AinstGirl

MASTERLIST http://ainstgirl.tumblr.com/post/173413774649/masterlist

[ainstgirl]

The Lost Stone (1/2)

Summary: based on the final battle in Infinity War, the reader has Wanda’s powers and try to destroy the mind stone.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Contain Infinity War spoilers (nothing important), but if you haven’t seen the movie better read it later.

MASTERLIST

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[ainstgirl]

MASTERLIST

 Chris Evans x Reader 

A picture can change your life:  Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6 , Part 7  , Part 8 , Part 9, Part 10 , Part 11 , Part 12 , Part 13 , Part 14. (COMPLETE)

The Stranger at the bar: Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 (Complete)

THE PUBLICIST Part 1 Part 2 (complete)

Finding Happines (complete)  Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

LOCKED IN THE ELEVATOR WITH A STRANGER (ONE-SHOT)

Quarentine With Chris #1 -The One Where It’s His Time To Cook    

Quarentine With Chris #2 - The One When You Go For A Run  

Quarentine With Chris #3 - The One When You Fall Asleep

Quarentine With Chris #4 - The One When You Dance

I Think You Got The Wrong House

Saved by a stranger 

Let me explain 

Who is the biggest Disney fan?

Did we had a fight last night?

I don’t want you to go

There’s been an accident (imagine)

Don’t you think she is too little  to get the message behind Aladdin?

Babe, it’s me (imagine)

I hate to see you go (imagine)

Private Life (imagine)

Tell me that you love him (imagine)

I can’t do this anymore

Steve Rogers x Reader 

Infinity War Battle (One-Shot) 

The Lost Stone: Part 1 Part 2 (COMPLETE)

The Sparrow’s Secret: Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7  (COMPLETE)

Captain America series: The Winter Soldier Part 1 , Part 2. (COMPLETE)

Captain America series: Civil War: Part 1 , Part 2.  (COMPLETE)

Infinity War (Captain America series) Part 1, Part 2   (COMPLETE)

Thanos’s daughter: Part 1, Part 2  (COMPLETE)

The Soldier and his Captain Part 1, Part 2, Par 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6  (COMPLETE)

We are in the ENDGAME Part 1 , Part 2  (COMPLETE)

The Soul Stone (Endgame spoilers) One-shot 

The way he looks at you (imagine)

You cant be dead (imagine)

Bucky Barnes x Reader 

The Sunsets in Wakanda (One-Shot)

You should have left (imagine)

The rumours are true (Imagine)

I miss you (imagine) 

[ainstgirl]

THANOS’S DAUGHTER (2/2)

Summary: You are Thanos’s daughter , after finding out what Thanos had planned you decide that you can’t be by his side, you have to avoid it and for that you need the help of a certain Captain. (based on infinity war)

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader

PART 1

It was five o'clock in the morning when your stomach reminds you that you have not eaten anything all day. so you decide to pay a visit to the kitchen. You were making a sandwich when a voice makes you jump. “can you make me one?” Steve says. “shit… you scare me”  you say trying to calm your breathing. “i thought you were well trained” Steve sits next to you with a smile on his face. “yeahh not at 5 a.m” “so…?” he says raising an eyebrow. “what?” you ask confused. “can you make me one?” He answers looking at your sandwich. “I think Captain America can make a sandwich on his own” Now it is you who raises an eyebrow. “and what about Steve Rogers?” Steve was biting his lip which makes your eyes focus on his lips. “I suppose that with him I can share it, it is already the second one that I eat anyway” you say looking away. “I feel honored” he says putting a hand on his chest. “you should” you say smiling “you can’t sleep?” you say seeing his tired eyes. “Too many things to think about to sleep” he says before drinking a glass of water. “I can understand that” “i’m sorry about before…if I have overstepped” when he sees your confusion  he adds “when I’ve held your hand… I should not have done it” “No, I'ts okay… It’s just that I’m not used to recive signs of affection that’s it” you say putting your hand on top of his, He looks at your eyes intensely and again you feel a tingling in your stomach. both you stay in that position for too long, Steve seems to be deciding something, you do not know what it will be but he gets a little closer to you when an alarm starts to sound. “What’s happening?” you ask. “nothing good” he answers before you hear an explosion. You both look at each other before running for your weapons. your heart beats very fast, You run into your room and take your weapons, when you get out everyone is ready for the battle.

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[ainstgirl]

THE LOST STONE (2/2)

Summary: based on the final battle in Infinity War, the reader has Wanda’s powers and try to destroy the mind stone.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Contain Infinity War spoilers (nothing important), but if you haven’t seen the movie better read it later.

PART 1

MASTERLIST

Keep reading

[mnxxlove]

This just confirmed me that we, the fans, make better content. THE MCU COULD NEVER.

REVIEW WITH SPOILERS

OF BOTH CHAPTERS !

Infinity war is great but this is absolutely insane. Not kidding.

-The storyline is absolutely fantastic, and so well done! I got a lot of chills in the 1st chapter. And the sassiness from it, it kind of reminded me from the old times, I’m so emotional ha ha. God, and there was a lot of sassiness. I loved the jokes! TBH I would’ve liked her to be more involved with Rhody, Bruce, or even Tony and Peter at the ending. But it’s completely fine and understandable why you didn’t. So it’s fine. I completely loved it!

-Steve and “her” were completely lovely! And I love the fact that you described her, and her morals. It made me understand how clever, strong, loyal and powerful the character is. Those stevebucky moments were gooold btw!

💯

[ainstgirl]

Thanos’s daughter (1/2)

Summary: You are Thanos’s daughter , after finding out what Thanos had planned you decide that you can’t be by his side, you have to avoid it and for that you need the help of a certain Captain. (based on infinity war)

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader

You couldn’t stay by his side after knowing what he planned to do, you just couldn’t do it. you had to stop him but you couldn’t do it alone, you needed help. That’s why you were in front of a motel, looking for help. You take a deep breath before entering. You go straight to door number 12, you know exactly who you are looking for and where to find him. You knock on the door twice and you hear the footsteps approaching the door, suddenly your heartbeat is racing, this was already your plan B, you had no other plan. When he opens the door you see the surprise in his eyes. “Can i help you?” he asks confussed. “I need to talk with you” you say without giving more explanations. “I think you’ve got the wrong door” he says looking at both sides of the corridor. His appearance is not like the one you had seen in photos, he was careless, with a beard to hide his identity although it didn’t help much. And his blue eyes … in the photos you could see hope is his eyes, now he has the look of a man who has has lost any abyss of hope. “Do you really think a simple beard will hide your identity Steve Rogers?” you say with irony.

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[ainstgirl]

The Sparrow's Secret (1)

Summary: The reader had too much blood on his hands and that’s why she joined the avengers, so she could use her powers to save lives instead of killing them. But nobody could know about her past, especially Steve, who has become the love of his life. 

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: It may contain some strong words and violence.

