watersofmars

[watersofmars]

ᴡᴇ ᴀʟʟ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ…

(Aegon Targaryen x OC!Reader x Aemond Targaryen). Torn between love and duty, Visenya Targaryen, daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen, has a choice to make. Bound by the loyalty to her mother, her love for her husband Aegon, or the desire she feels for her uncle Aemond...

(A/N): This is my first Hotd fic so please bare with me lol... I also changed some of the canon story slightly, but its mostly in timeline.

WC: 2.9k

In the heart of Dragonstone, beneath the shadow of the ancient castle, the air was thick with whispered secrets and unspoken desires. The ocean bristled like a dragon's breath against the cliffs, roaring its eternal song, while inside the castle's stone walls, tensions of love and duty collided like fierce combatants upon a battlefield.

Born of two fiery souls—Rhaenyra and Daemon—Visenya was a product of ambition and dark passion. Her mother had once grasped for the Iron Throne while her father fought like a dragon to claim his birthright. Now married to Aegon, the younger half-brother of Rhaenyra, Visenya was both a queen consort and a pawn in the ancient game of thrones that twisted all destinies in Westeros.

Visenya sat in the sunlit chamber where she had spent countless hours nurturing the seeds of her family. Her marriage to Aegon had sparked hope for peace. The union represented a fragile balance between factions, a flowering of loyalty amidst the ashes of war—the Dance of the Dragons, as history would one day name it. In the months following their union, Visenya had found solace in Aegon’s gentle affection. Her husband, Aegon Targaryen, was handsome as he was gentle, and their three children; Aerion, Daenys, and Rhaegar, were a living testament to their union. 

The corners of her lips would turn upward when they called out for her, a joy that sparked within her from their mere presence. Still, there lay something untamed and restless within her, a longing that cast a shadow upon her heart like the wings of a dragon. Yet, as much as her heart had sought refuge in Aegon’s steadfast presence, it remained restless. For in the shadows of their shared chambers roamed Aemond Targaryen, the younger brother of Aegon and a tempest of unbridled passion. Aemond, with his sapphire eye that glimmered like a dragon’s flame, drew Visenya to him with an intensity that overshadowed her more subdued affection for Aegon. There was something primal about their connection, an undeniable pull that threatened to shatter the fragile peace she had constructed around her heart

Aegon had won her heart first, as young hearts often do, swept away in the fervor of courtship and familial duty. They had shared a betrothal grounded in tradition, as their family’s legacy demanded, by order of the late King Viserys in hopes of mending this broken family. Loyal and kind, he had been a constant source of warmth, a beacon of security amidst the chaos that lingered at the edges of their world, on the edge of a bloody war. Together, they forged a love that should have been flawless, yet beneath the surface, tides churned dangerously.

It was Aemond, Aegon's younger brother, who filled Visenya's dreams with passion and despair. His dark, brooding presence was intoxicating, a force of nature that unnerved and exhilarated her all at once. Their bond was close since childhood, where Visenya was often Aemond’s only source of comfort. But he was a dragon in his own right, wild and untamed, unburdened by the weight of responsibility that Aegon often bore. When their eyes met across a crowded hall or during the muted hours of the night, an unbidden fire ignited within her, and she felt the pull of a forbidden fruit she could never quite resist.

One fateful evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, laying hues of crimson and gold across the sky, Visenya found herself wandering into the garden—a refuge where the laughter of her children mingled with the scent of blooming roses. It was there that Aemond often sought solitude, brooding beneath the heavy branches of the ancient tree in the Godswood. The air was thick with anticipation, the moment charged with unvoiced words.

“Aemond,” she whispered, approaching the shadowy figure cloaked in darkness. “You should not be here. It isn’t fitting for us.”

His gaze, fierce and steady, locked onto her. “Fitting or not, sister, it does not change how I feel,” he replied, drawing closer, his words a tantalizing promise.

“Do you ever wonder what might have been?” Aemond softly spoke in the shadows, his voice low and conspiratorial. “If the blood of our house did not bind us, what would we be to each other?”

Visenya’s heart raced at the question. She had long grappled with this truth: was it Aegon’s love she cherished, or was it Aemond’s wild spirit that called to her, igniting a fire that threatened to consume her whole? When she looked into Aemond’s depths, she saw a future of unfettered desire, while Aegon’s steady presence offered comfort and stability. 

