

That night there was heavy rain till early morning.

"Excuse me miss, may I join you for tea?"

You turned your head away from the street and looked to your side to see a young man smiling at you holding a cup of his own drink. Ginger hair with a boyish smile. Yet his smile didn't reach his eyes, lifeless and dull. His clothes also told you that he was not from here, but instead from another nation.

Examining him for a moment you lifted up your teacup taking a sip. Your eyes narrowed at his figure. He was quick to pick up your reaction, "Ah miss please, I have just arrived from Snezhnaya and am looking for a place to rest. All the tables are full here in the cafe." His eyes lingered for a moment on your ring as if he acknowledged that he noticed the ring on your finger and didn't have any hidden intentions of that sort. When you both met eyes he gave you a closed-eye cheeky smile when you dropped your guard just a bit. 

You thought for a moment but in the end, you let him sit, having no reason to be greedy over an empty chair and space on the table. 

"Thank you." The young man smiled. 

He was quite the chatter while sharp enough never to talk about sensitive topics he had told you about many places around Teyvat that he had visited. You had also asked him a few questions of your own, curious to many of his stories. It was easy to talk to him, time passed quickly as he told you of the many people that he met. "I in particular like the traveler. You must have heard about them seeing that they are making a name for themself wherever they go." 

"Aside from your love for fights, you seem to have an interest in people." What was his name that he told you to call him... Childe? Childe had a curious look on his face with a tint of mischievousness at your words. "Oh, that is a first. What made you think so?"

You hummed touching the teapot, the liquid had become cold. You would need to call the server soon. "Humans are fascinating." You admitted vaguely.

"For someone curious like you it is hard to believe that you have only stayed in Fontaine most of your life." Childe stared at you, it was obvious that he knew who you were and he knew that you knew him. A harbinger and the wife of the chief justice, what an odd pair to be drinking tea together. 

But even then, it seemed that even if the two of you knew who each other was, there was still a hint of friendliness while a little fake was still easy to get used to. Yes... Right now you were just strangers talking to each other. "Haha, you are a very interesting person." he chuckled, leaning on the chair with a sly smile on his face but you could see the genuine amusement in his eyes.

"I know, how about I show you around next time. I will show you the best places that I found in each nation that I have been to." Childe raised his hand with a grin on his face. "I think we get along splendidly from this small chat. We would be amazing travel partners if you ever decide to travel. Plus you get to see more people, which is not limited to hmmmm... here."

There were a lot of implications in his words, more sensitive people would have taken offense to his words yet you stayed still. Thinking for a moment...

It wasn't like you never thought of it, while not with a harbinger but maybe traveling alone, seeing and meeting people. Fontaine people have a unique view of life compared to other nations that you have noticed when you chatted with those outside of Fontaine. But in the end, you declined his offer after chatting a little more, both of you parted ways. Childe had mentioned that he would not mind chatting with you a little more next time and would join your table if he finds you here again.

Saying your goodbyes you started to head home when you saw your husband at a corner of a shop. Zoned out and deep in thought, yet quick to notice you. "You... you are here. Did work finish early?" You asked him, walking to his side surprised that he was here.

There was a moment of silence as he looked at you.

For a moment again you thought you saw something in his eyes, a kind of madness swirling deep within that you never once saw in your life married to him. His hold over your arm was tight, almost clinging yet not enough to point out. 

It was like a crack, a sound that could not be heard, a thing that could not be seen. Neuvillette could not let you go as if the anxiety had finally taken over and destroyed whatever limits he had placed. That moment he realized that you could actually leave him than just his own mind imagining that situation broke him. Even you were startled but how forward he became, desperate to be by your side, desperate to keep you there. 

At home, he would follow you and outside when work didn't force him to come to the office as soon as possible, he took all your personal space. Even outside he was no better, his hand holding your wrist as he took you with him to his office. He didn't want you out of his sight, not one moment.

Dreading that even for a moment someone else could take it.

It was stressful... 

Stressful for both of you. You tried to calmly bring the topic out, try to understand why Neuvillette was acting like that but he would just not budge. He refused to talk, to explain why he was acting like this.

Both sides were stressed. On one side it was a silent desperation, shown by rough actions while the other side could not understand, trying but lost. Neuvillette knew he was causing a strain in this relationship. Yet he didn't know what to do, he didn't have anyone to talk to, no one to ask who could help. It drove him insane as he clung to you while demanding that you stay by his side.

It took a moment, just a moment for it to crack. For everything to shatter, the moment he saw your eyes, that moment he saw you starting to lose hope. Eyes that started to become frustrated, and so close to bursting.

He let go of your hand as if it burned him...

As you grabbed your wrist pain in your eyes he finally understood that he had made a mistake. This relationship that he desperately wanted to keep and grow had shattered into a million pieces. There was no way that he could fix this anymore.

He could not help but stare at your sleeping form, thinking about whatever that you and he had in the past. The two of you were never a normal couple, it wasn't a marriage out of love but there was something else there. A tenderness and gentleness between you even without that love.

He just could not remember them, he could not remember those moments when he had become so obsessed with this unrealistic relationship that he could not have. It hurt him. It hurt him so much that he had hurt you.

He watched you steer from your slumber, the dark circles under your eyes prominent over the worry of this relationship that he had caused a strain to. Even when you woke up he didn't move from his spot.

"Please..." 

In the dead of night, you stare at Neuvillette in surprise, a cautiousness that was once never there. He felt dirty, so dirty that no water could ever clean him from this feeling.

"Please... don't leave me..." He begged and begged again, "Please... Please love me." He wanted nothing more than to burn himself yet he could not… he was scared to ever leave your side. He was desperate. He was greedy. Slowly he got on his knees, his shaky hand reached for your hand and placed his forehead on it.

"I do not understand." You said he could hear the hesitation in your voice, the hurt that he had made. His head was still down, as he held onto your hand tightly but not enough to hurt you. It was desperate, there was fear as you watched his hands and arms shake. You could feel a warm wetness in your skin, not like the cold rain that fell from the sky.

"Please..." his gasping words were so broken and pained. You tried to pull away, your mind was still so confused and alert. Yet your hand didn't budge for he was scared that the moment he let go you would become nothing more than vapor. 

"Wha.... What happened to you." Your voice was low and cautious yet at the same time still worried for the man that was supposed to be your husband, the man who was supposed to love you. You looked down at him from your bed, him on the floor as he continued to hold your arm, his head still down.

From outside the window, the howling wind and heavy rain knocked the house roof and windows. It looked like those fairytales of knights sneaking into the princess's quarters just to pledge their loyalty to her.

But it was far from it.

"Please love me... Love me and don't leave me... I will give- do anything… anything you ask. I love you so much. Please do not abandon me." His deep voice tried to stay calm but there was just so much turmoil in it.

You were silent, silent and frozen to his words. He could not look at you. He didn't want to see your reaction. He didn't want to see disgust and hatred in your face. Any moment you would pull your hand away and anger in your voice as you told him to get out. He would not know what to do then. He didn't want to let go.

But instead of that, instead of pushing him away, you moved your free hand to hold his face. Gently pushing him to look at you, guided by your hand he could not help but have his breath leave him as he looked at your tired smile. So beautiful, and stunning under the dim lights from the outside street lamps.

"Neuvillette... I would never abandon you. Why would you ever think that." You loudly whispered, clear but Neuvillette could not believe his ears.

"This marriage was not decided by love but arranged..." Words were leaving his mouth before he could think, he wanted to stop himself, stop himself before you could truly leave him. But he could not stop. "When you truly fall in love your heart will be with them. I fear... I fear that you would leave me at that moment if you find that something irreplaceable."

You stayed quiet at his words, thinking, yet pause seemed to cause fear in his heart as he looked up towards you. He wanted to confirm if he really was correct. If your face hinted at anything of that sort of secret that you were hiding. What must he do to make you stay? What should he do to keep you with him? To keep whoever in your heart away from you. Send them away? Accuse them of false changes so that he could send them away never in your sight? 

Never in his life did he ever have such thoughts yet even after living for long he could not calm the fear that was bursting out. What does he have to do to keep you here? That harbinger who invited you to travel with him all of Teyvat, were you interested in him? What must he do to keep you from leaving? Should he shackle you here so that only he could see you and your eyes could only look at him? His eyes could not help but widen and his thoughts halted when you touched his face placing a kiss on the crown of his head.