Gifs aren’t mine

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[ainstgirl]

The Sunsets in Wakanda (One -Shot)

Summary: based in the final battle on Infinity War

Pairing(s): Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Contains Infinity War spoilers if you haven’t seen the movie better read it later.

The sunsets in Wakanda never cease to amaze you, you and Bucky never miss  them, every day you sat on the lakeside and enjoyed the view. That’s how you met him, both looking for a place to be alone. Neither of you had been born in Wakanda but it had become your home. T'challa had let you stay in Wakanda after you saved his life and well, everyone knew the story of the white wolf.

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[star-girl69]

We Do Not Wilt - Chapter Three - We Do Not Dim

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!FemOC

a/n: i decided to be nice and post the next chapter early bc i felt bad the last one had no daemon in it. rest assured, this one is quite daemon-centric i hope you all enjoy!

warnings: some cursing, usual westeros stuff, some fighting- but it’s not very graphic- mentions of a sword, mentions of death

—-

Alicent’s heel’s clicked in time with May’s as they walked down the hallway. Hands clasped together, chins held high. Powerful. A lord straying from the party bowed as they passed, eyes wide. The exact reaction they were hoping for.

Their dresses were matching, the same brilliant shade of green with gold stitching. The dresses was quite tight at the waist, with the aid of corsets.The sleeve’s were long, traditional Westerosi style. Their hair was done the same way, intricate braids in a half-up half-down style.

They looked like Queens. Goddesses. They looked worthy of everything their father had given them.

May and Alicent stopped at the open doors. Arm’s looping together, they stood in the doorway for just a moment. May didn’t bother to listen to the speech they had just interrupted.

Viserys stopped mid-sentence as he took notice. The hall filled with deadly whispers, everyone turning to follow the king’s eye-line.

His face was shock. Something else May couldn’t decipher.

The two stood tall in front of all those judging faces, poisonous whispers. Queen Alicent and Lady May were beautiful and powerful. They would not wilt. They were Hightowers.

Keeping their arms looped together, they each grabbed one end of their skirts, lifting it to glide effortlessly down the stairs in perfect tandem.

Everyone stood as they walked toward the end of the hall, they commanded respect. The Hightowers invited to the feast smiled approvingly as both women nodded when they passed.

The beacon on the Hightower. Do you know what color it glows when Oldtown calls it’s banners to war?

Green.

They both circled around the table, stopping next to Alicent’s chair. Daemon had smirked when they passed. He loved his wife more with each passing day. The fire of a dragon burned inside her, and he was proud to have tamed her.

“Congratulations, stepdaughter.” Alicent’s lips were tight.

“Congratulations, Princess Rhaenyra.” May’s smile was genuine, but slightly forced.

“What a blessing this is.”

“We look forward to the grand festivities.” May let go of Alicent’s arm, stepping around Viserys to press a kiss to his cheek at the same time Alicent did.

“Husband,”

“Good-brother,”

May returned to her place beside Daemon. His arm curled around the back of her thighs, tugging her a bit closer.

Viserys was at a loss.

“Please be seated.” He turned to his new hand, Ser Lyonel Harwin. “Where was I?” He whispered.

“The joining of the two houses, Your Grace,” He provided and Viserys nodded. He continued.

“What have you done, my lady wife?” Daemon leaned over to whisper in May’s ear. She kept her gaze forward.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, lord husband.” The titles were fake. The couple never used them properly. Being called that reminded Daemon too much of his “Bronze Bitch”. But May was on a power trip. To command a room like that- exhilarating. Daemon bit back a groan.

“You wish to insult me? At the table? You have no manners, Lady May.”

“Oh, I do, Daemon. I just only use them when I see fit.” She could practically hear his smile. He was entranced with her, of course, and May loved the feeling of being wanted. Of being loved.

Drums started, and May watched the happy couple with a pleasant smile on her face. It ended without much to say, and Alicent stood up, walking around the table. She let a hand drift along the back of May’s chair, who stood up quickly to join her sister.

Their lord uncle stood as the two approached.

“Your Grace, My Lady,” He greeted with a slight bow.

“We thank you for coming, Uncle,” Alicent greeted, looping her arm through May’s as they always did.

“Know that Oldtown stands with you,” His eyes flicked to his wife, who came to stand beside him.“I had worried you two might wither, given leave of your father’s shadow.”

The two women shot each other a look.

“We are Hightower’s, Uncle.” Alicent smiled, almost rolling her eyes playfully.

“And Hightower’s do not wilt.” May finished. She smiled as well, something like a promise hidden behind it. Something like a threat.

—-

After greeting the Hightowers and a few other prominent families, the two women took to their seats and their dinner. The hall thundered with the sound of drums, and the dance floor filled quickly. May sat beside Daemon, simply enjoying her dinner.

“In the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes.” May looked up, seeing a man she did not recognize stare at her and Daemon. He shot a look to May, looking just as confused. “Even Targaryens.” The man hissed. May set her fork down, and Daemon turned back to him.

“Who are you?”

“Ser Gerold Royce of Runestone.”

“And?” Daemon asked again. May could feel Alicent and Viserys’ stare. May could feel Ser Gerold’s stare. Threatening.

Ser Gerold weighed his options. He made for the steps, walking closer to the two of them.

“I am cousin to your late lady wife.” He hissed, and it clicked. May knew what was happening.

Daemon fought the urge to laugh.

“Ser Gerold, the Lady Rhea died a year ago. I already paid my respects, it was a tragic accident.”

“You know better than anyone, it was no accident.” May could see the disgust in his eyes.

“Are you confessing some guilt, Ser Gerold?” Dameon was having fun with this, May could tell.

“I am making an accusation.” Daemon nodded, stare hard and glaring.

“You know, in King’s Landing, men are made to answer for their slanders. Even old bronze cunts like you.” Ser Gerold scoffed. His eyes flicked to May.

“Then, you wish to disgrace her farther, by marrying that-“ He stopped. “So soon after?” Alicent stood, not making a sound. She circled over to stand behind May, who’s chair was slightly titled to see her husband better, and therefore Ser Gerold. Alicent placed a hand on May’s shoulder, and May reached up to cover it with her own.

Alicent behind her was a threat in-and-of itself. She was queen, she was powerful. She could send him to the prison cells, take away his title. She was cunning. Convince enough people, convince the king, she could do almost anything.

Daemon would kill him proudly, then display his head on a spike for all to see.

“Please, Ser Gerold. That what? Whore, maybe?Hightower Bitch, perhaps? I assure you, my lovely wife is none of those things.” Ser Gerolds eyes flicked to May.

“I meant nothing by it, my lady. A stumble in words, simply.” May nodded, keeping a tight smile on her face. It was a lie, of course. But sometimes lies are easier to keep than the truth.

“Ser Gerold,” Daemon started. “If you even think about my wife again, I will kill you.” Finally, a spark of fear in his eyes. He turned and walked away swiftly, with a quick bow beforehand. May and Alicent watched his back as he disappeared into the crowd.

“Are you all right, sister?”