“But to carry the sins of desire is to bear a heavy burden,” she murmured, her voice like the rustle of leaves in the wind. “If the truth of our hearts were ever revealed, what then?”

Aemond stepped closer, his breath warm against her skin. “Do not fear the chaos of love, Visenya. We are Targaryens; chaos is our birthright.”

In that moment, their lips met—a union forged of hidden desires and dangerous secrets. In that sacred space, amidst the hidden life of the garden, time weaved itself into a tapestry of stolen moments. Visenya’s heart raced as Aemond took her hands in his, the warmth of his touch igniting embers hidden deep within her soul. They spoke of their dreams, their fears, the weight of their lineage, and the bittersweet bonds of family ties that pulled them in opposite directions.

Visenya was aflame with passion, yet guilt gnawed at her, whispering memories of her children, the purity of their innocence. She recalled Aerion's laughter and Daenys's dreams, and Rhaegar's fierce loyalty. Visenya's thoughts turned to her children, to the simple joy they brought her, and the duty she held to Aegon, who remained blissfully unaware of the tempest brewing within his wife’s heart. The gnarled roots of her love for Aegon intertwined with the fervour she felt for Aemond, a duality both beautiful and torturous. Each time she laughed with her children, each time she looked into Aegon’s earnest eyes, the weight of her choices bore down.

When her children had been born, rumours had already sparked in the desperate halls of the Red Keep and at court. As autumn leaves began to fall, rumours swirled within the court, each speculation carrying the weight of uncertainty. Whispers drifted like smoke between courtiers: were Aegon’s children truly his, or was there more to Visenya’s love than met the eye? The truth remained hidden, an enigma cloaked in Targaryen secrecy.

As seasons waned into years, the children grew, each embodying different facets of their lineage. Aerion, with the spirited bravery of a dragon, beloved by all; Daenys, who carried an ethereal grace that warmed hearts, often resembling her namesake, Daenys the dreamer; and Rhaegar, whose brooding intensity mirrored that of his Uncle Aemond. The question of paternity began to murmur through the corridors of Dragonstone, insidious as wind-wrought flames, though none could be sure. At least Visenya’s children bore the silver Targaryen hair that seemed to fail in her brothers. Whispers tainted her children’s innocence, and every shared glance between Visenya and Aemond seemed to ignite suspicion in the minds of their kin.

As the truth hovered like a specter, looming over the Targaryen family, Visenya stood at a precipice. Would she give in to her longing, embracing a passion that pulsed as fiercely as dragonfire? Or would she bind herself tightly to duty, choosing the path carved out by blood and obligation?

Visenya stood before a new dawn, knowing she must confront the echoes of her choices. Whether she chose to remain tied to Aegon for the sake of their family or succumb to the intoxicating pull of Aemond’s allure remained unanswered. She sought her mother’s endurance and her father’s unbridled will, but it was her own heart—a heart torn between love and loyalty—that would ultimately shape her fate.

In a moment of desperate clarity, Visenya understood that love was never meant to be simple. Each heart she held belonged to the tapestry of her life, entwined in ways that were as complex as the spirals of dragonfire. And as her children grew, so too did the weight of her choices, an unbreakable knot she must learn to navigate, balancing love and treachery, loyalty and longing.

—-------------------------------------------------

In the growing darkness of the evening, Visenya stood by the window, her long, silver-gold hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of moonlight. She gazed out over Blackwater Bay, the waves crashing like the thoughts inside her mind. Her husband, Aegon, approached with a gentle smile, though the weight of uncertainty hung heavy in the air.

“Visenya,” Aegon said, his voice soft, “what troubles you this evening?” 

She turned to him, her heart swelling with love for the man who was both her husband and a symbol of duty. “Naught but the uncertainty of the morrow, my dear Aegon. The realm feels restless. I fear storms are brewing, but not of the kind we prepare for,” she replied, feigning a smile. 

Unbeknownst to Aegon, Visenya felt her heart pulse hotly for his younger brother, Aemond. Aemond, with his fiery spirit and sharp wit, ignited a flame in her that she could not extinguish. Though she loved Aegon fiercely, it was Aemond who stirred her soul in ways she was hesitant to admit.

Just as she suffocated under the weight of her thoughts, the door swung open, and Aemond strode in, his sapphire eye glinting with mischief. “Our dear brother broods while the world turns, as always,” he remarked, casting a quick glance at Aegon before fixing his gaze on Visenya. “Shall we not partake in the joy of life while we can, my sweet sister-in-law?”