The warmth still lingered even as you pulled away, which sent a shiver down his spine. Your hand was comforting on his cheek... Neuvillette truly couldn't let go of this warmth, he could not. It was as if he wished he could dig deep into your warmth and stay there, he wanted nothing more than your touch, he wanted nothing more than your love.

You called out his name, as you pushed his wet hair away from his face. "You are right that this marriage was made from an arrangement and not from love. But like you promised my parents you took care of me and gave me many things. You continue to care for me and I also saw many sides of you. The Melusines adores you and also loves you like a father. I saw that. You are busy and have done many things but still have in mind me your wife, always making time to talk and be with me." 

You continue to list more and more things that you have experienced by his side yet instead of finding comfort, tears fell from his eyes as he was again reminded that he unknowingly threw away everything.

"Stay... stay forever with me," Neuvillette asked again, pushing his face to your hand. When you nodded, a soft whisper of ‘yes’ did his hands finally let up the strength from the tight hold on your arm. gently you placed his head on your lap as he hugged your waist. His hold was tight but you didn't mind as you started to comb his hair with your fingers. 

This was not okay, he knew that this was not alright yet... for now, this was enough for him. Later on, this would spiral more and more down as he watched himself demand more and beg more but for now, this was okay, that he had your promise that you would never leave him.

This much was enough for now.

Note: This took a while to write so I hope you enjoyed reading this! There will also be no part 3 to this for those curious~

Edit1: So there ended up being a part 3 to this which is here: link anyway hope you enjoy the story!

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ PAIR OF WINGS, GENTLY USED !

part one | part two

summary: following the aftermath of rook's rest, aemond struggles to convince you of his innocence while aegon struggles to stay alive. the three of you come to the striking realization that love is not always soft – sometimes it feels like dragonfire. (12k)

pairing: aemond targaryen / f!reader / aegon targaryen

contents: established realtionship(s), enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of gore and violence, swearing, cheating, smut 18+, threesome (sorta? but not really?), cuckholding, exhibitionism & voyeurism (aegon likes to watch)

The battle waging across the sea startles you from sleep. You rouse before sunset to your heart unfurling behind your ribcage, pierced and bleeding out, as though you were one of the many soldiers reaching their end on the battlefield. 

You wake from the nightmare only to enter the next — a raven, sent at dawn, from an allied house along the bay. Written in splattered ink along the worn parchment is a report of injuries sustained by the king. Alicent reads them aloud to you and Helaena, with shaking hands and a trembling voice. Your heart’s beating too loudly in your ears to understand her.

“His Grace fell violently from many leagues above the ground,” she managed to recite through choked-back cries. “Riddled with dragonflame, His Grace’s armor has melted heartily to his flesh—” 

You find yourself planted firmly on the steps of the Dragonpit without a clue of how you got there, dressed only in your thin nightgown and thinner slippers. You suppose it was muscle memory that carried you there. You think it must be muscle memory, still, that has kept you standing in the same place — unmoving as the lilac sunrise turns sickly grey with rainclouds, without any food or drink offered by the handmaidens you have since sent away.

It is a profound and heavy thing, you realize, to be alive in the fresh early morning, when the world is so broken and ending for so many. The thought of Aegon dying in the sweetness of late summer makes you weep. You choke back burning tears in wait for his brother’s return — Aemond Targaryen, your husband, your wound — from which there has been no word.

A black, ponderous cloud of worry fogs your mind. You can see it all so vividly; feel it all as if you lived it — a death so horrid and beyond your comprehension. You wait and ache while your brain hums with madness.

You hear Vhagar before you see her. 

The great beast shifts storm clouds with its leviathan wings, shaking the ground with each slow and heavy flutter as she nears the ground. Even from here, you can see the holes piercing her thin, satiny skin. 

Your racing heart drops to your swirling stomach at the thought of Aegon falling from such a height — still saddled to a dying Sunfyre, looking directly at a certain death, unable to stop its coming. The thought of Aemond being with him during what the survivors of Rook’s Rest are calling The Night of A Thousand Suns fills you with agony. 

Your worry for each of them pricks your skin, from the tips of your fingers to the bottoms of your feet. The entirety of your grief consumes you.

The ground trembles when Vhagar lands in the depths of Dragonpit, just barely fitting within the stone confines of her stable. The beast stills long enough for Aemond to unclip himself from her saddle and slide off her back. Then she’s off again, to the northernmost forest of King’s Landing, to heal by herself in the nest she made a century or so ago.

The gust of wind from her wings takes your breath away. Or perhaps it’s just the sight of Aemond, in the flesh, seemingly unharmed despite the worries that had been plaguing you all morning. Your mind swirls with deeper concerns instead, with horrid thoughts you’ve been choking back like bile since the Raven arrived.

You stand in place on the top step while Aemond stalks towards you. He peels off his leather gloves and dismisses the dragonkeepers with a wave of his pale hand. You feel like your heart’s in your throat when he stands before you, two steps downward, and of nearly equal height to you. 

You grip his sharp jaw between your fingers, wild eyes darting over his face in search of any sign of harm. Aemond lets you observe him. He knows you need it. 

“I’m alright,” he promises in a soft monotone.

You take hold of both his arms then, despite his assurances, like you have to see them for yourself. Your gaze falls up and down his form as you hunt for remains of an injury — a scrape on his skin, a tear in his leather garb, a smear of ash from a dragon’s flame. 

You find nothing. 

It is hard to be relieved by such a notion when his brother verges on death at this very moment.

“I am alright, my love,” Aemond repeats, firmer now, as if it’ll lessen the leaden weight in your chest. 

He lifts his lanky fingers and wraps them around your wrist, guiding your hand away from his jaw when your nails start to dig unknowingly into his skin. 

He peers at you with his lone eye and waits for you to kiss him — or to hug him, perhaps — something overtly affectionate that comes so naturally to you that has hitherto been very foreign to him. He expects you to be gladdened by his presence after such a tumultuous battle, of which he presumed would bring you closer.

With his brother now mutilated by dragon flame, Aemond flew back to the Red Keep with the understanding that there would be a bed and a throne for him — both empty and cold, waiting to be warmed with you by his side.

They said love was intensified by absence, but your face crumples under the weight of your emotion instead. Glassy tears fill your eyes, which squint with something short of fear as you turn away from him. Your hand slips from his without a single word uttered from you. 

A very distant ache twists somewhere deep in his chest. A wildfire burns in the ether behind his ribcage, far away but scorching all the same. Watching you leave is a fate far worse than the hell his dead or dying brother must be facing at this very moment — hidden in a box somewhere in a throwaway carriage.  

Aemond chokes down his jealousy like bile. He’s spent his whole life wishing he and Aegon could trade places, and now isn’t any different. 

Even as his brother languishes in a mangled, bloodied, and ashened pile of flesh, it is he you still long for. Aemond still cannot compete with him — not even as your husband, not even as a living-breathing thing standing before you.

Because you would always be searching for Aegon. Even in his death. Even in yours.

“Behold! The traitor dragon Meleys!” a knight bellows beneath the sounds of a tolling bell and trumpeting horns. 

The Kingsguard marches into the city with a beheaded dragon carted behind them. The smallfolk fall silent at the sight of the majestic beast, slaughtered from its scarlet body. You can’t remember a time when King’s Landing was ever so quiet. Something about it feels ghostlike.

“Slain at Rook’s Rest, by your king!” the man shouts, raising his fist in triumph. “To Aegon!”

You can barely hear any of it from here, where you stand at the highest balcony of the Red Keep, which overlooks the entire city — but the hushed silence is deafening, and the fear is achingly palpable. 

Aemond stands just beside you, between you and his mother, with several inches of cautious space between you. He curls his pale hands around the railing and leans over the parapet. A late summer breeze ripples through his silver hair and leather jacket as he tilts his chin to peer at the crowd from the bridge of his nose — looking like he could swallow the whole of the King’s Landing if he wanted.

“Do they not realize we won the battle?” he wonders quietly.

“I don’t believe there are any winners here,” Alicent murmurs after a few long moments, oddly steady despite the worry that threatens to strangle her completely. “This is no victory, Aemond.”

You shake your head in agreement as burning tears gather at your waterline. “No. This is a dark, dark omen.”

You sniffle once, then exhale a shuddering breath from your mouth. Your hand reaches for your tightening chest to curl your fingers around the dainty necklace between your collarbones. A gift Aemond had made upon your betrothal — a golden rose to match the sigil of your old house, with an emerald sitting in the center to represent the one you married into.

Alicent looks past Aemond and over to you. Her wide brown eyes flit back and forth from your teary features to your tremoring fingers. She squints and tucks a rogue auburn curl behind her ear when it billows in her face. “How do you mean?” 