“Perfectly fine, thank you, Alicent.” Alicent squeezed May’s shoulder, and May squeezed her hand with May’s own. Her arm retreated, and she headed back to her seat.

Daemon grabbed May’s chair, roughly tugging her closer. He put an arm round her waist, scowling.

“He dares to insult you?” Daemon is staring forward, eyes cloudy with anger.

“It’s alright, Daemon. I am unharmed. Body and mind. His intended words do not hurt me. He did not hit me. No harm has come to me, I promise.” He turned towards May, his anger dissipating. His eyes scan over her.

“Say the word, and I will feed him to Caraxes.” May smiled.

Some part of May wanted to whisper it. Wanted to tell him. Just to feel the power she had. Someone upset her, Daemon would kill them for her instantly. And come back to their warm bed each night. He loved her, and she loved him. Daemon’s love ran deep. He was possessive, she knew this in marrying him, but she enjoyed the protection and attention it gave her. Daemon could not stand to be out of her presence for long, and Lady May loved to feel wanted. Loved to be loved. And Daemon was more than happy to give it to her, to love her, die for her, kill for her.

“No, husband. Let’s enjoy the festivities.” He smiled at her.

“Of course, my love.”

—-

May was dancing when she heard the screams. They were close, right beside her even. The crowd thickened, everyone pushing and shoving. A riot.

“May! May!” She could hear Alicent’s shrill screams even from across the hall. Fear froze in her veins like ice, like the legends of ice dragons beyond.

Her grip around Daemon tightened, arms winding around his neck. She knew her husband would protect her. She put her face into the crook of his neck, not eager to see the bloodshed. She knew that sometimes it was necessary, but she didn’t fancy to see it now. Especially when she hadn’t finished her dinner.

“Daemon,” She said, voice almost a whimper. Otto had not taught his daughters any self defense, not put it into their lessons. If her and Daemon were separated, May was helpless.

Daemon pulled her closer, shushed her, assessed the room. Suddenly, Lady May’s legs were pulled out from under her, and she wrapped them around her husbands waist. She faintly registered the sound of flesh hitting flesh, bones cracking as Daemon’s fist collided with noses, cheekbones, jaws. One arm circled under her shoulder, pressing against the back of her head, protecting her.

She heard the commotion getting farther away, the sound of feet tapping on stone stairs. Daemon had made it through the crowd. He set her down, where Alicent waited to tuck May into her arms. Her face was heavy with tears.

“I thought- thought you were-“ Alicent breathed.

“I know, Alicent, I know,” May tried to comfort her sister. She felt a few of her own tears leave her eyes. She heard the shouts for Rhaenyra from the king and the fighting from the crowd. She heard the sound of metal, steel, exiting it’s holding. Daemon’s sword. May lifted her head from Alicent’s neck, looking towards her husband. He faces the crowd with no fear, sword out, ready to protect his wife and the queen. Viserys came up behind you, a hand on both yours and Alicent’s shoulders.

The fighting stopped, Rhaenyra was returned by Ser Harwin, having picked her up and taken her away as Daemon had done with May.

“Rhaenyra,” Her father whispered, pressing her into a tight hug. The hall started clearing out. But was then filled by the sound of Laenor’s cries. It was no secret that he had loved Ser Joffrey. May did not care, she thought that everyone should love who they love. She knew others did not think that way, and she wondered if Ser Joffrey had perished as a sign to Laenor and people like him. A message. She shivered at the thought. What evil.

—-

The night was cold, and May found herself tugging her shawl tighter around her. Her and Alicent came upon the gardens by the Weirwood tree. See Criston was there, on his knees.

May and Alicent didn’t exactly agree with what he had done, but they both agreed he was a good ally to have.

So, the sword pointed at his heart was an inconvenience.

“Ser Criston,” Alicent started. He looked up.

—-

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 2: A Meeting

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 (Coming Soon!)

/

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King’s Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn’t expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

THANK YOU TO THE AMAZING @elaan21​ FOR THE HIGH VALYRIAN TRANSLATIONS - YOU ARE AWESOME AND UNREAL.

Um, I’m sorry for the person I’ve become writing this. Please be warned - Daemon is a feral perv simp. It’s probably NSFW, but given he doesn’t actually do anything, just has weird AF thoughts, I didn’t tag it as such above. Enjoy!

Well - when he said he was looking for something new, he wasn’t expecting it to smack him clean across the fucking jaw quite so suddenly as this.

He had spent the previous few days idly wandering the halls, lost in thought as he considered all that had transpired between him and Rhaenyra, when he catches the metallic glint of a finely-polished breastplate in the sun. Squinting, he looks across the way to see the staid figure of that cunt Ser Cole, Crispin or Colin or whatever his name was. Beating in a knight’s head at a royal wedding wasn’t enough to get the man exiled? He is standing at the entrance to the garden, staring watchfully in at its occupants, and Daemon can hear the sounds of light chatter and laughter. What the fuck…?

Daemon is striding toward the Kingsguard before common sense can rein him in. “Still here, Cole?” he asks, enjoying the look of thinly-veiled vehemence on the Stormlander’s visage. “I’d have thought you’d be an exile after the little stunt you pulled at our dear Rhaenyra’s wedding.” He relishes in the further lines of tension that spread across his visage, knowing of the boy’s long-held desire for his eldest niece - he wonders if she’d bothered to let him into her cunt, or if he was still pining pathetically. He refuses to consider the potential that such a thing would make them more similar than different.

“Her Grace was charitable enough to advocate for my continued presence, Your Highness,” he responds through clenched teeth. “Unlike some, I was seen to have some use yet.” Daemon cannot help it - he laughs, impressed and infuriated and enraged by this juvenile upstart from some little-known region of Westeros. Who does he think he is?

“And indeed you are,” he replies merrily, amused by the spirit of this nobody, this Ser Caspian from House Cole. “A fine guard - of a tree.”

“I am the Princess’s sworn shield,” Cole retorts hotly before catching himself, reining himself in, exhaling a breath and returning to that vacant, accommodating stance that had first tickled Daemon with enough amusement that he felt it worth venturing over to have fun.

“How interesting,” he ponders, stepping closer to the man, forcing him to look up into his line of sight, an exercise of dominance if there ever was one. “I seem to recall you had sworn yourself to the older one, not the younger, for Rhaenyra is safely up in her chambers now.” For whom else could Ser Callen mean if not you, his younger niece?

In three days, he had not seen you yet, always an excuse presented via messenger to the expectant ears of the King at mealtimes. Tutoring, minding your nephews and littlest brothers, or simply nowhere to be found - a whisper on the wind, a person in name only. If it were not for the frequent references to you made in casual conversation across the Keep, he would think you did not exist.

“Allegiances change,” Cole counters, smiling tensely. Daemon quirks a brow at the admission, not having expected such a sentimental acknowledgement from the knight. A change of loyalty, eh? Well, he shall have to see what it is that has turned Caradoc’s head so. Stepping away from the guard with a mocking little twist of the lips, he treads forward into the garden.

