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watersofmars · 1 year

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The Devil Took My Heart Pt.2

pairing: aemond targaryen x f.reader

word count: 2.8k words

warnings: none, but a little bit of angst

18+, minor readers dni!

authors note: sorry it took so long to make part 2 but life has been hectic, can’t wait for you all to read this part, i have so many ideas for this story! comment if you want to be tagged in the next part :)

“It seems as if you’ve kissed the wrong prince.”

Prince Aemond chuckled wickedly to himself whilst your body went into total shock. You felt yourself trembling with fear as numerous anxieties flooded your head. This was bad, really really bad. No, bad wasn’t even the right word for it. The whole thing was disastrous.

You couldn’t even fathom how this had all happened. One minute you were talking to a complete stranger, the next you were flirting with him. Out of all the possible men you could’ve met this evening; alone, vulnerable to anything and everything that could possibly go amiss. It all had to transpire with you held in the arms of Prince Aemond Targaryen.

“I’m so sorry my Prince. I-i, I must have drunk too much wine this evening.” You managed to choke out, feeling ashamed of the series of events that had occurred only seconds ago. How could you present yourself in such a lusty manner like some common whore?

“Oh Lady Y/N your excuse is both feeble and amusing.” Aemond replied smugly.

“Prince Aemond do not mock me.” You retorted angrily, his teasing beginning to aggravate you.

“Lady Y/N I do not mean to mock you. However, I am intrigued as how at first you seemed so bold, some may even say unhinged. Then the next you are so restrained and so… how do I put it, petrified?” He questioned, his stunning lilac eye piercing into yours and cutting deep into your panic-stricken heart.

“I am not petrified.” You denied stubbornly through gritted teeth, looking fiercely at Aemond.

“Your body language tells a different story.” Aemond looked you up and down.

“Prince Aemond, clearly something has transpired between us tonight that should have never happened. I suggest that we leave ‘this’ behind us and never speak of it again.” You proposed.

“Of course Lady Y/N if that is what will put your mind at ease then that is what shall be done.” Aemond’s agreement made you breathe a sigh of relief.

“However.” He placed his lips inches away from your ear, his breath tickling your ear.

“From now on, whenever we catch each other’s gaze, know that I will be replaying that moment over and over in my mind, your body yearning for me and how you moaned at my touch. I bid you goodnight Lady Y/N.”

He bowed his head gracefully and made a swift exits leaving you stunned and breathless.

You realised that during Aemond’s confrontation your uneasiness had caused your hands to place an iron grip on the rails of the veranda making your knuckles go white. You relaxed your hands and removed them from the cool bars feeling a dull ache in your hands. This is when you promised yourself that the next time you inevitably encountered Aemond Targaryen you would not let him get into your head as much as he did in that moment. You were stronger than him, you just had to prove it to him.

Aemond’s words stayed with you until you fell into a deep sleep allowing you to forget what had passed between you and Aemond, yet only for a brief moment. Before you knew it your body stirred as sound of people walking around your chambers crept into your ears rousing you from your sleep.

“Good morning Lady Y/N.” A handmaiden greeted you opening the velvet curtains and revealing the bright morning sky dotted with cream coloured clouds.

“What time is it?” You asked groaning, sleep still having a hold of your body and mind.

“It is 8am my lady, your mother instructed me to wake you up now. Will you be taking breakfast with your family or dine alone here?”

“I shall go and dine with my family.”

The handmaiden quickly bowed her head and went to deliver the news to your parents.

Two new handmaidens came into your room and helped you step out of your nightgown and into your dress for the day. The dress of creamy white and pale yellow, the colours of your house. They allowed most of your hair fall naturally past your shoulders but arranged the two front parts in two small braids which met each other at the back of your head.

A light pink tint was added to your lips and your cheekbones breathing life into your pale skin. A necklace was fastened around your neck with a small gold scallop shell resting upon your chest. It was one of your most treasured possessions, given to you by your mother on your sixteenth name day. It made you feel proud to be a Westerling. You thank both handmaidens as they bow their heads and leave the room.

You make your way down several halls and entered your families living chambers finding both your parents and your brother sitting at the table indulging themselves in their breakfasts.

“Y/N my darling girl, we were beginning to think that you weren’t going to join us.” Your mother exclaimed with a sweet smile on her face.

“Sorry if I’m late mother, the time must have ran away with me.” You excused taking your place at the table in between your brother and mother.

“Now Y/N you have a very busy day ahead of you. King Viserys has arranged for you and the other young ladies to have a private meeting with Prince Aegon this morning, we need you putting your best foot forward.” He instructed.

“Of course father.” You replied dully, thinking about the mundane courtship process that you would have to endure.

Breakfast was filled with small conversations of how others were intending to fill their day while your mind was busy thinking of your upcoming meeting with Prince Aegon. You were a quieter soul and making conversation with new people wasn’t exactly your strong suit or something that you particularly enjoyed doing.

“I wish you luck my dear. I’m sure Prince Aegon will see you for the marvellous young woman that you are. You are more beautiful and kind than all those other conniving vultures out there.” Your mother putting your hand in hers and squeezing it reassuringly.

“Thank you for believing in me mother.” You smiled back.

“I always shall my sweet girl.” Your mother beamed.

Everyone quickly finished their meals and you father stood up from his chair and turned towards your brother.

“Henry, you will escort Y/N to the courtyard where she will wait for her meeting with Prince Aegon. Remember, be courteous and gracious. No fooling around do you understand?” Your father commanded.

“Of course father.” Henry replied.

Both you and Henry left the room making your way through the many halls of the castle towards the main courtyard.

“So brother, tell me. How exactly did you occupy your time last night? If you lie to me you know that I shall see straight through you.” You inquired your brother trying to hide a cheeky grin on which grew on his face.

“It was a night full of drinking and laughter dear sister, you should not be so concerned about me I know how to take care of myself.”

“Henry you know that I have every right to be concerned about you. You’re twenty five now, you can’t go about as you used to.” You consulted him.

“At least my dalliances are not as bad as your possible future husband.” Henry retorted.

“Well you’re lucky enough to be a man and have some choice over who you may marry, while I am merely a woman and must go and marry whoever and go wherever I am sent. Even if it is to a lusty drunkard of a man.” You sighed.

“For that I am sorry sister. However, it may not be as bad as you think. If you do marry Prince Aegon, one day you will be queen of the Seven Kingdoms and have the power to do what you please whilst us peasants will kneel before you and do what you will us to.” Henry proclaimed in a dramatic voice, over exaggerating every gesture he made as he knelt on one knee in front of you bowing his head to the floor. You laughed at his ludicrous behaviour which had attracted the attention of others close by.

“Brother, get up! People are looking.” You pleaded with him.

“Let them look, they should see who their competition is, the dark horse in the race.” He played.

“Did you really just refer to me as a horse?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Yes but a very beautiful one.” Henry jested.