“Growing up, I was taught that dragons were gods,” you confess, voice wet with unshed tears. “And this… This is not a victory march, Your Grace. This is an abomination.”

Your words hang heavy over the three of you for several long moments. The weight of them is palpable, like a pillow to the face. They force the breath from your lungs and demand to be acknowledged. And as the rest of the city recoils in fright, bowing their heads as though this was a funeral procession, the truth behind your words becomes indisputable.

Behind the beheaded Meleys is a cart carrying an unmarked box. There is no fanfare surrounding it, no horses or knights or signs of life. It is hardly more than a grim crate blanketed by a few tattered rags. A casket, perhaps.

“Is that him?” you try to ask, though the words get stuck in your throat. You clear it and try again. “Is— Is that Aegon?”

Alicent blinks back tears and nods until she chokes them down again. “’Tis likely,” she answers plainly.

“Do they know if he’s still alive in there?” 

The mother thinks for a moment. Her tongue darts across her bottom lip, feeling the ridges where she’s nipped at them from anxiety, before shaking her head in a wordless response. 

You spare one last look at the maimed Meleys and the casket trailing behind her as the soldiers march closer to the Red Keep. The sight grows blurry with burning tears, like pastel watercolors all bleeding together. You step back from the balcony with a shuddering breath and scurry off without another word. 

Aemond watches you disappear in the corner of his eye but makes no move to stop you. He’d sooner cut off his hand than profess his need for you. It’d be easier, anyway.

You rush down the twisting stone steps of the Red Keep with the skirt of your dress in your hands. As your pretty pink gown flows behind you, you can hear your racing heart in your ears — a vigorous woosh, woosh, wooshing as your adrenaline spikes and pricks at your skin like flames. 

You can hear Ser Branton Selmy’s armor clinking behind you, too, as your personal protector rushes to keep up with your rapid strides in such heavy garb.

You run into Criston Cole when you reach the west wing. Beside him is a nameless face you only vaguely recognize. He’s a Hightower, no doubt, so you figure he must be Gwayne. The pretty man looks strikingly similar to his sister, the Queen Dowager. And he has all the hardened features of his father. 

You vaguely notice the horrors of war etched onto their otherwise handsome faces just before your eyes look past them — to the white cloaks heaving a wooden box down the corridor.

“Where are they taking him?” you ask with bated breath, fists tremoring where they clench the tulle of your skirt.

Ser Gwanye runs a pale hand through his auburn locks, pushing the long strands over his forehead. Both his hair and his hands are stained with bits of blood and dirt. “The far west end, princess,” he answers politely. “That is as much as I’ve heard, anyway.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Our bedroom?” you wonder aloud before you mean to, eyes wide and full of apprehension.

Gwayne, too, looks on in shock. He blinks at you for a moment, before turning to Ser Criston for a surer answer. 

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard (and, most recently, the Lord Hand) peers at you with a sympathetic gaze. He ducks his scruffy chin to his chest as his dark eyes swim with apology.

“It is the closest bedroom to the Maester’s quarters, princess,” Criston tells you. “And right now, His Grace needs all the help he can get.”

You hurry to the furthest end of the Red Keep, knowing its only importance before now was being the outermost point from the bedroom you shared with Aemond. It was a very intentional decision you made when Aegon insisted the two of you share a room like any true couple would. (You figured if you were going to fuck his brother, it’d be polite if you didn’t make him bear witness to it.)

You stand in the doorway while the knights lift Aegon’s body from the crate, all wrapped in a burlap sack, as though he was presumed to die on the way home from battle. They lie him tenderly in the center of your shared bed. His blood stains the silk where you have laughed and cried and pleasured each other. 

He’s still in his armor, though half of it is singed and nearly melted, and the maesters make quick work of tending to his fragile body. You can hardly see him now, with all the people rushing about, but you think perhaps it’s best that way. You know if you saw him in such a state, you’d never be able to forget it — and if Aegon was going to die today, he didn’t deserve to be remembered that way.

“Is he alive?” you gasp quietly into the chaos.

“His Grace remains with us,” Maester Orwyle answers carefully, dark eyes meeting yours from across the room. “For the moment.”

He’s still breathing, is what he’s really saying. But who knows for how long?

When the maesters start to peel the armor from the boy’s burned body, you feel a warm hand on your shoulder. 

Ser Branton appears suddenly behind you and comforts you with a weathered touch, which is not typically permitted for knights. Touching the nobility was strictly off-limits unless completely necessary, and Ser Branton knows it. He’s been a member of the Kingsguard since before you were born. Long enough to earn the name Branton the Brave. But he figures this moment is as necessary as any other.

“Best look away, princess,” he advises in a gruff and gentle voice. “Let me escort you back to your chambers until the work is done.”

You will yourself to answer him, to let him whisk you away completely, to let him take you on a horse ride outside the city walls — anything to get you away from the unsightly horrors before you. But you remain still and silent despite yourself, watching the skin of your first love come off in melted strings as the maesters peel his armor away.

The smell of burnt flesh fills the room, along with the coppery tang of blood. 

A pair of hurried footsteps sound behind you as Alicent rushes into the room. “Is he breathing?” she frets as she migrates to her eldest boy’s bedside, trying to peer past the bustling bodies for a glimpse of him. Her breath hitches at the sight of his charred chest, rising and falling with shallow and uneven breaths.

“Is my son going to die?” the mother rephrases with her hand to her mouth.

“I’m afraid I cannot say,” Maester Orwyle answers. He works with steady enough hands, but the waver in his voice is not reassuring. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, these next hours are most critical.”

Alicent nods and takes a stumbling step back. “Of course,” she murmurs inaudibly.

You gravitate closer to the foot of the bed with wide and glazed-over eyes, perceiving nothing and everything all at once. You feel a bit like you’re dreaming, or like you’re underwater — like none of this is real. 

But you still flinch at the sharp click of his broken bone being snapped back into place. And your chest still aches at the sound of his raspy breaths as he fights hard for each one of them.

You don’t notice Aemond entering the room until he caresses you with an icy hand. You fight back a shiver under his touch. His fingers are oddly gentle as they curl around the back of your neck, like he’s comforting you and reminding you to whom you belong simultaneously. 

“He’s alive,” he observes indifferently.

“For now,” Alicent nods from the other side of the bed.

“By the grace of the Gods, no doubt,” Aemond monotones. He smooths his thumb over your skin in a reassuring pet as he looks past you to his mother. “But still… Someone will have to rule in his stead.”

For the first time in several minutes, your eyes part from Aegon’s body to glare at the boy beside you. Your gaze turns glassy as it swims with newfound tears. They burn at your waterline — not with grief now, but with anger. 

You say nothing as you swat his hand away, turning on your heel and storming out of the room with Ser Branton close behind. Your hands ball into trembling fists at your sides. Your nails bite into the soft skin of your palm as you struggle to breathe through your rage.

The people have called you the Rose of King’s Landing since you first arrived to the city, some years ago now. You were as pretty and as delicate as they come — at least, that’s what they told you. But as your fury builds like bile in your throat, you no longer feel as fragile as a flower. You feel like Wildfire, green and flammable and volatile, moments away from being set ablaze.

Rain beats in fat droplets against the stained glass windows of the Sept. The wild cadence of the brewing storm mixes with the crackling of lit candles — the only two sounds filling the silent church. Lightning flashes and basks the expansive room in vivid purple hues for a moment before darkness returns again. 

Aemond watches the flickering amber flames paint you in shades of gold as you kneel before them. 

Your hands are entwined, but he knows you’re not praying. You haven’t prayed since you arrived to the city, as far as he understands it. You confessed to him, once, that you lost the need for all that when you lost your home. 

He surmises that you came all this way to escape him — or, perhaps, the Red Keep in its entirety. The smell of death has overtaken the castle. The chaos within it has similarly refused to cease. Though he does not blame you for running, he cannot abide by your attempts to elude him. 

His boots scuff the stone as he walks further into the Sept. The soft sound echoes through the quiet church. Your head whips over your shoulder in its direction. 

Aemond swipes his rain-soaked hood from his silver head. The candlelight dances over his narrow features, softening the sharpened edges of them. 

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” he confesses as he stalks closer to you, hands clasped behind his back, hidden beneath his heavy cloak. “I’ve been searching all over for you, to be sure.”

“Have you?” you hum unenthusiastically, rising to full height and smoothing the skirt of your dress. You tilt your chin to follow Aemond’s eyes when he towers over your smaller form.