What had long been a place of silent contemplation was now alight with chatter; a group of young ladies all sat about on laid-out furs, giggling over grapes and sweet-wine, an endearing display of girlish delight that would have made any other man smile at the scene before him - but Daemon is not other men. Staring upon the scene, he wonders darkly at just how many of them he could persuade to let him slip a hand into their smallclothes, to pry apart their coltish thighs, to wet his cock on their maiden’s blood and hear them scream. He snorts at the thought - knowing King’s Landing, he’d wager at least half of these girls had already trysted with some man or another.

He rolls his eyes at the sight of that crotchety old Septa - Marlow, was it? - the very same wretch to have ruled Rhaenyra’s childhood household with an iron fist and stern voice, sitting undercover with a silver-haired girl. At first, he thinks this is his niece; but upon looking at her closer, he sees the Hightower whore pasted over Valyrian colouring, limbs too long and spindly, features not as comely as the little girl’s had promised to be, and he wrinkles his nose slightly when he realises this must be the smaller one. He cannot think of her name, and nor does he care to know it. Casting his eye across the landscape, he frowns as he fails to see the form of a second silver-haired girl.

“Your Highness!” Ah, fuck. The old sow has seen me. The hag’s eyes are upon him disapprovingly, and it pleases him wryly that he can at least count upon her to remain unchanged by time; Septa Marlow had never liked him, had constantly reproved Rhaenyra for being taken in by his gifts, his attentions, his flattery. He supposes she was right to be so concerned for her naïve charge. “You have returned.”

“Septa,” he says, bowing to her, though he is sure the derisiveness of the movement is not lost upon her - there it is - her eyes narrow, lips pursing as she glares at him disfavourably. The young one tracks the interaction with a tilt to her head, wondering just who had come to disturb the peace of the afternoon. “It is truly a delight to see you once again.” Old cunt.

“Hm,” huffs the woman, and she turns back to the young girl before her. No doubt proselytising about the dangers of letting a craven such as him see so much as a slip of an ankle beneath her skirts. Once it is clear that is all he will get out of the old bitch, he wanders further into the garden, smirking in an affectation of gentility as the girls whisper to themselves, staring at him, likely plotting their way into his line of sight.

As he passes the shade of the tree, he receives his first glimpse of you in ten years.

You are laid outstretched on the bare grass in a pretty summer gown of pale violet, legs folded at the ankle beneath your skirts (he can see the limbs twine through the silken fabric), your wild pale hair spilling carelessly in a halo about your head, your eyes closed and your smile tipped up to the warming sun. Your once-cherubic face has lengthened, defined, and he tracks the familiar slope of your nose, the arch of newly-unveiled cheekbones and plumped lips, a red-mouthed nymphet of a girl become a woman in his absence. Seven fucking hells. He cannot stop himself from studying you, tracing the curve of your bared neck - and why is the sight so fucking obscene, gods help him - the spill of your breasts encased (regrettably) in the cut of your gown and the way your pale little hands clasp together in chaste repose under your bust, highlighting the blooming of your body.

The sight exhilarates him - it devastates him. For who the fuck was this fey being, this Maiden come to life, this princess-shaped doe-eyed dream of a girl? Certainly not the child he had left behind, and he is utterly annoyed with himself at having expected some flat-chested, androgynous approximation of that little girl grown up.

He calls your name, and your startled head whips to face him directly, eyes opening and widening in shock and confusion, a quizzical furrowing of brows disturbing the peace that had smoothed your expression only moments before. You sit up further as he advances towards you, making no move to leap up from your place situated below him, a place for gullible girls with pillow-soft lips and pink little tongues held out in prayer, begging to lap up his milk - but you only stare up at him, an utter lack of comprehension on your face, and it is then that he knows, as only a man who had stolen the virtue of half the ingenues now assuredly selling their wares in the Street of Silk could know. How could he have stayed away for so long, when this unspoiled prize (and oh, he can tell you are fresh) awaited?

“Hello, sweetling,” he says, crouching down beside you, and he feels a vicious sense of satisfaction when your brows uncurl, wet posy petals unfurling into an open-mouthed expression of awareness as you recognise the sound of him, take in the ashen hue of his hair and the long-forgotten features that comprise a familiar face.

“Uncle Daemon?” You ask softly, and he has to fight his cock’s urge to spring up at such a pretty entreaty. Funny, he muses darkly, how it doesn’t rise when I want it to, but one breathy question from his baby niece, his sweetest girl, and it is prepared to cut through steel. He feels the beginnings of self-reproach stir as he takes in the slow-dawning smile upon your face, the look of a little girl who’s favourite long-distant uncle has finally come home. “I did not know you had returned!”

He shifts to sit before you properly, gaze roving over you, taking in the tumble of Valyrian-white spilling from your crown, the dusky lavender-bruise of your eyelids, the deep violet of your eyes. He wonders at the assertion that you did not know of his presence, for he is sure that it is all that the city has been gossiping of since his homecoming.

“I did not announce my arrival,” is what he chooses to reply with. There is something yearning and haunted in that saccharine stare of yours, he thinks, a babe with her arms held out, wailing at the world as it leaves her abandoned in the crib. He wonders if you have been as terribly isolated as he has been all these years, with naught to yourself but a sister and father with their own new families and an old Septa to punish your desire before it is even allowed to spring into fruition.

“You have been gone for so long, Uncle,” you say, kitten-eyes begging for the answers to an unknowable question. Why did you leave? Why are you back? Why were you gone so long? What does it all mean?

“It seems I have,” Daemon returns, his scrutiny once more falling to the figure below the face, the hint of a collarbone as it peeks out from under an irritatingly high neckline, the darling swell of tits playing at the game of adulthood before they have been invited to the gathering, the flare of hips shrouded in damnable silks and satins. “You were a little girl when I left, and look at you now – a woman grown!”

The turn of conversation makes you uncomfortable; he can see it in the way your shoulders stiffen and your spine straightens ever-so-slightly, in the way you break eye contact with him, in the pretty peevish set of your rosebud mouth. “You know, then? What I have been asked by father?” In this, he sees Rhaenyra – the unwillingness to hedge, the direct line of pursuit – though the uneasiness at his inquiry is a new phenomenon. He had never had to coax out a maiden for too long, the allure of his exterior qualities and his Princely title and his roguish charm making even the most pious of virgins a willing whore without much work. He had certainly never had to lead Rhaenyra much, for she was all too eager to follow him to the darkness.

“He mentioned it,” Daemon responds, laughing at the twitch your eye makes at the knowledge; it is a delightful idiosyncrasy that makes you more real, less of a ghostly spectre come to haunt him for the wrongs of the past. “Why, pet – not a fan of being courted?”

You sigh, looking down, twisting your hands in the skirts of your dress, the way you did as a child. “When you phrase it such, it sounds – romantic,” you sigh, eyes fixed on some minute detail past his head, and he is struck by the melancholy in your voice. “But these men do not want me – they want an idea of me, a Targaryen bride with pale hair and Valyrian blood to give them children they will make little effort to raise, to clasp onto and show off at feasts and balls as though possessing me is somehow meaningful. They do not see me.”