“You are such a wind up-“ You started before you were quickly interrupted.

“Lord and Lady Westerling.” A woman’s voice sounded and you both turned around to see Queen Alicent standing before you.

“My queen, we are both terribly sorry we did not see you there.” Henry apologised whilst he bowed and you curtsied.

“It is no trouble. Lady Y/N please follow me, your meeting shall begin shortly.” Queen Alicent instructed you turning on her heels and leading the way.

You turned towards your brother who gave you a small smile wishing you good luck before you quickened your steps and eventually caught up with Queen Alicent.

“How are you enjoying the city Y/N? It must be very different from the Westerlands.” Queen Alicent asked making polite conversation.

“Well my grace, it is very different from home but I enjoy the liveliness of the palace and being surrounded by the different lords and ladies.” You lied straight to her face.

“If that is the case then you certainly would enjoy court life here at Kings Landing.” Queen Alicent replied, cleverly seeing through your lie.

“Queen Alicent, I want you to know that I wish to be the best wife I can be to whomever I shall marry. I shall honour him and stand by him through whatever grievances the gods may choose for us to endure.” You declared passionately, almost as if you hadn’t rehearsed those very lines over and over in your head during the long journey to Kings Landing.

“Oh sweet girl, I’m sure you will be.” Queen Alicent assured you sighing as you both stopped and she put her hand on your shoulder.

“Here he is. Aegon, this is Lady Y/N Westerling. Please make her feel welcome and take a stroll together.” Queen Alicent smiled leaving you both in each other’s company.

As Queen Alicent left you both you looked towards Prince Aegon who had grey circles under his eyes. You guessed that this was due to his countless nights of drinking and debauchery. His countless visits to the brothels in Flea Bottom were infamous across King’s Landing.

“My Prince” you bowed as he lowered his head courteously.

“Lady Westerling, let us walk.” Aegon replied.

Many silent moments passed between the two of you. It was obvious that Aegon did not want to be in your company and was merely forced by his mother to keep up appearances.

“So… Lady… I forgot your name.”

“Lady Y/N, my Prince.”

“Yes of course… that… that is your name.” He replied. You could tell that his mind was lost in another world whilst you walked next to him your hands clasped together.

“How did you find the feast last night my Prince?” You asked trying to make any sort of conversation.

“Boring as always.” He shrugged.

“I recall you not being there for very long at all. In fact I think I remember seeing you sneak off shortly after the feasting ended.” You pointed out.

“What is it you are trying to insinuate Lady Y/N? Because if it is anything disparaging of my character then I would suggest you keep that bitchy mouth of yours shut.” Aegon spat his nostrils flaring with pent up rage, visibly irked by your directness.

“I would never speak against you my Lord. But the exasperation you presented when you thought I was questioning your character does speak a thousand volumes.” You observed.

“How dare you-“ Aegon started.

“Prince Aegon if I may.”

“No you shan’t-“ He interrupted.

“Thank you.” You replied, ignoring his agitation.

“If we are to be betrothed then we must be able to be open with one another. It is clear that you are not happy with this arrangement and that you are only playing along to please the King and Queen. I cannot say that I am too pleased with the arrangement either.” You sighed.

“Your point being?” Aegon challenged. You both stopped walking as you reached a balcony looking over the grand walls which fashioned the Red Keep.

“If we do marry then we know that it will not be a marriage of love but of political arrangement. I suggest that we both do what is expected of us, perform our duties to the realm and then go about our own lives the way we should like and only keep up appearances when needed.” You proposed your heart beating loudly in your chest, hoping that Prince Aegon wouldn’t strike you for your tenacity.

Aegon threw his head back in laughter making your anxiety grow in the pit of your stomach. His laughter continued for a few moments longer and all you could do was stand there nervously awaiting Aegon’s response.

“You know I have never met such a forthright confident woman in my life.” Aegon smiled.

“I just wanted to know that we understood each other.” You responded trying to remain confident.

“No one has ever been so candid with me in my life, except for my mother of course, she likes to chastise me from time to time.” Silence sat between the two of you as Aegon observed your manner for a few moments.

“Let us walk back Lady Y/N, I have many other young ladies who are eager to meet me.” Aegon smirked as he offered you his arm, you gave him a small smile back as you proceeded to walk back to the courtyard.

Aegon made small talk the rest of the way as you entered the courtyard with a smile livening his face. Lords and ladies stared at you both shocked as they started whispering to one another seeing Aegon happily walking with you arm in arm. You both eventually came to a halt your arms unlinking Aegon’s eyes looking up and down your figure, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Lady Y/N. I hope to continue our talks soon.” Aegon said taking your hand and placing a small kiss on your knuckles. You bowed your head in response and he walked towards the next Lady awaiting his attention.

You made your way down the corridors with a sense of relief filling your body. You had just conquered the first hurdle of your possible engagement, you would make your father and mother so proud. House Westerling could have the chance of prospering once more.

“I rarely hear my brother laugh in the way you just made him.”

You turned around to see Aemond Targaryen leant against the wall, his arms crossed across his chest. You could examine more of Aemond’s features in the daylight, his chiselled, strong jawline being the most striking feature of his face. His lips were shaped as that of a heart, those lips that danced upon yours not even a day ago. His hair immaculately brushed rested upon his shoulders which were clad in dark leather.

“Well maybe it just takes the right person to coax it out of him.” You replied, leaving formalities to the side.

Aemond slowly made his way towards you, the heels of his boots clicking across the stone tiles of the Red Keep before stopping in front of you taking a deep breath in and sighing.

“It seems as if you are very interested in our conversation my Prince.” You replied.

“I was just merely observing my Lady. I’m sure that you have heard of the many midnight escapades my brother goes on, frequenting the streets of Flea Bottom spending night upon night in whorehouses. Surely, you wouldn’t want to marry such a man?” Aemond questioned.

“Your brothers escapades are of no surprise to me, they are well known by all the lords and ladies of Westeros. The question of whom I marry is not a decision that I can control. I must do my duty to my house and marry whichever Lord I am told. And you? You speak of midnight escapades as if you are not familiar with them yourself?” You retaliated.

“I could say the same to you Lady Y/N.” Aemond responded calmly, unshaken by your comment.

“I must leave my Prince-“ You said exasperated at his smug nature.

“No.” He replied, in a an almost desperate tone, completely contrasted to his previous.

“Before you leave Lady Y/N, I must tell you something.” He declared, his confident manner returned again.

Aemond filled the space between you placing his right hand on the nape of your neck, his thumb slowly running across your bottom lip. You felt a soft moan escape your lips as he said;

“I remember everything.”

tags: @mirandastuckinthe80s @safiyas-world @ysa-psa @123forgottherest @princessofdorkness

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watersofmars · 1 year

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I should wear the armor, and you the gown.

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watersofmars · 1 year

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social

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watersofmars · 1 year

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Ladies + wedding dresses

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watersofmars · 1 year

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I will do what queens do.