“Normally, when you’re absent, I find you with the king. But considering my brother’s… current predicament…” he lilts cautiously, though the words spill from his mouth with a very intentional venom. “I struggled to place your whereabouts. I was moments away from sending the gold cloaks after you.”

You would be touched by his worry if you believed it to be true. 

Your husband has always been intrinsically difficult to read, but you feel like you no longer know him now. As he looms before you — a pretty boy who always thought himself too ugly to be loved — he becomes an unrecognizable thing. Your stomach swirls at the uncanny feeling.

“I didn’t mean to worry you, husband,” you say with a pretty smile that verges on cynical. “I know you have much on your plate at the moment. What with trying to find a regent to take Aegon’s place and all.”

The banter is familiar, though it’s not typically so weighty — so backhanded and so filled with unspoken rage. The two of you fake smiles at each other while simultaneously biting your tongues so hard that blood pools in your mouths.

You take slow and unsure steps towards him, until your wringing hands brush his clothed torso. You peer up at him from beneath your lashes in a suddenly solemn look, which sparkles with hope and fear and dread. 

“Can you tell me what happened to him? Please,” you murmur sheepishly, all but begging him now. “So I can stop imagining it.”

Aemond hums to himself, tilting his head curiously to the side. “And what are you imagining in that pretty little head of yours, hm?”

You avert your gaze to your fidgeting hands, where your fingers wring themselves into knots. Your tongue grazes your anxiety-bitten lip as you inhale a shaking breath, fighting for the courage to answer. 

“Before your mother told me of the raven we’d received… About Aegon’s health, I was having… the most awful dream,” you confess for the first time aloud. “A nightmare— about you and Aegon flying together on dragonback. Aegon was… struggling to take on Meleys while you…”

Aemond waits with bated breath as you trail off. “While I what?” he presses.

“Watched,” you agonize, face twisted as you recall the vivid dream that feels like a memory now. “You set Vhagar on him, and you watched.”

“Hm,” Aemond hums apathetically. “A nightmare indeed.”

You meet his flat face with teary eyes. “So tell me what happened to him,”you repeat, firmer now. “Please.”

“I’m afraid it is quite boring— talk of war,” the boy lilts as he walks past you and toward the burning candles. “But, if you must know, we took the castle at the cost of… some nine hundred men.”

“And what of Aegon?”

Aemond lays his palm flat over a flickering flame and looks at you over his shoulder, like he doesn’t feel any of it — or, at the very least, like he wants you to think he doesn’t. 

“His Grace fought valiantly. But he was drunk when he mounted Sunfyre, and Rhaenys... She was no stranger to battle. Aegon was long in the dying, I’m afraid— the outcome was surely inevitable.”

“And where were you?” you blurt with the courage strikes you suddenly. “What was your part in all this?”

Something in Aemond’s eyes flickers, as though in surprise of your subtle accusation. Though, perhaps it’s only the candlelight. 

“I set Vhaghar on The Queen Who Never Was,” he shrugs plainly. “I distracted her from my brother, and slaughtered her dragon.”

You muster a wavering grin. “What a heroic tale.”

“I wouldn’t wish such a sight on my worst enemy,” Aemond tells you solemnly as he swipes ash from his calloused palms. He thinks for a moment, then corrects himself. “Well… Perhaps I would…”

The edges of his lips lift in a barely-there smirk. The one you give him in return is weighed down with an obvious emotion, which is etched now across your delicate features. 

“I want to believe you had no part in this, Aemond… But my mind refuses to relent on the matter.”

Aemond’s face hardens. Lightning flashes in violet hues and casts daunting shadows over the sharp edges of his face. His words are accompanied by rolling thunder that trembles the earth under your feet. “I loved my brother—”

“I think someone like you can care a lot about a person and still be able to kill them,” you confess, so gently it feels like a proclamation of love.

“Maybe so,” he hums indifferently.

His apathy is unsurprising, but it doesn’t hurt you any less. The familiarity of it pierces you like a dagger and presses its lips to your forehead like a kiss all at once. There is intimacy, hidden somewhere in his detachment — and if it’s all because he loves you, does it matter if it hurts?

“I used to love you, Aemond,” you tell him because it feels necessary now, considering you can’t get anything tangible out of him. “Even when you didn’t believe I did. Especially when you didn’t believe I did.”

The blatant use of the past tense feels like a cold hand wrapped around his throat. “What changed?” 

“You did.”

“No,” Aemond insists with a stubborn shake of his head as he closes the distance between you. His footsteps are as light and as measured as the late-summer rain raging outside. “I’m the same as I ever was… You only see me completely now. That’s all.”

He curls his cold hands around your waist to pull you closer. His touch is familiar in a way that makes your stomach ache — like an old house that used to be yours, but isn’t anymore; like a place that you should remember, but barely can. 

Your breath catches in your throat because his words feel like a confession.

The corner of his mouth quirks in a proud smile because he is confessing, and you’re still letting him hold you.

“We have seen the worst parts of each other, have we not? And yet…” Aemond trails off, ducking softly down like he intends to kiss you. Your lips part in wait for his despite yourself. He trails the tip of his chiseled nose over the bridge of yours instead. “We understand each other in our bones. We cannot help but to live inside of one another, like… A snake… doomed to swallow its own tail.”

His chapped lips duck to graze your pulse point. You exhale a trembling breath as your hands ball into fists at your sides. You make no attempt to stop him, however, as though paralyzed by your deep-rooted affection for him.

“Or a fish hook… into an open eye,” Aemond continues cynically, breath fanning warm over your collarbones. Chill bumps pebble over your delicate skin in his wake. The sight makes him swell with pride. “Or a decaying corpse and its maggots… Mutual destruction—”

He rises again to kiss you, mouth parted like he plans to swallow you whole. 

Your senses return, and you pull back from him — just enough for your lips to graze but not fully meet. You realize, then, that you’re holding your breath. You exhale a wavering sigh as you stand obediently ahead of him. Nose to nose, chest to chest, heartbeart to heartbeat.

“You’re a nightmare,” you pant against his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as you raise a hand to his face. The pad of your thumb smooths over the marred skin beneath his patched eye. “There is deeply wrong with you, Aemond. And I think whatever is… is wrong with me also.”

Lightning strikes with a resounding crack some leagues away — or, perhaps, in his own chest, which warms at the thought of being understood by you. 

He kisses you with the fire behind his ribcage, breathes the smoke from his lungs into yours. The Kinslayer licks into your mouth, and you let him.

You’re doomed to it, you realize — doomed to acknowledging the very worst parts of him and never being able to abandon him. To spending a lifetime unwrapping his misdeeds and kissing them away like a baby with a scraped knee. 

You will spend the rest of your life holding his darkened soul up to the light and trying hard to understand him. And as Aemond kisses the breath from your lungs in the middle of the candlelit Sept, in the epicenter of a raging summer storm, you think it must be better than not having him at all.

The days anticipating Aegon’s waking are ruthless and bloodstained. 

You don’t need sleep for many of them, and you only part from his bedside long enough to tend to your wifely duties. The castle sees little of you otherwise. You become a ghostly thing instead — a phantom of your own regret, a shadow of all your sins. 

And even when it’s full of so much love, all a ghost can do is haunt. You idle at Aegon’s bedside accordingly. Solemnly, silently, softly. While melancholy stains your hands like blood.

You feel as though you’re cleansing your impure touch every time you dip your hands into the steaming bowl of water at your side. You soak Aegon’s bandages in its medicinal contents until it burns your skin raw. Until you find repentance in the ache. And then you smooth them carefully over his raging wounds the way Maester Orwyle taught you.

Your unworthy hands run gently over his lithe, burnt, and death-touched body, finding holiness in his pale skin. You kneel at his side and hold his unhurt hand in both of yours — not to pray, but to atone.

“If you’re going to die here, in our bed, I hope very much that you intend to haunt me,” you whisper through tears, bringing his hand to your mouth and running your lips over the grooves of his knuckles. “I would much rather you drive me mad from the spiritual plane than go where I cannot follow you.”

Your handmaiden knocks softly on the door, then. She peeks just enough inside to tell you the high council meeting has finished — the council of which your husband now sits at the head. 

Aemond, crowned newly regent, wears the weight of kinghood like he was always meant to do it. You hate how well it fits him. You hate what lengths he’s gone to steal a crown that no person should ever aspire to possess. 

Still, though, you part from Aegon with a kiss to his unburnt cheek and walk to the other side of the castle to tend to your husband — like a sheep led to slaughter.