It is here your voice cuts off strangely, and he wishes it hadn’t, enthralled by the mournful monologue that paints a picture of the loneliest girl in King’s Landing. It is an eerie echo of a conversation taken place a decade prior, though the lead role lacks the infantile indignation and petulant pouting of the previous star. He finds himself retracing those steps, almost without realising.

“Idīnnon dēmalio syt verdilla mērī issa. Dīnakson toliot, gaoso gaomagon kostas,” he murmurs testing, prodding, waiting for what might result from his efforts. Marriage is only a political arrangement. Once you are wed, you can do as you like. The words make your cheeks flush fetchingly and your brow wrinkle once more, glancing back at him apprehensively. Pretty pink girl with a pretty pink blush; how far down does it spread? You swallow; pause; look away, wrestling with a thought; you peep back up at him.

“Se skorverdon ūja avy kirimves mazuerdilza?” You respond, and the words of their Mother Tongue falling from your lips requires him to ruthlessly force back the wave of awakening below his belt once more. And how much joy did this bring you? Having been the only language you spoke as a young child, as all the Targaryen children had spoken from the cradle, it is a relief to hear it from you again, a reminder that the years had not washed away all that is familiar. “Aōhan ābrazȳryz buqilē, riñar daor, merpī īles… Tolī jaelan.” A wife you hated, no children, you were lonely… I want more. He grimaces at the mention of his bronze bitch.

“What is it you want, then?” He asks, switching back to the Common Tongue, the corner of his mouth already contorting in anticipation of the naïve response. True love, a happily ever after… We don’t get to have happy endings, sweetling.

“I want someone who loves me,” you reply, pressing on crossly at the huff of laughter that escapes him. “I never said I would love him back!” The clarification surprises him – it is not exactly what he had been expecting. He tips his head consideringly at you, inviting you to continue.

You hesitate for a moment. “I… They say my father loved my mother. I believe it, but-” You swallow, the corners of your mouth turning down as you mull over your words. “They say he had a choice, when baby Baelon was born; that he could cut her open to get the babe out, but that it would mean her certain death.” Gods above, where in the Seven hells had you learned that piece of information? Viserys had kept the circumstances of Aemma’s death under tight wraps, never even deigning to mention it to his own brother; it was pure happenstance that one of the maids he enjoyed fucking at the time had been present on the unfortunate day.

“I do not think I could ever choose my own life over my child’s – but they say he did not even ask her, that he just… held her down while they – How could I ever trust a man to raise the babe I bore him, if he would be willing to butcher his own wife in her childbed?” Your eyes glisten at the confession. He watches as you clench your eyes tight, set your jaw and exhale a few shuddery breaths. When your eyes open, they are no longer tear-bright, and he suddenly admires you for it, for the way you so ruthlessly suppressed weakness. He wonders how often you have been made to force back your own pain for the good of his family.

“What happened to your mother was a terrible tragedy, sweetling,” he hums soothingly, reaching forward to finally grip your small, pale hand in his. It is cold, and dwarfed entirely in his own. “But you cannot live in fear forever.” You make to pull your hand away, and he closes his grip tighter upon it, coercing you to look up at him properly.

“When hope is gone, what choice left is there but fear?” It is a whisper, carried on the breeze, and the thinly-veiled misery pains him in the chest. I thought that beating thing was black and dead by now, he thinks to himself. You shake your head, smile – the picture of the melancholy maiden fades from view as you affect an appearance of energy once more, gentle and muted as it is. “I know my father loved my mother, and so love is no guarantee of loyalty; but it would be helpful, I think.”

“You see love and loyalty as intertwined then, pet?” He cannot help but to ask, intrigued by the notion proposed by this slip of a girl, his little niece with the curves of a gold-gilded whore and the thousand-year gaze of an ancient, arcane being.

“Do you not? You cannot have one without the other. Loyalty without love makes for an easy traitor; and love without loyalty makes for an unhappy marriage.” He laughs again at the latter part of your pronouncement – a sweet, trusting little filly waiting to be broken in.

“There are many ways to love someone, princess,” he ogles you shamelessly, savouring the affectation of outraged bewilderment painting your countenance. “I imagine you’ll find few of them in the marriage bed.” He waits for you to ask him – to ask him what he means, to ask him to explain, to teach you, show you –

You instead pull your hand back, and it seems you have taken all the warmth from his palm with you. “I dislike your implication, Uncle,” you say stiffly, returning your hand to your lap, nestling between your thighs to retain the heat. Fuck.

“I meant nothing by it, gevivys,” he responds soothingly, watching the blush daub the planes of your throat, not quite travelling up to decorate your cheeks. Beauty. It is an apt title – an underwhelming one, even.

“You never do,” you sigh. Daemon lets the conversation lull, deciding to instead look upon the little revelation before him. You are an interesting puzzle; a strange contradiction of a girl, whose buttermilk skin and pert teats and spit-shine lips should herald as a welcome to sample the delights hidden by the fabric of your lovely little dress, and whose decorum in the face of the gentle compulsion he had so often utilised to get fetching girls to strip bare for him and show off their equally-as-fetching cunts had instead left him lacking. The body of a slut and the mind of a scholar, all wrapped up in wide eyes and honey-sweet words and wild hair the shade of Old Valyria. Of home.

Your attention is diverted by the squeals of a dark-haired boy as he bowls his way to you, throwing himself across your lap with an exultant cry of your name. From the look of him, it is Rhaenyra’s second son Lucerys. Having grown somewhat accustomed to learning the schedules of the lives around him, it baffles him somewhat that the boy is not at his daily lessons, though he knew from talk that the child frequently enjoyed spending time with his little niece. It seemed as though he remained still in the garden, despite the lessons he was meant to have. Had Laenor not intended to come here and fetch the boy as he had in days prior?

Daemon looks up, and he is surprised to see the forbidding expression upon Laenor’s face as he strides over to you and the boy, reaching a hand down to you and arranging his appearance into something a little less – well, violent. You take it, bewildered, allowing your good-brother to tug you gently from the ground beside him, already grabbing at the boy’s hand to stop him running off. Maiden, Stranger and now Mother, too, he muses. Which of the Seven will you take the form of next?

“Would you take Luke off to the training yards, sister?” Laenor begs kindly of you, and Daemon can see a look of vague incomprehension cross your face at the question. At least you sense the oddity, too. Laenor’s head turns down to where he sits, and it is then that it dawns on him that his nephew-by-marriage was very possibly watching him stare at his baby niece’s tits for a time that is sure to be longer than he could claim plausible deniability of. Fuck.

“Of course, Laenor,” you reply sweetly, biddably, and Daemon cannot help but wonder what else you might comply with if gently persuaded. He glances up at you from where he sits still upon the ground, smirking playfully as your gaze turns to him.

“It seems we must part for now, Princess,” he tells you.