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watersofmars · 2 years

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MILLY ALCOCK as RHAENYRA TARGARYEN in HOUSE OF THE DRAGON (2022)

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watersofmars · 2 years

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I’d rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory. — PRINCESS RHAENYRA TARGARYEN in House of the Dragon (2022).

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watersofmars · 2 years

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RHAENYRA TARGARYEN House of the Dragon (2022)

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watersofmars · 2 years

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watersofmars · 2 years

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This is the employment Steve, reblog for bountiful job opportunity.

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watersofmars · 2 years

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POKER: 2ND HAND

Steven Grant x Reader x Marc Spector

word count: 3.4K

genre: angst, dark-ish themes, fluff, suggestive themes

warnings: angst, blood and gore, obsessive behavior, steven and marc being steven and marc

summary: You and Steve come to understand some of Marc’s job that he doesn’t tell you about.

author’s note: I went rushing to work after writing this so it could be on time. I don’t know if I want to make a second part but who knows. I like how this kind of comes back to a circle.

MINISERIES MASTERLIST

Steven had no inclination of where he was, and it had been a while since he last woke up somewhere he didn’t understand. Watching your blood leak into the cracks of the pavement while you tried your best to soothe him wasn’t a sight that he’d ever be able to forget. No matter how much pressure he put, the wound wouldn’t stop gushing. It was criminal. Civilians even looked on in astonishment, as if they were frozen in time while Steven’s bandaged hands were tainted. Yet, it took only a blink for him to see the ceiling of his room. The feeling of losing days was all too familiar, but now it felt different.

It was likely because you were left to die while he made it home just fine. This had Steven shooting out of his bed. He no longer had an ankle restraint, which sent him plummeting face first onto the floor of his bedroom. It was a sobering feeling. He would have stayed on the floor to let the pain subside, but he didn’t have the time that day. The last time he saw you, you were drowning in your own fluid.

Now he was barefoot, shouting your name in his home with cracks in his cadence. He opened the door to rush down the hall. It didn’t take any time for him to reach your front door, fiercely knocking and shouting your name like a broken music box. His rapping only increased in its intensity as seconds passed.

His vision darted to a man leaving his home, completely taken aback by his barefoot neighbor with a frigid look on his face, shouting for someone at the end of the door. Steven had no patience for what he was being perceived as. They had already seen many things out of context, so he only continued.

His knuckles were growing red as the water behind his eyes was already beginning to push past. He thought about going back and grab the spare key when he remembered it.

“Steven?” You opened the door, still appearing to be half awake and confused, but he never noticed. He already had you knocked back so many feet away from your door. His sudden hug sent you flying and trying to maintain your balance. He had gone from persistently shouting your name to complete silence as he buried his face further and further into your neck. His muscular arms squeezed even tighter until you were locked in place.

“Hey,” you whispered. Your hands returned the embrace as best as you could. You couldn’t give him the same strength, but you hoped to pull him out of whatever happened. You never asked the reason for his sudden appearance as your left shoulder began to feel the fabric of your pajama shirt become wet. Steven's body was vibrating quietly, and you simply spoke to him as he rode out the wave of emotions that you still didn’t understand.

“It’s okay,” you told him. It went like this with Steven in a mountain of turmoil while you simply listened to his shaking voice echo off of your small apartment. You comforted him even as the crying subsided. Your fingers had naturally found their way into his hair and that’s when he knew that it was all real. The feeling was enough to send him back to crying as you stood in the center of your home. “I’m here.” And perhaps that was the best feeling in the world to him.

At a certain point, you had both found rest on the edge of your bed with his head on your lap. If he wasn’t so preoccupied with relief, he would have gone red noticing it was the first time he ever came in contact with your bed.

“I’m sorry,” he was already burying his face in his hands to keep from seeing the look of confusion on your face. You even still looked tired.

“No, it’s fine. Really.” You had avoided questioning him for so long and now were getting concerned. “What happened?”

“I thought—I thought that I was somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be, again,” he said. You were well aware of the days he used to wake up in places where he hadn’t ever planned to go. Yet now that he and Marc had come to know each other, Khonshu not so much, it had scared him less. However, that didn’t mean that the anxiety had gone completely.

“Well, you’re here now,” you told him. “With me.” Steven could hear the smile in your voice and that made all the difference.

It had been so long since he had actually dreamed, so he never really trusted dreams and especially not nightmares. For a moment he thought he had woken up after Marc had fronted while you had taken your last breaths.

“Ye-yeah, yeah.” He was bad at hiding the shake in his voice. You were even worse at capturing your yawn before it was too late. It caused Steven to shoot out of your lap and begin scrambling to leave as he spoke. “I should go.”

“Wait,” He felt you take his hand and the look you gave him afterward made his chest hurt. You almost wished you weren’t so tired, but it was midnight.

“Don’t worry. It’s ok—I’m fine.”

“You can stay here.” You watched in disappointment as he shook his head while playing with the sleeve of the long sleeve he liked to wear in his sleep. He sometimes got cold easily. “Steven, it’s okay,” you told him. “Besides,” you pulled him back down to where you were sitting. “Cleo can’t be the only one to keep me company.”

“Cleo?” he reluctantly followed you into bed. It felt like he was being lured into a lake. He could have held his breath until you both were laying down while facing one another. Your nose was so close to his. He nearly left existence when he saw how your focus shifted from his eyes to his lips and back again. Two beating hearts fell into rhythm on a relatively small bed.

“Cleopatra,” you answered. The stuffed crocodile he had given you was now casually placed in between him and you. It was much bigger than Steven remembered.

“That’s a nice name,” he practically said to himself.

“I was going to name her Tick-Tock, but I don’t think she would have appreciated it.”

Steven laughed at your confession until he heard you say, “good night, pretty.” A reference to the time he told you he’s never been called pretty before. Your body practically begged to cling onto Steven as you slept, but the fear of overwhelming him had you already embracing the stuffed creature as a replacement.

He nearly choked as he returned your words with a “good night.” Before he retreated to bed, he let himself be a little jealous of the gift he had given you.

Everything smelled like you. It was the first thing Marc noticed as he stirred in his sleep. He wasn’t sure why until he felt the presence of something in front of him while he slept. His eyes shot open at three in the morning. Your entire body practically crushed the gift Steven had given you to reach and casually drape your hand over his torso.

Marc was entirely unsure of how he had gotten there and, even worse, he wasn’t sure if he should have been. He had spent so long gone and out of reflection since the dinner. But he returned to a fixture in time that he would have paid so much money to be trapped in for the rest of his existence. Every sensible part of him told him to go out and complete his responsibilities, but he loved to be difficult.

You and Steven never knew the details of what he did when he was gone for so long. Marc simply returned peppered in bruises and you both took it and did not want to know the details. His promise he wasn’t doing anything illegal or immoral and that kept you and Steven from pressing further. Every so often, you wondered if he was a boxer.