“Always the jester,” Aegon replied, though his smile was strained. “What joy can be found in revelry when the realm readies itself for war?”

“War, duty, duty, war,” Aemond mocked lightly. “You sound like our mother, brother.” There was a lingering tension in the air that Visenya felt too keenly.

“Stop this, Aemond,” Visenya interjected, speaking in High Valyrian, which Aegon didn’t entirely understand, looking to temper the air between the two brothers. “We should not jest of such things. We have each other; we have our children.”

Aegon nodded, the weight of concern still visible on his brow, while Aemond’s expression shifted to one that danced on the edge of something more dangerous. “And what will become of them?” Aemond’s voice dropped, a hint of something darker lurking beneath. “Are we to allow a sea of disputes to wash away their future?”

Visenya bristled at the thought. Her children needed a world of promise, not shackled by the chains of the past. Yet the more Aemond spoke, the more her heart wavered between affection for her husband and the forbidden pull towards the younger brother, whose ambitions were vast and whose eyes shone with desire. 

Weeks passed where words remained unspoken, but a certain tension was brewing in the Red Keep, there would be fire and blood, but the war within Visenya Targaryen still raged on.

—----------------------------------------

In the candlelit chambers of Aegon and Visenya, the air was thick with both warmth and tension. Visenya Targaryen sat at her vanity, the reflection of her silver hair bouncing off the polished surface. A soft knock interrupted her contemplation.

“Aegon,” she called, turning to fully face her husband, Aegon II, who stepped into the room. His presence filled the space with an uneasy mix of familiarity and distance.

“My love,” Aegon began, his voice a gentle rumble. “I’ve been thinking—”

“Thinking?” Visenya echoed, arching a brow. “You have a talent for that.” She offered a teasing smile, though her heart was heavy.

“Visenya, I wish to discuss… us.” He paused, searching her gaze for something he couldn’t quite define. “You hold the realms in your heart, but I…”

“Is it my love for our children that frightens you?” she interjected, the warmth in her voice slowly fading.

“No, no. It’s Aemond.” 

Visenya’s breath caught. Aemond—his younger brother—was both a flame that flickered dangerously close and a comfort that beckoned like an undertow. “What of Aemond?” she asked, trying to mask the tremor in her voice.

“He has grown reckless.” Aegon’s irritation surfaced. “He challenges authority as easily as he commands Vhagar. I fear—”

“Fear what? That he will dethrone you?” Visenya leaned forward, her emerald eyes piercing through the dim light. “You rule as king of Westeros, and he bears no crown.”

Aegon stepped closer, his brow knitting in concern. “Yet, in his heart lies the blood of the dragon—a flame that may consume what we hold dear. Our family is at stake, Visenya; our children… they deserve stability.”

“They deserve love,” she replied, her expression hardening. “Not just the kind you give, but the kind that includes passion.” The confession hung in the air like an unspoken vow, opening a chasm between them.

Aegon stiffened. “You love him, then?”

Visenya’s gaze fell to the floor. “Love is a flame, Aegon. It can warm the spirit or burn down all that you hold dear.”

Time passed slowly within Dragonstone as familial ties began to unravel. Aegon’s jealousy morphed into a simmering resentment, while intrigue danced around Visenya’s heart like a delicate waltz. 

Meanwhile, Aemond Targaryen, an embodiment of youthful ambition, found solace in the open skies, where his dragon, Vhagar, soared. He had always admired Visenya’s caring nature and what she brought to the family. Their secret meetings kindled something deep and forbidden, and as days turned into weeks, their connection intertwined with destiny.

Days turned into weeks, and then into months, shadows gathering around the Targaryens as they prepared for the inevitable clash between Rhaenyra's supporters and the impending forces that rose against her claim. Then came a day that would change…

—----------------------------------------------------------

The sun crested the horizon, shrouded in a soft blushing hue, contrasting the stormy clouds that loomed ominously nearby. Aemond rode Vhagar, chasing shadows and draconic dreams, unaware of the imminent collision path with tragedy.

“Lucerys!” Visenya’s brother, Lucerys Velaryon, tore through the skies riding his dragon, Arrax, defiance resonating through every flap of his wings. He was young, fierce, and willing to protect his mother’s legacy.

They met mid-air, the whispers of the firmament charged with the feud brewing below. 