“It does,” you respond politely, and it is clear to see he has unnerved you; the notion sends a trail of perverse excitement through him. He wonders what other reactions he might prompt out of you with gentle teasing. “I am glad you are back, Uncle.” The words are honest, free of artifice, and he gazes upon you with surprise – you may well be the only individual in the entire city who would say such a thing and genuinely mean it.

When you make to depart, he calls you back. “What – no goodbye kiss for your beloved uncle?” He taunts you, hoping he will bait you into action. He determinedly ignores Laenor’s huff from above him, eyes trained on you as you swallow with trepidation, before quickly making the short few steps back to him.

You crouch beside him, and he turns his head to yours as you free yourself from the tangle of skirts. Up close, he can see each lash that frames your eyes, the hairs that sprout from your brows, the slick cherry bloom of your mouth. A whisper-sweet gather of plump, plush fruit he wanted – needed – to take a bite from. Would you let me, little girl? He wonders. You gasp, a short little breath of surprise, and lurch away lightly at the closeness. A brave little thing, you return to him, pressing those precious petal-soft lips to the skin of his cheek, covered breasts involuntarily pressing against his arm. Fucking hells.

“Sȳro bantys, kepus,” you whisper, before you depart, bundling the boy up in your capable little hands, murmuring what approximates a farewell to the other occupants of the garden – and when the hells did he forget those – not even deigning to look back as you depart, the Cole cunt falling into formation behind you. Good evening, uncle, in that light little accent of yours, an unintended provocation of his basest desires.

“Care to explain – well, all of that?” Laenor hisses. Right. He’d forgotten again. Daemon pushes himself off the ground, brushing the grass off his arse, deliberately stalling while he thought of a response that wasn’t what the fuck how the fuck when the fuck and why.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he responds idly, slyly, glancing over at the man.

“No!” his good-nephew snaps, leaning forward into his space. He is taken aback by the vehemence in his tone, uncharacteristic of the bumbling, affable Velaryon scion. “You don’t get to do this to her, not this one, not this time,” he bites through bared teeth, the promise of vengeance in his eye at the prospect of Daemon daring to lay hands on his young charge.

“Whatever do you think I plan to do to her?” Daemon laughs, wondering at the answer himself. Whatever would you let him do to you? Laenor sighs, steps back; the girls in the garden are looking nervously over at the exchange, a flurry of whispers and intrigued gossip surely flowing from ear to ear.

“Look,” he mutters lowly, lightly nudging him to walk alongside him as they make for the garden’s entry. “She’s not one of your whores, Daemon; she’s just a girl. She’s not the type to play your twisted little games, so leave her be - please.” He is warmed by the defence of your good-brother, an admission of a rapport of familiarity and care that is sure to have flourished since the man’s entrance into the family some years ago.

“What makes you think I have any intention of – how did you put it – playing games with her?” He responds, and perhaps, if he were a little less honest with himself, he would be affronted by the manner in which Laenor had jumped straight to an accusation; but Lord Fleabottom’s reputation is inescapable, even after a decade of absence. “Perhaps my objective is pure and wholesome, an absent uncle reuniting with his little niece.”

“Right,” Laenor snorts, shaking his head as he folds his hands behind his back. “You’re far more likely to fall in with her horde of suitors than to believably claim familial interest, my Prince.”

And there’s a thought. It irritates him that Laenor of all people is the one to introduce the notion. And why should he not? Viserys has been pressuring him to seek a wife since the untimely death of his bronze bitch, going so far as to give him leave to cloak a highborn Pentoshi girl in red and black, not that he’d sully his bloodline with spicemonger’s ilk. If his brother was truly that desperate for him to wed, why ever would he not grant leave to pursue the best – nay, the only – possible bride for a Prince of House Targaryen? He can see it now – your sweet little face peering up at him, marked with his blood, lip dripping red with the pledge of entangling their souls together in savage Valyrian custom; your pretty little eyes wide with maidenly shock as he breaches your untried cunt, tight and pulsing and hotwetwarm, binding you to him irrevocably; the slow waddling of your gait as you round with child, his child, his sweetest babe bringing forth life of her own, belly ripe with seed and leaking his spend – 

“Laenor,” he says slowly, eyes glinting as his lips upturn in a wide grin, “I do believe you have the best ideas.”

/

Read the story on AO3 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/105793659

/

Taglist (😭 thank you!):

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[earthling55]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Spilt Blood

The taste of copper fills my mouth as another blow strikes me.

I won’t be able to show my face for weeks after this, he’s making certain of that.

I’ll be stuck in here, even more a prisoner than I already am.

‘Is this what you do!?’ He screeches at me, vile breath suffocating my lungs as he crowds my face.

‘Go and open your legs for just anyone?!’

‘I’ll ask you one more time,’ his voice is deadly, the poison in it, or spit, at this point I can’t really tell the difference, hitting me each time he speaks. I imagine it’s staining me, turning my pale skin dark with its grime until there’s no part of me left untouched.

‘Whose cloak is this?!’

His yelling rings in my ear. I make no move, no notice to say that I’ve heard him. It’s a mistake, as the next thing I know there’s a searing pain through my head.

He yanks my hair, and it take everything in me not to scream as I’m hulled upwards.

It will only make things worse.

The object of his ire is thrown in my face. Daemon’s scent hits me like a punch in the gut before it falls, slipping away from me even as my hands try and grab it. To keep even a small momento of my life before this.

It’s what started this whole mess.

If only I hadn’t taken it back with me.

He gives me one last shove before he marches out, throwing the cloak in the fire as he does so.

I watch it burn.

Imagining all that’s burning with it.

Broken promises and stolen dreams. Any hope of returning to a different life dashed, burnt up with the remains of his cloak.

I crumble softly and quietly, like a proper lady. The words mock me. Cutting into my like a knife. It hurts worse than the punches.

All I’ve ever done is be the proper lady. I married my husband because it’s what I should do.

I lay with him, I do my wifely duties, even as it breaks me, bit by bit, piece by piece.

I wonder how much longer I’ll last like this.

My only solace is the fact that no children will ever be born of our “love.” My maids nightly visits to Fleabottom for moon tea make sure of that.

As I watch the fire, the smoke of it turning thick as it feasts on the cloak, I take a moment to imagine myself as I could have been. Thickening with child over time, welcoming a family, The love of a husband as it should have been.

I can see the image in my minds eye. A perfect picture staring back at me from some non-existent mirror.

Me, with my hands on my growing belly, eyes smiling down at it as if I can already see the child in my arms.

My mirror self looks up then, sharing a look with the man who's hand is on my shoulder.

It’s not the face of the man whose chambers I share. No, the hand on my shoulder is not my husbands.

It’s Daemon’s.

As is the make-believe child in my womb.

A knock at the door sounds in the distance, and with a few long blinks, my eyes clear.

In front of me, lies, not a mirror, but my twisted, unfortunate reality.

I can feel the blood run down from my busted lip. It drips onto my hands, making their pale color stand out even more against its deep red.

My hands begin to shake, my breathing speeds up, and suddenly, I'm full of anger.