It stung for a few minutes that this position wasn’t meant for him, but he was okay with being selfish. He let your scent bury him many times over as he shamelessly watched how relaxed you appeared in complete ignorance to his presence. As if he was Steven. He continued like this. He even over indulged when he lightly pulled you closer. Steven could hate him in the morning if he ever pieced it together. However, Marc enjoyed returning to sleep with you all over him because he was too afraid to face you when you were awake.

Steven was unsure of why you left him in your home alone before going off to work. He would have gone back home if he woke up just in time for you to head to your double shift. Yet you left in silence, so he spent the first few seconds of his morning confused and the last few minutes hugging the crocodile. He pretended Cleo was you to return to the best sleep that he had had in months.

His Monday was as mundane as it could be, but eventually, once it was time to start to get ready for work, he parted with New Gus and Cleo.

You spent your entire day wondering if he felt any better but also overindulged in how close you had gotten while you both slept. Thankfully, it was the first day of the week, which meant you got to hold his hand all the way home.

Your walk to meet him at the bus station was as it always was. As the moon stood overhead, you sat at the bus station patiently at first. You admired the restaurants and street performers as you waited for Steven, but once the first bus came without him, the night began descending.

You didn’t board the first bus but instead called Steven. To your dismay, his cheerful voice repeatedly told you to leave a message even after you called him a second time, a fourth time, a thirteenth time.

“Hey, it’s Steven. Steven with a ‘v’. Leave a message for me,” you hung up once more before you would catch him mumbling on voicemail. “Oh, that rhymed.”

It all felt wrong. Steven wasn’t the most careful with charging his phone, but even if it was dead, he would have called you on the museum’s phone if he knew he was running late. By the next hour or so, you were already walking in the direction of his museum, hoping he had just gotten distracted on his way. All the while, you held your phone to your ear with your hand tucked into your pocket.

You watched the city’s streets descend into further darkness while your shoes met old puddles that glistened. London had a tendency to never sleep, but some of its corners were vile. You only had so much time before most shops would close, rendering the streets unsafe.

Your search continued as you spun and searched and sprinted. You were hoping you would find him upon chance. This was the only plan you could conjure until you recalled the time that Steven asked you to have an app that could track his phone just in case he ended up somewhere he wasn’t familiar with.

You knew about Steven and his other alters before he did, but never pieced together that they were the cause of Steven insisting he was sleepwalking until he figured it out. As you hurried to open the app, you recounted meeting him many months ago outside a storage unit. You save your questions and buy a cab home. It was a steep expense for you, but you didn’t think he deserved to try to not cry on a bus filled with many people in the middle of the day. Instead, he cried a little more freely in the backseat while you adamantly assured him the driver wasn’t looking.

A dot with Steven’s name on it danced on your screen and by then you were running, hoping you’d make it in time if anything went wrong. What you found after you had run across streets, turned sharply on avenues, and weaved through the occasional passerby was not what you ever could have anticipated. The image of his hands violently pummeling the head of a stranger with a golden piece in his hand would be seared onto your memory for the rest of your life. Even as the gentleman clawed at his arms that were decorated in protruding veins, he didn’t waver.

“Steven!” you shrieked. Your voice would have stopped a small town, but it was drowned in the city. You were tucked away in a corner that was meant for dumpsters and pipes. The only indication that you hadn’t imagined crying his name was the fact that he turned around and the way his face dropped made it clear that he saw you.

You didn’t know what made you run toward him, but that’s when you realized that there was more than one body across the floor. They were scattered about like Steven had exploded. And the last man was dead.

“Y/N?” he was already rushing to you to stand tall before you couldn’t see all the damage. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said. It wasn’t Steven and his accent was gone.

“Marc?” you gasped. It had been long since you’d last spoken to him. It had been the first time you had ever seen solid terror stack against him. “Marc, what the fuck!” you cried.

He forgot his hands were covered in blood, but you hadn’t. Even as he reached to possibly calm you down, you put a great distance between yourself and him.

You could see the bodies from where you stood still. You could only shake your head in disbelief, and you saw the insides of men scattered on concrete and made a soup with their blood. The first look at that had you curled over and vomiting without warning.

Marc could have stood where he was with clenched fists and a roaring headache, but he had a job to do, and it wasn’t done. He had to clean up the disaster he created and leave them untraceable or like this was their doing. Something that the police wouldn’t ask questions about.

“Is this that you don’t want me and Steven knowing about?” You were choking on the air around you as you watched him arrange the figures.

“Can we talk about this when we get home?” he couldn’t think straight when he could hear you crying. The thought of you possibly not calling the police to protect Steven and not Marc kept his thoughts whirling.

“Like fucking hell Marc! You expect me to—”

He pulled you into his chest with a bloody hand over your mouth without warning. You were dragged into the shadows of the alley as you waited for whatever signal Marc was expecting. Nothing came, but Marc thought he saw something. Since you arrived, all his senses were scattered.

You were forced to spend that time in the shadows, pretending you couldn’t feel and smell hot blood all over your mouth while Marc tried to ignore your panicked breaths and tears that stained his hand. It was easier that way. Dismiss the burden that was hanging over him in favor of staying stone cold.

Marc didn’t know why you followed him home. He was nearly optimistic that you weren’t entirely appalled by him until he saw you mindlessly feed New Gus while you stared off into absolutely nothing.

He saw how still you were even after you finished eating and dared to break the silence. “You should probably start heading to bed.” He said as he pressed the button on his coffee maker. “You look tired—”

“You don’t seem bothered by what just happened. Like at all,” you pointed out. “Why the hell am I the only one reliving that while you’re making coffee!”

“Hey, lower your voice.”

“Like hell I won’t!”

Marc let out a heavy sigh while watching you pace.

“You told me and Steven that nothing you were doing was wrong.” You corned him as he stood in the kitchen. He could see the lines of your face grow deeper with every word.

“It wasn’t.”

“Yo-you killed—” you'd rather vomit a second time than say all of what you wanted.

“They weren’t innocent.” he tucked the scarab deeper in his jacket pocket to make sure he hadn’t lost it. “And were willing to kill for something that doesn’t belong to them.” He recalled how easily he lost control when one of them threatened to go after everyone he knew. The list wasn’t long and the fact that you sat on it was enough for him to stop pulling the weight on his punches. He was being sprayed in blood while his dead, straight gaze stayed the same. Until he heard your voice bounce off the bricks.

“How am I supposed to trust you?” you asked.

“Fuck,” he gasped as he weaved around you. “Weren’t you the one screaming about trust?”

Marc, stop.

Steven had seen everything. He hadn’t meant to. But after he and Khonshu called on Marc so many times, he never truly left when he stopped fronting. He always did, but this time he lingered for a little too long. Long enough to see the damage from the puddle Marc saw him in, and long enough to hear your voice.

“No,” you were chasing after him now. “You don’t get to start bringing that up now.”

“What do I need to do to get you to trust me on this?”