“Dove?” Aegon calls in a raspy voice, the name like gravel in his throat, when he feels you disappear from his side.

You do not hear him.

Aegon slips back into the lonely abyss.

You retire the following morning to the Godswood — the only place in King’s Landing where you’re free from pitied glances and words of sympathy. You sit against the white bark of the old weirwood tree with a heavy book propped on your knees. The rising sun filters in golden rays through the orange leaves, which rustle in time with a calm summer wind.

Aemond finds you there when you don’t arrive to break your fast. Something about the sight of you forces him back into childhood — all bathed in the late morning sun, in a pretty pink dress that sits in a perfect circle around you, like a painting that breathes with life. 

In that moment, he’s a kid who still has both his eyes — who doesn’t startle people when he looks at them — who hasn’t hurt anyone yet because no one’s yet hurt him. For a flicker of a moment, the two of you are strangers. Strangers who haven’t ruined each other by being together.

Aemond chokes down the nostalgia and strangles it in a clenched fist. “The table is set,” he calls to you, in place of any real greeting.

You don’t look up from your book as you flip the page. “I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten in days,” the boy tells you, trying hard to bite back his misplaced anger.  “You’ll soon be withering away with my brother if you aren’t careful.”

“I’d rather,” you murmur cynically as your chin tilts to meet his eyes. 

You don’t mean to glare at him the way you do, but it’s hard to look at the mirror of yourself any other way. A part of him slipped into you that night at the Sept, like lightning through the stained glass windows, and now it’s hard to stomach the sight of him. 

“What are you reading?” Aemond asks, changing the subject entirely, as he nods to the heavy book covering the expanse of your lap. 

You avert your gaze then, like you’re ashamed of the answer. He walks closer to peek at the thick parchment pages and finds a hand-drawn diagram of a maimed body with increasing levels of burnt skin. His chest pinches as he seethes.

“Even in death, my brother is still the one you want,” Aemond scoffs a bitter laugh. “He is always where your loyalties will lie— ”

“Well, Aegon is not dead,” you correct with an eerily steady voice as your eyes hardened into an unwavering squint. “Though I know how much it must pain you.”

“You’re meaning eludes me, I’m afraid. You’ll have to speak more plainly.”

“You are easily the smartest man I have ever met,” you confess with a gentle smile. “So please do not patronize me by playing the fool.”

Aemond opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He is, instead, interrupted by hurried footsteps that crunch crunch crunch atop the falling leaves. “We’re busy,” he snaps as he whips his head over his shoulder.

Maester Orwyle cowers. His chain rattles as he bows his bald head in apology. “Excuse me, Prince Regent— Princess— But I am happy to report that His Grace, The King has regained consciousness this morning.”

Your heart lurches into your throat, making it very suddenly hard to breathe. Your feet scramble for purchase on the ground as you stand to full height again. Dirt stains your hands as you clutch the heavy book between them.

“Only for a few moments,” the man amends before he overexcites you.

“But he is awake?” you press with bated breath.

The Maester nods. “He is.”

“I knew it,” you say, laughing giddily to yourself. “I knew his breath was coming easier to him.”

Maester Orwyle struggles to keep his emotions at bay with your infectious excitement. “Aye. The King is much stronger than I gave him credit for,” the man nods, hands clasped as though in prayer. “He may yet live— thank the Gods.”

“What happy news,” Aemond hums when he realizes he hasn’t yet said anything. 

His thin lips purse in a quiet smile as his glacial gaze flits over to you. He stares mostly from the side of his patched eye, so ardently it feels like he’s looking at you through the covered sapphire hidden behind it. 

“Perhaps you should accompany Maester Orwyle to my brother’s chambers. I will inform the family as we break our fast,” the boy tells you with purely selfish intent. 

He figures it’ll be easier to watch you rush back into Aegon’s arms if he’s commanding it of you. His chest threatens to swirl with warmth, however, at the relieved look you give him. 

Your eyes soften for the first time since he returned from Rook’s Rest. You don’t care whether he’s holding an olive branch in his hand or a dagger. You’re thankful for it, either way. 

“Of course, Your Grace,” you say with an obedient bow of your head. 

You go to kiss his cheek before you part from him, if only to maintain appearances in front of the Maester.“Thank you,” Aemond hears you whisper before your mouth meets his skin. The plush of your lips grazes the pink scar beneath his eye in a softer touch than he expects, in a softer touch than he deserves.

You burst through the ornate double doors of the west-end bedroom like a million glittering sun rays. 

Aegon can only see you through the bleary haze of his one good eye, but he knows you put The Night of a Thousand Suns to shame. He’s seen dragonfire closer than most people have, and not even that can rival the vividity of his glittering Dove.

The bustling maesters part wordlessly for you like breaking rain clouds. You rush like sunshine past them and straight to his bedside. “Aegon!” you call, teary-eyed and giggling at the sight of his woken state. 

He expects you to flinch when you’re closer to him, to recoil at the sight of his melted flesh. He wouldn’t blame you for it — it’d hurt, of course, but he wouldn’t blame you. It shocks him most when you bend at the waist to kiss him instead. 

Your lips graze the unburnt skin of his right cheek. Aegon can smell rose petals in your hair and lavender on your skin when you lean over him. It smells like home when everything around him reeks of death.

“I’m surprised you still recognize me—” Aegon jokes dryly, then drags in a ragged breath when his lungs start screaming. The inhale rattles through his bare chest, covered partially in the bandages you helped dress before break of day. “—After all this.”

You sit at his side and smile so hard your eyes squint at the edges. “Don’t be absurd. I was born knowing you, Aegon,” you argue with his jaw cradled in a gentle hand. You look over your shoulder to the nearest maester and request, “Can you fetch me some marigolds? And dandelion, please? Oh! And a pot of hot water to make tea in?”

The older man bows his head obediently and asks no question as he stalks out of the room.

You turn back to Aegon. “I hear it may help treat your burns. It’ll at least ease the pain of them, I’m sure.”

The boy shifts in a feeble attempt to get comfortable, which is an impossible feat considering his current state — with half of his body riddled with oozing burns and an elevated leg, shattered and likely never the same again. The only comfort he finds is your warm hand on his cheek. He leans into it like a sunflower to sunshine.

“How do you know all that?” he rasps.

“I read it in a book.”

His remaining eye flits to the edge of the bed, where you’ve laid a thick volume at his feet. He scoffs at the sight of it, then coughs when his lungs burn (which, of course, only adds to the sting.) 

“A boring book,” the boy insists as you ease a cup of water to his dry mouth, cupping his chin to catch the dribble.

“Only slightly,” you joke with a quiet smile. “But I fear I was quite motivated in learning how to treat you.”

Aegon smacks his chapped lips when you pull away, watching attentively as you sit the chalice back at his bedside. His chest blooms with something warm: his affection for you, perhaps, or maybe the lingering ash in his lungs.

“You’re slaving over the Grand Maester’s books—” He inhales a wheezing breath that leaves in a rattling exhale. “—To learn how to take care of me?”

“Yes.”

“What wretched work.”

“Not to me,” you insist with a blossoming grin. “Not if it’s you.”

Aegon’s ocean eye goes glassy with burning tears he tries hard to blink away. A furrow forms in the marred skin of his forehead as his brows pinch together — one singed off and the other half gone. His features crumple as he forces himself to choke down his emotion like bile. 

He hasn’t cried about it yet. About any of it. His manhood has already been stripped from him — he’s scared that if he cries about it now, it’ll be like admitting some kind of defeat.

You seem to know this without words. Like you can read it all in his very expressive face, which he knows is so much different now than the one you fell in love with. You don’t look at him like he’s any different, though, and something about it makes his head spin.

“Will you lay with me?”

“I can’t, Aegon— I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me,” he wheezes. “You can’t.”

Despite your better judgment, you round the mattress to lay at his unburnt side. The muscle memory that carries you there feels strange. You’ve been rounding this very bed to lay to the right of him for many moons now — a side you claimed wordlessly as your own, as Aegon did with the left. Nothing has changed. Only, at the same time, everything has changed.

You recline gingerly along the feathered mattress, careful not to jostle the boy too much. When you turn to rest on your side, Aegon shifts on the mattress to be level with you. He doesn’t get too far, what with his elevated leg and the rest of him much too stiff. He turns his chin to his shoulder to face you instead. His eyes flutter shut when you lift your hand to his face, tracing the edges of his bandages with a featherlight touch.