It courses through my veins, and I let it. Opening up each and every block so it flows freely into my frantically beating heart. The sound of which pounds in my ears, a steady beat I am finally allowing myself to dance to.

I struggle off the floor, shouting a strangled "who is it?' towards the door.

My voice cracks, and I pray that whoever it is doesn't notice.

They only bang louder at my response.

Holding on to the wall, I stumble over to it. 'Who is it?' I call again, hesitant to open the doors looking the way I must.

I don't need to look in a mirror to know it's worse than it's ever been.

I used to always be able to recognize myself. It was something that gave me comfort, even on the nights where it was the worst.

But now? Now, I know I won't recognize her.

'Y/n let me in!’

I shrink back as I recognize it. It's Daemon's.

Oh no. No no no no, this is not good.

‘Uh, this isn’t really a good time.’

I flinch back as I approach the door, hesitant to open it even as a crack and unleash the dragon that lies right outside.

‘Open this door or I’ll break it down.’

His tone is quiet. Too quiet.

My mind is going in circles, thoughts flying 10x a minute as my shaky hands clutch at the doorknob.

‘I’m…I’m indecent,’ I call out softly.

It’s the first lie that came to mind.

The wry chuckle that comes through the door makes me cringe as I close my eyes in defeat.

‘I’ve seen it all before,’ he sighs out. The longing clear in his voice.

‘Though I am very interested in seeing it all again.’

‘This isn’t a good time, Daemon,’ I try again, the unease clear in my voice.

‘How can that be? I just saw your husband leaving. He looked to be in a right fit, but…’

The first fist to the door has me jumping in fright. And my hands rush for the locks as they continue.

‘Ok, ok, I’m opening it. Don’t break it down.’

There’s a smile in my voice as I say it, but it fades as I realize what he’s about to walk in to.

I turn away as it opens, all but marching towards my seat waiting by the fire before a strong arm grabs mine.

Pain sears through my arm as the strong grip puts pressure on my fresh bruises, and I yank back as if I’ve been burned.

Daemon stands before me, wild eyes taking in my bruised and battered form.

‘Daemon…I’m okay. I promise you, I’m okay.’

I can’t tell if my assurances are working or not, as all he does is stand there, breathing heavily with his eyes glued to one particularly heavy bruise on my cheek.

Then, stiffly, he moves closer to me. It takes everything in me not to run and cover myself up as his hand moves to cup my chin.

He turns my head to meet his, hand moving to trace the outlines of a bruise before cupping my cheek.

His thumb traces the outer curve of my lip, and I sigh out in pure bliss as he asks,

‘How long?’

‘What?’ I ask, but it comes out more of a breathy whine.

‘How long has he been doing this to you?’

‘Not lo…’ the words die on my tongue as Daemon’s eyes flash to mine.

‘Don’t you dare lie for him!’

His voice shakes my world, fear pulsating through my veins at the volume.

‘Take it off.’

Confusion laces through my features at that.

‘What?’

My voice comes out a whisper. Pushing my previous fear aside, I bring my hands up to palm his cheek even as he repeats it.

‘Take it off. Your dress, take it off.’

I make no move to comply, and in one swift motion, Daemon simultaneously holds my hands captive in one arm and grabs hold of my dress in the other.

He takes a moment to watch my neck as he pulls it lower, purple eyes almost glowing as he growls at each newly revealed bruise.

Rrrrrrrippppppp

I stare down at my chest in horror as it all becomes uncovered in one fell swoop.

My hands fly up to cover myself even as he makes haste to do the same to my shift. He keeps going until I’m completely bare in front of him, dress now lying in tatters that hang low off my hips.

I can feel his eyes zero in on the bruises there. Deep purple marks that can only be fingerprints imprinted on the soft skin.

His hands ghost over me, starting at my neck and making their way down. His touch is barely there, a ghost of a promise that leaves goosebumps on my skin even as he moves away from me completely.

‘Never again.’

His tone is commanding, leaving no room for questions as he bundles me up in the rags of my dress.

‘What?…Daemon’

‘Never again.’ He begins to lead me towards the door before he stops and turns. His eyes are bare to me, showing every drop of pain he’s endured in my absence.

It mirrors the pain in mine.

‘He will never touch you again.’

I exhale shakily even as relief floods my bones.

‘What are you going to do.’

‘That’s none of your business’

‘But it is,’ I cut him off. ‘He’s horrible, yes, but even I don’t want him de..’

My words are swallowed by his lips on mine. They're firm, like his tone, and again, leave me with no room for questions.

I drink him in. He’s like wine, fruity, forbidden, and...absolutely intoxicating.

We make it all the way back to his chambers before we stop.

That's where he leaves me, lips softly bruised with the promise that while I may have a bad past, and an even more unfortunate present…

...I will have a better future.

I may or may not write a part 4 for this. It’s currently undetermined. Thoughts? Let me know!

Requests here: I am very much in the mood to write about my og love here on tumblr (Tolkien's elves), so if you have any requests, do send them in!

@mirandastuckinthe80s @waifu4lifeu @fulla02 @fallingforunrealisticromance @kindaslightlyacidic

[quiet-out-there]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: House of the Dragon (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Daemon Targaryen/You, Daemon Targaryen/Orignial Female Character(s), Daemon Targaryen & Reader, Daemon Targaryen & You, Daemon Targaryen/Reader Characters: Daemon Targaryen, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Viserys I Targaryen, Alicent Hightower, Otto Hightower, Criston Cole, Caraxes | Daemon Targaryen’s Dragon, Reader Additional Tags: Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Reader-Insert, Enemies to Lovers, Age Difference, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Explicit Language, Dragons Summary:

The reader is a daughter and only heir of one of the respected, noble houses in Westeros, and her father has the sole intention of climbing up in the power chain of the throne by gaining a good marriage for her. Her dreams have never been the ones expected for a woman to have. Instead, she has always dreamed of meeting a dragon. She never expected falling in love with the man who rode one.

[ainstgirl]

The Lost Stone (1/2)

Summary: based on the final battle in Infinity War, the reader has Wanda’s powers and try to destroy the mind stone.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Contain Infinity War spoilers (nothing important), but if you haven’t seen the movie better read it later.

MASTERLIST

Seguir leyendo

[arieslola]

Unrealistic expectations.

[ainstgirl]

Let me explain

You were exhausted, after attending a party for your new series, you had caught a plane to return to Boston. It was very late when the plane lands at the airport. Your phone is full of messages and calls when you turn it on. Your heart stops when you see the photos that your agent has sent you. 

“where did you get those photos from?“ you ask your agent when he answers the call.

“they are everywhere ,If you are going to do those things you have to be more careful, they cannot take photos of you like that, it can affect your career” he says.

“shit….if he has seen them…..i need to go” you say getting in the taxi.

“we need to talk about this, your career…” he starts to say.

“i don’t give a fuck about that right know” you say before hanging up.