You never truly had an answer, but the words came before your thoughts did. “Cry for me.”

What?

“What are you talking about?”

“Cry for me,” you pressed. Your chest was against his as you methodically examined the expression of his face. “So I at least know you still feel something. Marc, you didn’t even look upset as you were—that’s horrifying.”

The room was still as the bubbles in New Gus’s tank stopped floating. Marc heard the instruction loud and clear, but he hadn’t changed. “Common,” you beg as you fisted his shirt. “Give me anything, Marc.” You didn’t care if it wasn’t genuine. You would have taken a lie over what you thought was the truth.

Steven watched the mirror of the tank, but Marc still hadn’t moved.

“You know,” your head had dropped in defeat. “That night you were practically shaking at the thought of possibly touching me.” You wanted your words to hurt to see if you could get him to express anything at all. You were pulling teeth while his brown eyes were marveling over your face. “But now, I can’t even get you to react to what you did. How am I supposed to know that you’re okay, and that was the right thing to do wh-when there was blood all over my fucking mouth!” You covered your lips with your hands to keep from screaming as flashes of cold bodies filled your head. It was hard to see anything past tears that fractured your vision.

You need to give me the body

Your knees buckled. “Y/N—” You could see him attempting to catch you.

“DON’T COME ANYWHERE NEAR ME!” You had never gotten so loud in all your life, but the thought of three pairs of cold hands hanging out of the dumpster for someone else to deal with made your ears pop.

Bloody hell! Let me talk to Y/N!

“I swear to God, Marc. Don’t come anywhere near me.”

Marc had so much all at once crowding his senses, but worse of all was watching you rise with bloodshot eyes and a frightening disposition.

“Okay,” was all he said as his brows knitted his tanned skin.

You were already making your way home, but not before he caught your arm again. You flinched as you tugged it back, ready to raise hell once again. Ready to trample him over for what you had seen.

“Hey, hey. It’s me,” he breathed. His voice woke you like cool running water.

Of course, it was Steven. No one else would beg you to stay with so much desperation coating his glossy eyes. The man you loved to litter with a thousand water-colored kisses saw the tension evaporate from your shoulders for a few seconds before you went right back into his arms at full force. It was midnight again, but this time Steven’s clothes were growing wet from your constant crying.

He mimicked what you always did for him until you had stopped crying, then stopped hiccupping. It went on like this until you went sinking into his bed.

a reblog for a part three ;)

navigation <- (taglist form, masterlist, rules, etc.)

tag list:

@11mb0 @callmeseri @quesowakanda @hypnoash @ohworm-writes

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watersofmars · 2 years

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𝐏 𝐎 𝐊 𝐄 𝐑

𝐒 𝐓 𝐄 𝐕 𝐄 𝐍 . 𝐆 𝐑 𝐀 𝐍 𝐓 | 𝐑 𝐄 𝐀 𝐃 𝐄 𝐑 | 𝐌 𝐀 𝐑 𝐂 . 𝐒 𝐏 𝐄 𝐂 𝐓 𝐎 𝐑

𝐆 𝐄 𝐍 𝐑 𝐄 : angst, dark-ish themes, fluff, and suggestive themes

𝐖 𝐀 𝐑 𝐍 𝐈 𝐍 𝐆 𝐒 : angst, mentions of stalking, obsessive behavior, unhealthy relationships

𝐒 𝐔 𝐌 𝐌 𝐀 𝐑 𝐘 : your relationship with Steven is constantly strained by the presence of Marc's disdain for you.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑: 𝐍𝐎 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐑 𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐄𝐁𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐎𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍. 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃, 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃, 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐅 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐍. 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

🃞 𝟏 𝐬 𝐭 𝐇 𝐀 𝐍 𝐃

🃍 𝟐 𝐧 𝐝 𝐇 𝐀 𝐍 𝐃 -> coming soon...

𝐓 𝐈 𝐌 𝐄 :

𝟎 𝟒 | 𝟎 𝟗 | 𝟐 𝟎 𝟐 𝟐 -> 𝟏 𝟔 : 𝟎 𝟎 . 𝐩 𝐬 𝐭 .

𝟎 𝟒 | 𝟎 𝟗 | 𝟐 𝟎 𝟐 𝟐 -> 𝟏 𝟗 : 𝟎 𝟎 . 𝐞 𝐬 𝐭 .

𝟎 𝟒 | 𝟏 𝟎 | 𝟐 𝟎 𝟐 𝟐 -> 𝟎 𝟎 : 𝟎 𝟎 . 𝐠 𝐦 𝐭 .

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watersofmars · 2 years

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Andrew Garfield attends the 28th Screen Actors Guild Awards at Barker Hangar on February 27, 2022 in Santa Monica, California. 1184550 (Photo by Emma McIntyre/Getty Images for WarnerMedia)

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watersofmars · 2 years

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A FATAL SHARK'S MIRAGE: CASE 3

Peter Parker x Reader x Peter Parker

word count: 5.1K

genres: angst, smut, college!au

warning: Minors DNI, 18+ explicit content, NWH spoilers, violence, blood, fighting, biblical allusions, cussing, choking, and faint horror elements

summary: You are caught at the receiving end of another identical-looking Peter's efforts to bring someone like you back from the dead.

author’s note: Finally! Tumblr did an oopsy on the entire site so this had to be postponed until they fixed it. In this, I’m giving the evil peter stans everything a half a cup of what they want.

CASE TWO <- CASE THREE -> CASE FOUR

SERIES MASTERLIST

The November cold was enough to amplify already present shakes in your voice. “I remember my dad talking about how something else crossed into here and now Peter has it. Did you plan for this to happen because I swear to—” You stopped yourself before your emotions could reach the lid.

“I would’ve if I could control the symbiote in any way. I just got lucky,” he smiled to himself.

His twisted admission of lack of guilt did not quell your anxieties, but you were maintaining your patience as you spoke. “Before I figured out most of it, I thought I’d have to bribe you.”

“With what? Our money isn’t the same.” As he humored himself, a white, billowing cloud left through his white teeth from the decreasing temperature that only made outside more suffocating than inside. He resembled a drag breathing smoke in the oncoming winter.

“With me, obviously.” Your voice was distant and practically emotionless as you looked into the distant, murky darkness of the park. It wasn’t entirely empty, but you reasonably doubted that the occasional passerby wouldn’t just assume he and you were a couple on a leisure stroll. “I’ll go with you wherever you’re going if you help me help him.”

“Hm,” the defiant vigilante stood to feign pondering the idea but returned from his performance swiftly. He would have gone on to say something else, but his wit was forcibly cut short by him detecting the weeping of police sirens that appeared to be increasing. “You hear that?” The air went colder at his words.

“What?” You asked while you checked your phone to see that not even three minutes had passed. Your auditory abilities couldn’t match his in any sense.

“We need to go,” he was promptly reaching for your arm covered in your coat and when you flinched out of his potential reach, he still managed to catch your hand.