“What brings a Velaryon to confront a Targaryen?” Aemond bellowed, a fierce grin etched across his face. The thrill of battle had summoned him; perhaps Fate would grant him the victory he craved.

“I will not yield to you or your brother, I stand here in honour of the Queen, Rhaenyra!” Lucerys shouted back. Behind him, the storm swelled, becoming a tempest to mirror their raging emotions.

“I have been waiting for this for a long time, my dear strong nephew.” Aemond spoke with his teasing nature, his eyepatch now removed with his sapphire eye shining in the moonlight of Storms End.

The two young dragons immediately headed for their fierce beasts, Vhagar and Arrax. With a fierce roar, Vhagar took flight, challenging Arrax with a display of power. Fire spewed forth as the dragons collided, the sky igniting around them.

“Enough Nephew!” Aemond cried out in their mother tongue, but exhilaration coursed through him and the storm clouds raged amongst him, losing sight of Luke for that moment. Cloud and fire danced in chaotic beauty as dragons unleashed their fury upon one another.

Lucerys, desperate, urged Arrax higher, staying vigilantly aware of his surroundings. “This is between us, Aemond! Fight like a man, not a beast!”

“A man?” Aemond mocked, fire swirling beneath him. “I choose the beast. Will you embrace your fate?”

The moment hung in the air, heavy with unfulfilled promises, desires unvoiced, and a storm of blood in the making. Suddenly, Aemond lunged forward, Vhagar's jaws seeking victory. Arrax couldn't evade; flames engulfed the sky, and with a chilling cry, Lucerys plummeted, joining the chaos below.

—------------------------------------------------

Upon hearing the news of her sweet, young brother’s death, Visenya’s world shattered. She could not escape the curtain call of sorrow nor the memories shared—the teasing laughter around a hearth now replaced with the chilling howl of anguish.

“Aemond, how could you?” she cried, her heart torn between love and despair as she confronted him.

He stood before her, fury and regret clashing within his gaze. “I did not seek this! The bloodlust of dragons consumed all”—his hands balled into fists—“he attacked me. You must understand.”

“I don’t wish to understand!” she shot back, tears trailing down her cheeks. “You have taken my brother. Do you know what you’ve ignited?”

“I have ignited nothing but truth, Visenya!” Aemond retorted, the air crackling between them. “We are Targaryens; we are destined for fire and blood!”

“Fire and blood,” she repeated, a bitter taste rising to her tongue. “You didn’t even see the flames consume his soul. Will it be my children next? I cannot let this continue.”

“Inaction will be their doom, just as Lucerys’s defiance led to his downfall.” Aemond stepped closer, anguish straining against the mask of confidence he wore.

Visenya turned away, lost within the storm surging in her heart. Death birthed a cycle; she would either embrace it or be consumed by it.

As she stood at the precipice of war, Visenya felt the first stirrings of the Dance of Dragons begin, a catastrophe whose burning embers loomed ominously above, threatening to set her world ablaze. 

What was once filled with love now echoed with battle cries, and the dance had begun, fueled by loyalty, passion, and heartache—a cycle that would devour them all.

(A/N) Let me know if I should do a part 2.

[watersofmars]

It's on sight.

[watersofmars]

the happy dudes or something

[watersofmars]

hello it could be a request from andrew peter where the reader returns, despite being dead, as otto and goblin. and all angst and happy. because I read that emma stone was going to appear but due to the covid she couldn't.

Not A Day Gone By // Peter Parker

*HEAVY NWH SPOILERS* duh

Summary: Request

Pairing: tasm!peter parker x reader, Andrew Garfield!Peter Parker x reader. GN - they/them pronouns used.

Word Count: 0.5k

Warnings: mentions of death… Angst + Fluff

A/n: Not proofread, this is short but I hope you like it anyways. I love Andrew just in case everyone needed reminding lmao.

(Y/N) - Your name

It must’ve been 6, no 7 years since (Y/N) had died, plummeting to their end at the hands of the Green Goblin, or Harry Osbourne as he was better known to Peter and (Y/N) - a once friend turned enemy.

But now, as Peter froze, still clinging to the Spider mask in his hands, he tried so hard to fight back the burning tears brimming at his eyes as they stood there, smiling at him, saying that everything was ok and that they loved him, just as they had on that fateful day many years ago.

“What’s wrong Peter?…Why are you crying?” they spoke, so softly that Peter could no longer hold back his tears. Peter now stood shaking, broken whilst slowly being pulled into a gentle embrace by the person he loved - the person he had never stopped loving.