“How can you still look at me like that?” Aegon croaks as your pointer finger trails down the slope of his nose.

“Like what?” you murmur distantly.

“I don’t know,” he answers before a wheeze racks through his chest. “Like you still love me.”

His words hit you like a fist to the stomach. Something about them makes your throat tighten with a welling emotion.

“Because I do love you, Aegon,” you answer through a teary giggle, resting a very delicate hand over his bandaged jaw. “I can’t help it. I knew I was doomed to it since I was ten-and-three— when you told me you were betrothed to Helaena, and yet I was still searching for you in all the eyes of my potential suitors.”

“Do you search for me now?” he mumbles with a hopeful gleam in his remaining eye.

Your smile widens. “I search for you always.”

“Even now?”

“Always,” you repeat.

“What if I…” he trails off, smacking his dry mouth and averting his gaze. 

He looks, instead, at the green silk draping the ceiling — where he insisted a mirror be hung some days ago. He said he wanted to see you from every angle when you were riding him, said that was of utmost importance. All that feels pretty moot now, though, and the notion makes his chest ache.

“What if I’m different after this?” he wonders through the ash trapped in his lungs. You know it must hurt for him to talk, so you grimace when he continues. “What if I’m immobile? What if I— I can’t pleasure you anymore?”

A giggle sputters past your lips. Aegon flinches. He doesn’t know what he expected you to say to that, but he hadn’t expected you to laugh.

“If you think I am only at your side because of my… carnal urges,” you lilt teasingly, rising on your elbow to peer down at him with sparkling eyes. “Then you are sadly mistaken, my king. Surely, you’re forgetting the many, many years it took you to learn my body… wherein your rendered services were, perhaps, less than pleasurable.”

Aegon tries to laugh until his chest stings. The air rushes suddenly from his lungs and leaves a burning sensation in its wake — drier than the sands of Dorne, hotter than dragonfire. 

He grimaces and struggles to catch his breath. He’s only able to relax when you lay your hand over the right side of his chest, where his skin is pale and supple and still normal.

“Meaning no offense, of course,” you continue with a lazy smile. “You’ve undoubtedly become an expert of me over the years.”

Aegon tries not to cower under the sincerity twinkling in your eyes. He can’t tell if you’re just ignoring his freakish nature, or if you’ve already adjusted to it entirely. He prays for the latter. He’s grateful, however, for either.

“Will you kiss me?” he rasps in a breathy whisper.

You don’t answer with words. You only lean forward and press your lips to the flushed apple of his cheek, lingering there for several long moments. The foreign act of tenderness makes him sigh hard through his nose.

You part from him to find his lips quirked in a very distant smile. It isn’t nearly as bright as you’re used to — not as pink or as mischievous — but you can see it still, beneath the layers of bandages and marred skin. 

“Not there,” he jokes with a rattling breath.

Your hand lifts to caress his cheek. Your thumb grazes the grooves of the plaster sticking to his skin there. Your eyes flit from his sparkling gaze to his parted lips. You lean down and kiss him gently — enough for him to feel you, but not enough to feel the ache on his burnt side.

And even as you’re kissing him, and Aegon’s kissing you back, you can’t help but wish that you were kissing him still. 

Aemond sits alone at the head of an ornate dining table and glares at the ghost of you across the room. Past the flickering candles, and the goblets of wine, and the trays of your most favorite desserts — to where an empty chair waits for a body that’s never coming to fill it. 

It’s his fault, he knows. He’s the one who refused to summon you for supper, yet he still finds himself blaming you for your absence. As the blade of self-made solitude pierces his sternum, he imagines it’s your pretty hand twisting the dagger. The plates before him remain untouched and go slowly cold as the wound bleeds out. 

The thought of supping without you makes him too sick to eat. His empty stomach swirls with the waves of his grief.

Aemond knew that, were his brother to ever wake, he would be left with only the barest scraps of you. He thought he was used to picking at the flesh and bones of your affection like a vulture to decaying flesh, but he feels the lack of you most ardently now. To the point where he’s made a weapon of your leaving.

He sends you away most nights, when you part finally from Aegon’s bedside to attend to your wifely duties. It was easier to wave a dismissive hand while you undressed for him — to tell you that he had war plans to discuss with Ser Criston or whores at the brothel awaiting his arrival. The former was sometimes true, the latter almost never. Never ever, to be exact.

You’d re-tie the lace of your slip, covering the petaled skin you were baring for him, and muster a wavering smile to cover up your aching. And though Aemond wasn’t entirely fond of hurting you, there was a certain gratification in making you feel an ounce of the heartache he was drowning in.

But the cycle of woe continues on, and he finds himself floundering for you all over again. 

He spares one last glare at the empty seat reserved for his wife — who, like her love, would never truly be there — and rises abruptly from the table. The legs of his wooden chair scrape the cobbled floors. The harsh sound echoes through the empty throne room. 

“What shall we do with the food, my pri— Your Grace?”  a servant boy stammers when Aemond walks by.

“Feed it to the hounds,” the boy monotones.

Aemond just barely manages to keep his head above water long enough to find you. He storms to the west wing of the Red Keep and bursts through the double doors of the bedroom you and Aegon share. He feels like he’s been set aflame every time he passes the threshold. He figures he belongs here about as much as a demon at a Holy Sept.

He finds you, unsurprisingly, tending to the sleeping king at his bedside. You dip a thin cloth into a steaming bowl, soaking it in the aromatic medicinal bath, before smoothing it over his burns with a practiced touch. 

Aegon’s left side is not nearly as raw and raging as it was some weeks ago, perhaps because of your gentle hands. His skin is still marred, though — features gnarled and blurred and disfigured. Half of his hair has been singed off, along with his ear and most of his eye. He’s a monster on all accounts, but you tend to him with loving hands anyway.

Your head whips over your shoulder at the sudden intrusion. You find Aemond lingering at the doorway; fists balled at his sides, chest heaving with panted breaths. Your brows raise expectantly, and Aemond searches for something to say. 

“The table is set for supper,” he blurts.

“Alright,” you hum in a quiet voice. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

You turn away, and the thin fabric of your nightgown flows behind you. It’s made of a pale pink cotton, with long sheer sleeves, and a tie at the chest that reveals a sliver of your skin. 

You’re typically only so casually dressed with him. It’s almost like you’ve trained him to salivate at the sight, knowing you’d be taking it off for him under any other circumstance. His hunger for you builds despite himself.

“Will you?” he presses, feigning indifference, as he saunters into the room with his hands behind his back. “You’ve hardly left this room, I’ve heard.”

“Well, I heard that you’ve spent the entire day in council meetings,” you argue while wringing damp plaster between your fists. Hot water trickles back into the bowl, stirring now with golden petals and dandelion fluff. You glance back at him, this time with something mischievous twinkling in your eyes. “What would have me to do, hm? Wait for you well into the twilight hour until you decide you have enough time for me? With my legs spread for you like a common whore?”

“You used to,” Aemond quips as he stills at the foot of the bed.

You scoff and turn away again, laying the moist cloth over Aegon’s bare chest and smoothing it flat until it seals to his skin.  

“You’ve never been this gentle with me,” the boy observes, mostly light-hearted, though the words come out too deadpan to be as playful as he means them.

A smile hints at the corner of your mouth. “You never wanted me to be this gentle with you, Your Grace.”

The title falls from your mouth like sweetened venom. Aemond feels it sparkling in his veins as he rounds the bed to be nearer to you. 

“Hm. Maybe so,” he murmurs with a wide hand pressed to your lower back. You feel his fingers fist the delicate fabric of your nightgown as he whispers, “But His Grace has needs.”

“Well, His Grace has whores,” you spit back, chin tilted defiantly.

“Careful,” Aemond lilts with his lips pursed in a nearly undetectable smirk. “I’d start to think you were jealous.”

You only shrug in response, hoping your envy isn’t as obvious as it feels. “I have naught to be jealous of… Not when your cock tastes of my cunt—”

“Mm. Such vulgar words from such a pristine girl.”

Aemond ducks down like he intends to kiss you, but stops short with his nose pressed to the side of yours — willing you to make the first move. 

You smirk against his mouth, refusing to give him the satisfaction, as you grip his leather jacket in your fists. “If you think I’m pristine… Then you obviously haven’t been paying attention.”

The boy’s mouth parts to swallow you whole. You almost let him — until the bed behind you creaks with movement, and you jerk suddenly back from him. 

Aegon smacks his lips as he stirs from sleep. He shifts on the mattress, then grimaces at the harsh reminder of his current state. “Don’t stop on my account,” he mumbles, less raspy than before, but still gravelly in speech.