“Let’s just go to my apartment then,” you said urgently in a poor effort to pretend like he wasn’t holding your hand.

“Your apartment?” he echoed with demeaning sarcasm. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

“Hey,” you were already challenging his arrogance. “If I just disappear, they’re going to know that I’m definitely with you. If they see that I’m home and safe, you’ll be hiding in plain sight at my house while they turn this city inside out to find you.”

“Fine,” he agreed. “Then, let’s go.” He was already walking to reach the nearest building to begin swinging against.

His grip on your hand was firm, but you dug your heels into the harsh material of the path to make a noticeable sound and certainly damage your shoes.

“Swinging around a city that might have helicopters above us in the next few minutes? You’re not as bright as he is, I’m guessing.” You bitterly noted with a raised brow.

Under normal circumstances, Peter would have noticed that before you noted the obvious to him, but his unmanageable zeal to feel you again against his body made him sloppy and much less calculated.

“Then how do we get to your apartment?” he asked with a bit of a challenge in his cadence.

“Taxi,” you answered.

The first time Peter gingerly stepped through the doors of your apartment while peeling off his coat’s hood, he didn’t receive the chance to properly gape at how similar it was.

“Hurry up! He’ll be here any minute.” The park was no more than a three-minute drive, but with your father likely speeding on hot tires from the outer ring of the city, you would still likely be seeing him soon with the signature vein on his neck.

You practically pushed Peter through your bedroom door into your closet.

“The closet? I expected—”

“Shut up and trust me,”

Once he had gotten himself on the floor of the tight yet seemingly never-ending space, the doorbell rang with an apparent pattern in its delivery.

“Coming!” you shouted then turned to Peter. “Keep your mouth fucking shut,” you softly spat, but your only response by the man you despised was his eyes rolling just as you shut the door. When indiscriminate shadows consumed the coyote in the chicken coup, he was abandoned with enhanced senses that were reaching a crescendoing height that he did not wish for.

He unequivocally heard how you frantically rushed to the door to answer it before your dad would decide to break the door down. All of this was occurring while Peter was being strangled by the familiar aroma of your clothes. It had been a few weeks since the smell vanished from your clothes when you had died. Yet, now he was experiencing a near identically crushing signature scent. He consumed it like amphetamines as the door finally opened and your father came barging in.

“Y/N!”

“Dad, calm down. I told you I was heading home.”

Peter reached for a delicate bra that was on the floor and ran his fingers over the lace fabric with a stillness in his disposition. His ability to resist temptations had long disappeared when he lost his understanding of reality. However, that wasn’t when he went hurtling across time. It was when he grimly witnessed the crowd leave your grave while you stayed put six feet under, screaming for him to dig you up.

Peter heard the policeman’s boots hit against the wooden floors that he himself was just walking over. Your father was pacing around the small apartment, looking for anything out of the ordinary that would be an indication of the validity in his worry. If the chief ever opened the closest, Peter was ready to trap him entirely in webs and take you away somewhere else.

“What are you even looking for?” you nervously asked as you watched your father look around with a gun in his hand. He wasn’t answering your question and seemed much too in his head to respond. “Dad!” That got his attention.

Peter brought the undergarment laced in your fragrance to his face and intensely inhaled deeply. The smell of your scent penetrated his nose and swirled around his nose and filled up his body like an antidepressant. The indisputably warming sensation he experienced all throughout his face traveled from his thick skull to the tip of his soft member. He had completely lost what having you dead felt like since he saw you for the first time, but if his past self could have seen him, he would be unidentifiable.

“Yeah,” he stepped out of his hot pursuit. You stopped him right before he could go for the door that divided your room from the rest of the apartment.

“There’s no one here,” you told him.

The chief’s shoulders slumped, and you knew you had him exactly where you needed him to be. “I’m sorry. I’m just nervous.” He placed his gun in his holster. “Why didn’t you answer my calls?”

“There was a sale for mugs at the store. I was excited but then I forgot to call back.” You needed to keep your voice and cadence undoubtedly casual to convince him of the lack of absurdity in your excuse.

“You were shopping?”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m happy to hear you’re going out.” Your father wasn’t exactly oblivious to your unwillingness to go outside if it wasn’t for a lecture. It was all in the way you always answered the phone when he called. Distant and slightly unsettling. Your visit to his job surprised him more since you had declined to even stop by his home for dinner compressed into Tupperware that same day. Peter’s sickness didn’t make it better, either. Your boyfriend being bedridden meant that he expected you to become a recluse much quicker.

“What’s going on?” you asked him.

“The other Parker escaped.”

“Holy shit.” You needed to work on your delivery, but you were certain that he didn’t notice.

In the closet still, the idea that was invading in Peter’s faded mind should have been buried the moment he caught the scent of your addictive scent when you opened the door. It was much too late now because your bra was trembling in his frigid hands as he brought his other hand snaking into his pants.

Your dad stood in the living room that you were frozen in days ago when he said, “for now, I’m going to need you to stay here.” He must have heard something in his ear because he looked off for a few seconds. “Yeah, there’s nothing here. That won’t be necessary. Just stay in the hall.”

“Dad, how many people are here?” You tried to sound more peeved than you usually were to mask your apparent disdain for an army of people outside that might uncover your secret before he does. “Please don’t tell me they’re going to be in here, again.”

“Just a few days ago you were paranoid,” he contested.

“Well,” he was seeing the cracks in your poorly built foundation for a moment. “I’m trying to heal, okay? He might be out there but can I at least try to go on as normally as I can.”

Peter could still hear you speaking with his senses. He had willingly drowned out the voice of your father long ago. It was likely not a bright idea since he wouldn’t have been prepared for any moment the chief stopped believing your lies but the second Peter was much too impatient and in his head to care any longer. He wrapped his colder hand around the warmth of his member, as it was being suffocated by his tight pants and even tighter underwear.

Your deceptive vulnerability got your father significantly off of your scent. The middle-aged man nodded as he put his hands on his hips. “I understand.” He seemed to be thinking about so many things all at once. “I don’t want you to keep you from doing that, but can you please just give your old man some sanity? I’ll have a couple of people here—no more than 10—and you won't even notice they’re here.”

Peter eagerly ran his hand covered in goosebumps over his hard yet sensitive skin as he tried to keep his panting quiet and your bra buried in his nose like it was a burlap sack keeping him from seeing all common sense. His throat was a kettle filled with groans that were willing to escape the spout if he just gave them the fleeting chance.

All he could do was envision your pretty face as he experienced your suffocating aroma and his tip was already leaking with the preceding white determinant of ecstasy. He continued to beat his hand along protruding, pulsing veins and sweaty skin, all while his mouth hung open as he remained mute.

“Are they going to be camping outside my door? The neighbors already kind of hate me,” you said.

“Two will be camping, the others will be scattered about the building.”

“I’ll take that then. As long as they’re not in my kitchen eating all my blueberries.”