(Y/N) had never seen Peter look so fragile, worried he might break; they held Peter with such gentleness that could only belong to (Y/N). But as Peter felt a soft stroke at his hair as the base of his neck, that’s when he knew for sure that not only was this real, but this was his (Y/N), only they ever touched Peter in such a way.

So many thoughts were racing through (Y/N)’s mind: why was Peter so broken, where were they, how were they alive. For a moment (Y/N) believed they were in heaven, they were sure they had been falling to their death only moments ago… but that couldn’t be possible otherwise they wouldn’t be holding their Peter right now.

But he was older, it was (Y/N)’s Peter for sure, but he was different. This Peter was visibly older and had facial hair. This Peter also had a different look in his eye; he was now a man who was clearly heartbroken and suffering.

However, as Peter pulled back from the embrace, only slightly, out of fear that (Y/N) would disappear if he looked away even for a moment, tears still streaming down his face, any questions of how this was possible vanished quickly from his mind. Right now all he could think of was how (Y/N) looked just as beautiful as the last time he saw them and suddenly the pair were being pulled into one another, in a kiss that neither of them had felt before. It was a kiss full of lust and longing, but also sadness and missing, a kiss that left them breathless yet wanting more, a kiss that said I love you without the need for words. It was just the kiss that Peter needed to finally begin mending that whole in his heart that had been left ever since (Y/N) had left. That’s when Peter reminded himself whilst staring intently into his lover's eyes, with that heart-warming smile plastered on (Y/N)’s face, not a day had gone by where he hadn’t loved (Y/N) with everything in him.This couldn’t be possible. This must all be a dream. As Peter stood in the blistering cold of New York - well a version of one - in a dark, dingy alleyway, he almost swore his eyes were deceiving him; there they were, standing right in front of him, as if a day hadn’t passed since their death.

It must’ve been 6, no 7 years since (Y/N) had died, plummeting to their end at the hands of the Green Goblin, or Harry Osbourne as he was better known to Peter and (Y/N) - a once friend turned enemy.

But now, as Peter froze, still clinging to the Spider mask in his hands, he tried so hard to fight back the burning tears brimming at his eyes as they stood there, smiling at him, saying that everything was ok and that they loved him, just as they had on that fateful day many years ago.

“What’s wrong Peter?…Why are you crying?” they spoke, so softly that Peter could no longer hold back his tears. Peter now stood shaking, broken whilst slowly being pulled into a gentle embrace by the person he loved - the person he had never stopped loving.

(Y/N) had never seen Peter look so fragile, worried he might break; they held Peter with such gentleness that could only belong to (Y/N). But as Peter felt a soft stroke at his hair as the base of his neck, that’s when he knew for sure that not only was this real, but this was his (Y/N), only they ever touched Peter in such a way.

So many thoughts were racing through (Y/N)’s mind: why was Peter so broken, where were they, how were they alive. For a moment (Y/N) believed they were in heaven, they were sure they had been falling to their death only moments ago… but that couldn’t be possible otherwise they wouldn’t be holding their Peter right now.

But he was older, it was (Y/N)’s Peter for sure, but he was different. This Peter was visibly older and had facial hair. This Peter also had a different look in his eye; he was now a man who was clearly heartbroken and suffering.

However, as Peter pulled back from the embrace, only slightly, out of fear that (Y/N) would disappear if he looked away even for a moment, tears still streaming down his face, any questions of how this was possible vanished quickly from his mind. Right now all he could think of was how (Y/N) looked just as beautiful as the last time he saw them and suddenly the pair were being pulled into one another, in a kiss that neither of them had felt before. It was a kiss full of lust and longing, but also sadness and missing, a kiss that left them breathless yet wanting more, a kiss that said I love you without the need for words. It was just the kiss that Peter needed to finally begin mending that whole in his heart that had been left ever since (Y/N) had left. That’s when Peter reminded himself whilst staring intently into his lover's eyes, with that heart-warming smile plastered on (Y/N)’s face, not a day had gone by where he hadn’t loved (Y/N) with everything in him.

[watersofmars]

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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I should wear the armor, and you the gown.

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social

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Ladies + wedding dresses

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I will do what queens do. 

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

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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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RHAENYRA TARGARYEN House of the Dragon (2022)

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[watersofmars]

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

[watersofmars]

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 ;)

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[watersofmars]

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 .

[watersofmars]

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)