“We were just leaving,” Aemond insists as his long fingers curl around your wrist.

You try to snatch yourself out of his grip and fail. “The Prince Regent was just leaving,” you correct.

Aegon tries to smile. It feels like he is, anyway, though it looks more like a wince beneath his burns and bandages. “Perhaps you should both stay… I was growing quite fond of the show, actually.”

“I’m sure you were,” Aemond scoffs, peering down at the boy from the bridge of his nose. “But I’m afraid you’ll get nothing here.”

When he tugs you away from Aegon’s bedside, you have little choice but to follow him. He’s much too strong for you to fight — though you try, still, to pry his taut grip with your free hand.

“He’s lying, you know?” the king croaks from behind you. “About the whores.”

Aemond stops in his tracks at the doorframe. You stumble over your feet behind him. When neither of you says anything, Aegon continues. 

“I tried to take him to a brothel once. Some days after he was betrothed to you, I believe…” he trails off to take a ragged breath. “He nearly keeled over when he passed the threshold. He’s much more dutiful to you than he’d have you believe… Unfortunately.”

Your wide eyes flit from the bedridden boy to the one towering over you. “Is that true, husband?” you murmur.

Aemond falters for a moment. “The king is obviously half-cut. The Milk of the Poppy’s warped his mind, no doubt—”

“I am perfectly temperate, brother.”

“My sincerest apologies, Your Grace.”

“Well, when the Dove gives orders, I am not inclined to disobey,” Aegon quips and tries to smile, though the expression is only audible in his voice.

Aemond’s stoic eyes flit back to you. “Giving orders to the king now, are you?”

“Aye. I am,” you answer, trying to fight back a smirk and failing. “And his regent, perhaps. Though he is much less acquiescent than his brother.”

“Is that so?” Aemond hums with his chin tilted upward, amusement glittering in his otherwise hardened gaze.

Your smile sits lazy and lopsided on your mouth. You look once to Aegon, whose one-eyed stare is expectant and unwavering, and then back to your husband. “Haply,” you shrug with your chin to your shoulder, peering through your lashes with the whole universe in your eyes. 

“Kiss me,” you command.

The words fall over Aemond like stars. 

He cradles the back of your neck and licks into your mouth without warning. Your head tips back as he pries through your lips with his tongue. His chiseled nose smushes into the side of yours while he steals the breath from your lungs.

Aegon watches from afar and writhes pathetically on the mattress across the room. His chapped mouth parts in time with yours, tongue lolling in his mouth as he tries to remember what it felt like to kiss you. His hands curl into fists under the weight of his yearning — the ache in his healing left-hand goes unnoticed over his much louder desire for you.

“Closer,” he calls in a gravelly voice, then clears his throat when the word gets stuck there. “Come closer.”

Your lips part with an audible click. A string of saliva threatens to keep the two of you connected, glimmering faintly in the candlelight. A whine sounds in Aegon’s throat at the sight of it.

Aemond wipes his chin with the back of his hand, mouth rosy and shining with your spit. “Surely you aren’t so desperate, brother… You’ll be parading ‘round the brothels in no time, I’m sure.”

Aegon does not admit aloud that his intermittent pleasure house visits were hardly for his own urges. He enjoyed the smells more than anything, of primal pleasure and cheap wine — and the feeling of pride as he introduced new squires to the most skillful madames. He’s watched many boys become men through an opened curtain with a belly full of ale.

He corrects, instead, “Did the maesters not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“My cock was burnt like a sausage on a spit,” Aegon admits with a clenched jaw. “I can hardly piss without it trickling down my leg—”

“An unfortunate circumstance, indeed,” Aemond hums.

“A circumstance you ought to atone for,” Aegon sneers.

The calloused palm cradling your neck slips away as the youngest brother turns to face the eldest. Candlelight flickers over the sharpened edges of his face like hellfire. “I thought you recalled none of it,” he murmurs with a knowing squint in his lone eye.

“Perhaps my memory serves me now,” Aegon retorts, wincing as he sits further up on the pillows. It’s much easier now, without his leg tied and elevated, but the ache there makes every movement impossible. He talks through heaving pants when the breath leaves him suddenly. “Perhaps— Perhaps I am in need of something to ease my mind.”

Silence slips into the room like moonlight through the opened window. Your eyes flit back and forth between the two men, narrowed softly in confusion. The two of them seem to speak in riddles, in remnants of a conversation you weren’t there to witness.

“Mm. Perhaps,” Aemond concludes emotionlessly. “But I don’t believe it is up to me.”

His head turns slowly to you, and your heart lurches into your throat. Your hands shake with the sudden power placed within them. 

Fingers trembling, you reach wordlessly for the lace at your chest. You tug at the ends of it until the knot loosens entirely. The top of your gown slacks to reveal the peaks of your pillowy breasts. Aemond’s mouth parts with the want to kiss them as he migrates behind you to work at the tie along your back.

“Take it off,” Aegon tells you through heavy breaths. “All of it.”

You feel Aemond’s hands smooth under your untied nightgown, cold and calloused along your warm and supple skin. He urges the fabric off your body as you slip the sheer sleeves down your arms. 

The delicate cotton pools around your feet. The evening breeze brushes your bare body like satin. The unabashed leers from the silver-haired boys create pebbling goosebumps on your skin.

Aegon swallows through a dry throat. His trembling hands flex to pierce through the weight of his longing. “Come closer,” he commands. Though, when his voice breaks halfway through, it sounds more like a plea.

Your bare feet pad along the cobbles in slow and hesitant steps. You stop at the foot of the bed and try not to fidget too much as Aegon’s remaining eye rakes over your body. 

The sight of you before him —  your naked breasts begging to be kissed, your soft stomach waiting to be caressed, your plush thighs begging to be clutched — makes a sigh rattle in his chest.

“Closer.”

“How much closer can I get, Your Grace?” you ask him, giggling when Aemond presses his clothed body flush against your back. The tip of his nose traces the shell of your ear as he cradles your hips between calloused palms. His breath fans warm over your neck, and you fight back a shiver.

“Crawl,” Aegon answers as he shifts on the mattress, raising his chin like he means to beckon you forward. “Crawl to me.”

You feel Aemond’s thin lips curl into a smile as he mouths at your pulse. “And here I thought you were the one giving orders,” he quips against your skin.

“She is no stranger to my direction, brother. I assure you,” Aegon rasps. His gaze pauses its trek down your naked form and hardens when it meets your eyes again. “Crawl,” he repeats.

Your body seems to move on its own accord. You blink, and your palms are pressed suddenly to the silk blanket — knees digging into the downy mattress to push you closer to the bedridden king. 

Aegon’s unscarred hand cradles the back of your head when you’re finally in reach. You straddle his thighs, careful to avoid the healing bone in his left leg, as he urges you further into him. Your mouth parts for a kiss. A whimper sounds in your throat when his lips lock on your pulse point instead — feeling too unworthy to kiss something as pretty as you with such a sullied mouth. 

His lips are chapped, but his tongue is warm and smooth against your skin. The contrast between the two is dizzying. 

Aegon’s teeth graze your throat as his hand falls to your chest. He cups your breast in his palm, smoothing the pad of his thumb over your pebbled nipple. He knows how sensitive you are there — he’d always remember your body, even in death.

Your moan echoes through the silent room, as silky as the moonlight streaming in rays through the window. You feel the effects of his touch in a shiver down your spine — in a warm feeling that pools in the pit of your stomach.

Aemond only watches for a moment, motionless and observant. He can’t see your face from here, but he can see each of your reactions to Aegon’s subtle touches. Your cunt drools with neglect, begging to be touched and fluttering every time the boy pinches your taut nipples. 

Aegon ducks down for your chest just as the command to do so sits on Aemond’s tongue. The older boy mouths sloppily at your tits, slurping audibly at your plush skin and licking over the fleeting bites he scatters there. 

You cradle the back of his head and whimper at the feeling of his tongue. Your pussy weeps for more just as you do, leaking a glimmering honey that shines on your thighs when it catches the candlelight. 

Aemond’s mouth waters for a taste of you. His pale hands begin working at the buckles of his leather jacket, steady but unusually hasteful as he rushes to fuck you. 

Aegon catches sight of him and smirks into your breasts. He pulls off of you with an audible smack, licking his lips like he can still taste you on them. His cheeky smile is somewhat hidden in the burns on his left cheek, but you can hear it in his voice.