“Hank told me he was sorry about that.”

“Tell him, I don’t forgive him.”

Your father laughed at the sarcasm in your tone just before going on to ask, “Has Peter called?”

Your boyfriend must have not reached out to him as you expected. “Um, he might be still sick.”

You knew your dad wanted his help but was juggling a myriad of feelings. He didn’t want to bring along a person when they were in severe need of rest. Although he knew your Peter would be helpful, the hero had already done enough, and he was just a kid to him, after all. Your father was determined to solve this problem himself if he didn’t hear a word from your boyfriend.

In the small square closet, the second Peter used your bra to muffle his sinful sounds as he harshly beat against himself in hopes of chasing a feeling he had not experienced since he had crossed to the other side. His stomach rose and fell repeatedly as warm fluid leaked and pour down him as now his member was out and experiencing the biting cold of the outside.

He went on like this, only visualizing your face and consuming the remaining part of you in your lace bra until he released all over himself. He saw flashes of exploding white on the perimeter of his vision while his senses were overwhelmed until he could only see darkness once again and hear a faint ringing in his ear.

“I got to go but, I trust you, okay?” the chief confessed.

“Yeah.” You nodded.

“Tell me if anything bothers you.” He took the other gun on his belt to put it into your still palms. You finally understood how terrified he was.

“Of course.”

He left slower than he came rushing in, which gave you time to see those on the other side of the door. They didn’t look like standard police officers, but the type of agents to hold intelligence that you wouldn’t even know exists.

Once the door had closed right behind him, you stood for a few seconds to ensure that if he wanted to return, he would find nothing. You counted a few more times before you carefully walked back to your room and opened your door slowly. You mentally wondered if Peter had left your apartment long ago through the window that faced a dark alley in your city, but to your surprise, he was leaning against your wall, glancing around like your place of sleep was a museum.

“What the fuck?” you whispered, afraid that those outside could hear you.

“I got claustrophobic,” he told you as he watched gleefully as you ran your hands over your hair. “I’m gonna go shower.”

“Are those Peter’s clothes?” He ignored your observation in exchange for a dismissive gaze that he took to your bathroom.

For the time that passed over you agonizingly slowly, you were stuck refreshing your phone for any indication that they were bringing the escapee matter to the news. As you assumed, they didn’t. How could they? A facial description would only expose both Peters.

When the foreigner left the bathroom, he looked so much like your boyfriend that your gut went soaring into your heart right before you could speak, so you just swallowed and let the growing hot coal in your throat burn your insides and make you angry.

Just on your response, he saw the dilemma in your expression and fed off of it like a wretched leech, yet it didn’t bring him arrant satisfaction since you were looking at someone else when you brought your focus to him.

“We need to figure out how to get that thing out of Peter.” You brought the conversation back to where it needed to be before he started impetuously leading it.

“How do you know I won’t just take you with me the first chance I get?”

“Because you don’t even know how to get back home. And even if you did go back, Peter and that monster would follow right behind you. You don’t seem like the kind to want to run for the rest of their life.

“I’m not bad at improvising.” He looked over to your window, but you saw how the stress decorated his jaw and tightened the muscles. “I need to kill it.”

“How do we—” He traveled across the room with the release of a web and put a hand over your mouth. It was sudden but frightening when he brought a finger over his pale lips in a way to keep you quiet. Someone that he thought didn’t belong here had clearly arrived, and it did not take a lot of guessing for you to assume that it was likely your Peter.

You were gingerly pulled closer to the wrong Peter in a hold that had him entirely enveloping your body with his. He shot another web to your open window, and you both went flying through the open glass exit to the wall of the other building seconds after you heard a knock on your door.

Your boyfriend had come to your apartment after learning of the news from your father and came over in fiery haste on the excuse of protection. He would have come through the window on his own accord, but he needed the agents at the door and a few on the outside to see him enter.

Upon the first shot of the web he heard, he knew that his enemy was here.

“Somethings wrong,” he said to the agents on the outside.

That false innocent discomfort is what set everything off into a spinning clock.

It was expected that someone a part of the team would have seen the other Peter take you away. And the change in his clothes and the speed that he would have unlikely entered the building just to leave a few seconds after through the window made it clear that you were in danger. The cleared Peter came in and the variant was already leaving.

Bullets were useless when the target had the victim wrapped tightly around his arms, so the agent shot a tracker as you went swinging into the 11 PM darkness of the city. It missed on account of Peter’s senses being universal across different multiverses.

Earlier, your boyfriend played along with your father’s request to keep from being seen as suspicious. Your Peter called him just as your father was leaving, saying he couldn’t reach you and he was scared. Peter knew about the escape.

He played it fair and was already at your house faster than anyone would have suspected. He listened and even had a briefing with the security to confirm that it was actually him and what did he get for it? He was left nearly thirty steps behind by the person the symbiote wanted to put underneath his claws.

You were in a relentless chase throughout the city as your eyes were shut and your body was experiencing your stomach falling as you swung from building to building with the greatest urge to scream. This wasn’t the first time you had been flung from one place to the next, but that never made the experience any less terrifying. The idea of being dropped at any instant to be in the same position that you were days ago made you tremble in the variant Peter’s arms as he tried to outrun something that he was never willing to confess frightened the forming blood in his bones. He already had taken out his mask from the pocket of your boyfriend’s pants to put it on so you couldn’t see his cowardly face.

The agents were not as fast on foot nor with cars, so why did they bother trying to follow your boyfriend as he followed an enemy?

This all came to a head when you were halfway across the city and Peter went actively crashing into a building that you were certain would be filled with confused employees by the next day. You went plummeting through glass windows on a top floor while being cocooned by a body that experienced glass wounds like the bite of a clothespin.

He could only run for so long until he had to hide to start in another direction.

“Come on,” he rushed as he ran to the emergency stairs to hide on an even higher floor.

Sitting on the chilly floor of an office space while your heartbeat was against your sternum as it tried not to break it was petrifying and brought fear to cloud the pupils of your eyes. Peter hid you in a corner of the room and needed to slow down the oncoming hero so you both would have enough time to find a more permanent place to bury yourselves under while your Peter was healing from wounds.

You were alone, hiding on the floor of a severely echoing haunted space with a quivering hand over your mouth. You couldn’t let the plan go wrong or you would lose the only person that could possibly solve the problem. The floor was placid until there was a monstrous sound coming from the stairs that could have disturbed the foundation. Soon after, the door went flying across the room and hitting the wall like it carried your same weight.

It was so easy to regress back into mere child-like ideas when you were scared beyond your imagination. You shut your eyes and carried out the mantra that said that if you couldn’t see it, then it couldn’t see you.

You heard the creature snapping jaws as it likely surveyed the area for any indication of where the variant was. He could hear two hearts beating in the room, so it was evident that there was another predator in the room and recklessly readying to take out the prey would have ended in a redundant blood bath.

When your eyes open, you saw the shadow of the creature cast in the already dark room and it looked massive but lean just like the person it was holding prison. It only drew closer to where he knew Peter was.

“Now!” the variant shouted.

You came out from your hiding to shoot once at the shoulder of the repugnant towering beast and that certainly flipped its attention on a dime. You froze at the sight of the hellish features of the appalling creature as its pink pimpled tongue ran across its mangled sword-like teeth before it snapped its open jaw shut, ready to charge like a bull seeing red. Before he could take another step, webbing came out from the thick darkness to take the animal by his legs, and he collided onto the floor and caused it to vibrate like a dense bomb had been dropped.

That was your cue to start running like hell. With adrenaline making a line of defense within your brain, you went running for the exit despite what you heard behind you. Nevertheless, that courage was simultaneously your downfall because your arm was wrapped in a cold, slick feeling. The second Peter wasn’t able to encompass the monster in webs like he had hoped and now you were being dragged toward Goliath.

You froze upon the feeling of having the air pulled right from under your feet. You went from running against office floors to hovering above the ground. You wondered where the other Peter had gone until you saw him on the ground completely swallowed by black tentacles.

“You,” the creature said. “You’re always in my way.” The whites of its eyes were a twisted echo of Peter’s suit, but it lacked any other friendly detail. You saw your scared reflection in the glazed whites on its eyes as its tentacles wrapped around your body like a boa. The alien’s body started from your feet and it traveled slowly up as you were being ruthlessly pressed up against a wall.

You looked over to the suffocating Peter on the ground, nearly being cloaked by smothering extensions that were wishing to bury him alive. You weren’t sure what to call him, and you were ready to believe it was over until your back was pitilessly struck against the wall. You caught a glimpse of the one thing that would save you before the symbiote even noticed.

Just before the tentacles were about to trap your hands along with your legs, you pulled the fire alarm right beside you fast enough for an unescaped shrieking to fill the entirety of the building like a plague.

The creature was standing right before an overhead speaker and that only worsened his vulnerability. You watched in astonishment as the creature withdrew from all over you like an injured prey and shook in the process until it split many times over and then finally fell back into the Peter you had not seen in two days. He didn’t look scared like you expected him to be rather vexed. Just before he started stepping close to you, you took a gun out from your coat but he persisted and walked in the ear-splitting alarm until his forehead was touching the barrel of the weapon that you were holding.

He laughed to himself with the barrel of the weapon still indenting his skin until he finally seized his insanity.

“You’re seriously working with him?”

“What choice do I have, Peter?” You kept your hand firmly around it but your finger was nowhere near the trigger and that’s what sent Peter over the edge into a fit of laughter when he noticed. “Peter, we’re leaving.”

“If you leave with him you’re dead to me.”

You knew what that meant. It was a very interesting way to skate around the obvious.

“I’m trying to help you.”

“So you’re siding with him!” he shouted. His voice somehow challenged the blaring alarm. The gun was out of your hand in a second with the shot of another web, and that’s when you finally remembered the other person in the room. For being such a center in the conversation, it was so easy to lose track of him when you were looking at your Peter so closely and in person.

Without a second to process where the lethal weapon had traveled, a shot rang out of it and only the surrounding sound worse. Your Peter went falling to the ground.

“Peter!”

The other Spider-Man was already running toward the glass windows. You thought he was going to leave you to see your Peter bleed out until a web landed on the center of your chest and right when the glass stopped floating, it fell, and you went souring past the window being dragged by the web.

“I never want to see you again! If I ever find you, I swear I’m gonna—ugh!” The Peter that had been shot was bleeding out on the floor as he gripped his leg for support. You were immediately being swung around the city as you screamed.

“YOU FUCKING SHOT HIM!” you screamed. Your need to thrash around in his hold almost surpassed your fear of heights.

“He’ll be fine.” The fire wasn’t fatal, but it was going to be an inconvenience. Killing Peter would mean that he would be the next person on the parasite’s list of eligibility.

“Shit,” the variant Peter hissed as you cleaned his wound in a poorly lit, cheap motel. The air was stuffy since the only window present was almost glued shut.

“Hold still or it’s gonna hurt more.”

“Wouldn’t you like that.”

“I’m glad you noticed,” you retorted.

You continued to heal him in silence as he watched over you carefully. No doubt he was experiencing torturous déjà vu, yet he was certain of where he had seen the image before. It was like watching a ghost and he wondered if once night fell and he fell asleep, he would finally wake up from a dream that would likely haunt him for the rest of his life.

“When you say things like that, it makes it hard to trust you,” he grimaced.

You scoffed at his statement. “I should be the one scared to trust you.”

Your skill fingers would often meet his skin just to disappear like a whisper as quickly as it came. He couldn’t even pretend like he wasn’t losing as focus under the enticing sensation. When he wasn’t groaning in agony, he had a smirk permanently etched onto his lips bloody lip as he watched you work.

“I put my ass on the line to keep you safe. How could you not trust me?”

“Did you forget that night I almost died because of your stupidity?” Your voice was wary as you spoke since you still had not gotten over it and you weren’t sure of when you would. It was like trying to cross the Styx

He thought for a second to recount the rest of that night through a screen of red haze. He remembered how willing he was to let events play out if it meant that Peter you were with would experience the same inescapable anguish he was surrounded by for many months. He regretted that decision when he heard you scream.

You busied yourself with reading the instructions on an antiseptic. While you looked closely at the bottle, he reached out to touch your hair while you were preoccupied and his hand trembled until he brought it back right before you noticed.

“I’m done. This is a different brand but it should work the same,” you murmured and settled to change the topic of discussion. You picked up your head and that was when you finally register how close you had gotten to him.

You immediately landed on his entire face, and you were brought weak again. He looked like a mirror of your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—and you were experiencing so many emotions since the night Peter had left you perplexed.

From where he was leaning, Peter was still close enough to your face for there only to be space the size of his patience between your nose and his. He saw how you tried to occasionally look around, just to look back to his face instead of stepping back as you should have. Your lashes were dancing about and he could hear your heart beating and that was his reason for growing restless until his hand found a place in the back of your head and his lips were locked onto your own.

You had all your time to hesitate as you stared at him, but by the time he kissed you, you had already told yourself that what you were doing was a bad idea. Peter didn’t want you anymore, but you still wanted him and now you were begging for forgiveness to the wrong person.

His lips fed onto your soft mouth as he pressed you further into him with his other hand around the back of your neck. The heat on his soft yet torn lip clouded your judgment as the both of you each kissed a different person. You were lamenting the death of your relationship with your Peter after the last thing he told you was that he never wanted to see you again. You were as good as dead to him and here you were kissing a replacement altar.

The Peter from the other world kissed you with all the regret he had built up for so long as he was trying to search for someone who he had already seen die many times over in his dream.

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CASE TWO <- CASE THREE -> CASE FOUR

SERIES MASTERLIST

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