“That is very presumptuous of you, brother,” the boy rasps.

Finally freed from his jacket, Aemond shrugs off his undershirt and works at the buttons of his pants. “Well, someone has to fuck her,” he murmurs mindlessly before flashing a mischievous glare with his lone eye. “And I hear your cock was burnt like a sausage on a spit—”

“You’re doing it again,” you lilt in annoyance, only partially playful, as you glance at him over your shoulder. Your stomach swirls when you find Aemond already leering at you. You smile and arch your back, making an utter show of it. “I can hear you, you know?”

Aemond smirks and drops his breeches. The thick fabric falls heavily to the floor to reveal the expanse of his milky white legs and the half-hard cock hanging between them, glowing red at the tip with need. He wraps the stiffening limb in his fist and works it harder for you. 

“I’m glad for it,” the boy insists as he kneels on the bed behind you. The mattress creaks and dips under his weight. “It only means you can hear everything I intend to do to you—”

“Use your fingers on her first,” Aegon blurts, made impatient with desire and the lack of your attention. “Get her ready for it— It drives her mad.”

Words of protest turn to dust on your tongue when Aemond’s fingers migrate immediately to your weeping cunt. He runs his middle and ring finger between your velvet lips, coating them in your honey before sticking the former inside you. An airy sigh spills from your open mouth at the feeling. Aemond snarls when your pussy tightens around him, all but swallowing his finger. 

You accept a second one with ease — hardly noticing another when Aegon slips his right hand between your thighs. He massages your clit with the pads of his fingers, much softer in comparison to his brother’s. He rubs you there rapidly and with very little rhythm while Aemond fucks his fingers into you with languid strokes.

The variation between the two makes you keen.

“Well, I do believe she’s ready enough,” Aemond quips in a monotone as your honey runs down his wrist. “Feel her— She’s practically weeping for it.”

Aegon’s hand dips instantly, shoving his brother’s out of the way. He shifts on the mattress and grimaces softly at the strain on his bandaged side. The pain, however, goes largely unnoticed as he slips his fingers into you. A groan rumbles in his throat when your eager cunt takes both of his fingers with little effort. 

The feeling of your silky walls wrapped around him — the notion that he will never again feel you on his cock — makes him grieve. His marred features twist with something hard and soft, with grief and anger maybe, before he pulls out of you again.

“Fuck her,” Aegon commands like a true king, before inhaling a rattling breath. “Fuck her now— Make her scream.”

Aemond chuckles at his brother’s enthusiasm, of which he often has too much. He wraps his hand around his stiff cock, now ardently wet with you, and uses his sticky fingers to lubricate himself.

“As you wish, your grace,” he murmurs quietly to himself.

Your chin tilts to your shoulder to look back at him. You whimper when the head of his cock presses itself at your entrance — smooth and warm and leaking with precum. Aegon’s fingers grip suddenly at your jaw. The tips of them dig aggressively into the skin there as he forces you to look at him. Despite his hardened features, his eyes gleam with something more pleading.

“Say my name while he fucks you,” he commands, begs, through gritted teeth. “Pretend it’s my cock inside you.”

You nod rapidly into his hand. Your eyes remain locked with his while Aemond slips into your waiting pussy. Your mouth falls softly agape as he fills you. A moan spills from your lips when he buries himself to the hilt. Aegon’s bandaged head tilts back against the pillow, jaw clenched, like your pleasure is his own.

“Does that feel good?” the king asks.

You nod again into his hand, whimpering when Aemond pulls all the way out only to thrust completely back into you again. Your body jerks on top of Aegon’s like you’re riding him — only his cock is hardly more than mangled skin now, which buzzes faintly with a desire he’ll never be able to give you. 

Aemond curls a calloused hand around your shoulder to steady you while your hands fist at the pillow on either side of Aegon’s head.

“Tell me.”

Your lips open to make out the words, though only moans fall from them. It takes much more effort to speak than usual, with Aemond punching the breath from your lungs with his expert thrusts. “I— It feels so good, Aegon—” you manage through labored breaths just before a whimper sounds in your throat.

His hand leaves your face to trek down the length of your body. He finds your clit more swollen now — and more sensitive, it seems, when his touch makes you instantly squeal. Your eyes squeeze shut as your head tosses back, mouth parted in a silent moan while both boys work at the most sensitive parts of you. 

Your pussy flutters around Aemond’s cock. Honey seeps from your cunt as you grow impossibly tighter around him. He braces his hands on your hip and shoulder, squeezing you there just as you squeeze him. His silver hair falls around his face when he drops his head forward to rumble a deep groan. It sounds like thunder in his throat.

A foreign sense of pride swells in Aegon’s chest at the sounds of your entwining pleasures — which he feels as though he’s orchestrating, despite his misbegotten impotence.

“My Dove is so needy for it, isn’t she?” Aegon coos when your thighs start to tremble.

“You should feel her, brother,” Aemond says, though the words are choppy as they leave his mouth. “She’s so tight— I can barely move—”

Grief sparks in his chest at the bitter reminder that he will never again have you the way his brother has you now. His throat tightens with an emotion he forces himself to choke down. “What does she feel like?” he murmurs pitifully when he struggles to remember.

“Like velvet,” the younger boy answers, punctuated by the dull clapping of his hips meeting your ass. “Like honey. Like sin—” Aemond angles his hips to pierce you deeper. You whine when his thrusts reach an impossible depth.

“How poetic,” Aegon sneers.

“How shall I say it in your language, then, hm?” Aemond manages to tease despite his looming pleasure, which threatens now to strangle him. He tries to keep his face steady despite that as he glares at his brother with his remaining eye, never wavering in his assault on your throbbing pussy. “Her cunt’s milking me dry,” he spits. “I may just breed her yet.”

You’d scold him for speaking over you as if you weren’t there, but you’re much too far gone for that now. His thrusts are steady and measured and merciless. The bulbous head of his cock hits relentlessly at a spongy depth inside you until you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Despite Aegon’s largely bedridden state, he pleasures you with an expert hand just as he always has. His ruthless fingers press hard at your delicate clit until a scream wells in your throat. You grit your teeth to fight it back, but it leaves in a feeble cry anyway.

“Aegon!” you gasp.

“Aw, I know, sweet thing,” Aegon coos. “It’s far too much for you, isn’t it?”

You nod rapidly, with a pout pinching your pretty face. You grip the pillow with one trembling hand and bring the other to his unscarred cheek, cradling him gently there despite the aggressive way Aemond’s fucking you on top of him. 

Despite his burns and his bandages and his disfigured features, you look at him the way you always have — like you’ve loved him forever, like you’ve spent entire lifetimes studying his face. The softness in your gaze makes his chest warm like he might cry. 

“Do you love me, Dove?” Aegon murmurs.

You nod again, without an ounce of hesitation.

“Then prove it to me,” he whispers, fingers caging your swollen clit. “Make a mess on his cock for me.” 

Your orgasm rushes over your body like the waves of a Dornish sea. Like a riptide that pulls you under and under and under. You bury your face in Aegon’s neck while you tremble on top of him, forced to ride through each merciless rush of pleasure. 

“Good girl,” you hear Aegon praise with a laugh in your ear, though he sounds much further away than that. “Always so good for me, aren’t you, Dove?”

Aemond can feel every ruthless aftershock as it racks through your body. Your pussy flutters with each of them and leaks more honey that makes his cock glitter in the candlelight. It forces an orgasm from his body despite the heartache ripping through his chest. 

He watches you and Aegon share a moment of bone-crushing intimacy while he impales you with his cock. Even while you fuck another, even with the silent understanding that Aegon with never again have you this way, you’re able to share something much deeper than sex.

Despite Aemond’s distant worry that he’ll never understand you in the same way, his orgasm tears through his body. 

His hips stutter against your thighs as his cock jerks within your throbbing confines. He thrusts into you once, hard, and then stills against your hips, groaning with each load of cum your velvety cunt milks from him.  

Aemond slumps when his cock begins to soften. You rise from Aegon’s neck to sit upright, cupping his cheek in a steady palm while the boy holds your hips in both of his — one smooth and the other scarred. 

Aemond’s heaving chest twists with the dagger of self-loathing until you reach blindly for him, too. 

Your free hand cradles his marred cheek and urges him closer. He noses at your neck while your mouth grazes his temple — a moment of connection that feels somehow more intimate than his flesh melting with yours. 

The three of you bask silently in the honey-lit room, breathing harmoniously together, with candle-like souls that will forever set each other aflame.

Mutual Destruction.