You try to call Chris, but it  goes straight to voicemail. When you get to your house the lights are off, maybe Chris was asleep and hadn’t seen the photos so you could explain it to him before he sees them. Dodger comes to meet you as soon as you walk through the door “Hi” you scratch behind his ear as you look for Chris. The door to the balcony was open, the moonlight illuminates the scene before your eyes. Your eyes fill with tears when you saw him, you knew for sure that he has seen the photos. He was on the floor, there was an empty bottle of alcohol next to him. 

“Chris” your voice is just a whisper. He seems not to have heard you, you approach him and you kneel beside him “Chris” you say again and this time he looks at you, and you wish he hadn’t. His face was swollen from crying, his eyes … he was broken. Your heart breaks knowing that it wasyour fault. 

“why?” He simply says.

“Chris, just let me explain” you try to explain yourself

“explain what? why you did that to us?” Chris say with a broken voice

“Chris… it’s not what it looks like” You couldn’t see him like that, so broken.

“oh please, don’t you dare lie to me“ he says raising his voice

“you know me…i’ll never…” you start to say.

“i thought i knew you“ he interrupts you and  you can smell alcohol is his breath.

“and you do, Chris, i love you” You caress his face but he takes your hands away.

“then why did you fucking kiss another man” he yells this time.

“i didn’t” you say between sobs.

“i saw the photos” he lowers his voice when he sees how affected you were.

“i know…. but he kissed me and someone took those photos but i push him Chris, i didn’t kiss him , please, you have to believe me” you beg.

“How do I know you are telling the truth?“ he says looking at the bottle of alcohol as if it were the solution to his problems.

“look at me” you make him look at you “you know me, you know what we have, i know how it looks, i know, but it’s not what happend, i love you, i would never do that, please” you explain.

“i need you to leave” he says looking away.

“no” you refuse.

 He throws the alcohol bottle against the wall, smashing it.  “I said, go away”  He says getting up, he has to lean against the wall to do it.

“No, i’m not going to leave you like this, you can yell at me all you want but i won’t leave you” you get up too.

“please” he begs, you try to take his hand but he takes a step back  “then why did you do it?”  more tears fall down his face.

“i didn’t Chris, look at me” you lift his chin to look at you “look me in the eyes, you know im telling the truth” you caress his face.

“you didn’t kiss him?” he says,  and this time he doesn’t take your hand away.

“No, i love you, i would never do that, do you believe me?” you ask with your heart in a fist

“yes” he says barely in a whisper but he believes you.

“You have to rest, it’s cold here, let’s go inside” you put your arm around his waist to help him walk.

“you wont leave me?” Chris says when you lay him on the bed

“No, i promise” you lie down next to him and he surrounds you with his arms.

It feels like a few minutes have passed when the sound of a phone wakes you up. You hear Chris growl. You turn off the phone and decide to get out of bed, when you go out to the balcony you see the destruction from last night, the pieces of glass on the floor, there are shattered flowerpots… not being able to sleep you decide to start cleaning this mess. 

“so I didn’t dream about last night“ Chris says leaning on door, he looked bad.

“no you didn’t” you say picking up pieces of glass.

“don’t clean this, it’s my fault, I’ll clean it” He makes you get up.

“how do you feel?” you ask.

“like an idiot who should have waited and listened to his girlfriend before getting drunk and breaking everything” he says half smiling “i’m sorry” say serious this time before giving you a kiss.

“i’m sorry too” you kiss him again.

“it’s not your fault that …that idiot kissed you, and believe me …I would have liked to break that bottle on his head” Chris’s phone rings and when he opens the message he smiles “remind me never to kiss you by surprise“ 

“what are you talking about?” you say confused

“Scott just sent me this video, good kick” He says showing you a video where when the boy kisses you, you hit him in the crotch. “i’m sorry i reacted this way” he says looking at the damage of the balcony. 

“I would have reacted the same way…the photos….they seemed like we were kissing” you admit.

“I’m sorry anyway, i love you” he kisses you on the forehead and you smile.

“i love you too” you say before kissing him as he wrapped his arms around you making you feel safe and loved.

MASTERLIST

[ainstgirl]

Quarentine With Chris #1 -The One Where It’s His Time To Cook

“When you said you were going to make dinner, this was not what I expected” you say when you see him take food out of the bag in food containers.

“shit…you weren’t supposed to see it” he say when you catch him.

“Did you really just went to your mom house for food?” you say approaching the counter.

“hey i wanted to cook but my mom give me this for you, it’s her famous chicken and green beans” He lets you see what he has brought.

“You forgot that it was your turn to cook, i’m i right?“ you put a hand on your waist.

“of course not!” he says offended, but then he adds “I burn it…”

“i knew it! I knew it smelled burned  and you told me it was from the neighbor, you liar” you say without being able to hold your smile, you wanted to make him feel guilty but it was impossible to get mad at him

“hey, i tried and i fail, i wanted to cook something that wasn’t pasta….” he says defending himself

“you are  incredible” you simply say:

“thanks” now he was smiling.

“that wasn’t a compliment” you hit him on the shoulder “at least im going to eat good tonight” 

“hey! you love my pasta!” He grabs you by the waist, pulling you closer to him.

“you should take advantage of the time during quarantine and learn how to cook” You say playing with his necklace, twisting the chain in your fingers

“If I had a sexy teacher who would teach me“ He lifts you up and sits you on the counter, placing himself between your legs.

“well…if i found one i let you know” you say smiling 

“oh i think i found the perfect one right here” he says kissing you “It seems to me that today we are going to have dinner late” 

“well i guess is a good thing that is already ready” you say taking off his shirt. you could get used to that…maybe being in Quarantine with Chris was not that bad.

MASTERLIST

Quarentine With Chris #2 ( The One When You Go For A Run)

Quarentine With Chris #3 - The One When You Fall Asleep

Quarentine With Chris #4 - The One When You Dance

[ainstgirl]

Thanos’s daughter (1/2)

Summary: You are Thanos’s daughter , after finding out what Thanos had planned you decide that you can’t be by his side, you have to avoid it and for that you need the help of a certain Captain. (based on infinity war)

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader

You couldn’t stay by his side after knowing what he planned to do, you just couldn’t do it. you had to stop him but you couldn’t do it alone, you needed help. That’s why you were in front of a motel, looking for help. You take a deep breath before entering. You go straight to door number 12, you know exactly who you are looking for and where to find him. You knock on the door twice and you hear the footsteps approaching the door, suddenly your heartbeat is racing, this was already your plan B, you had no other plan. When he opens the door you see the surprise in his eyes. “Can i help you?” he asks confussed. “I need to talk with you” you say without giving more explanations. “I think you’ve got the wrong door” he says looking at both sides of the corridor. His appearance is not like the one you had seen in photos, he was careless, with a beard to hide his identity although it didn’t help much. And his blue eyes … in the photos you could see hope is his eyes, now he has the look of a man who has has lost any abyss of hope. “Do you really think a simple beard will hide your identity Steve Rogers?” you say with irony.

Seguir leyendo

[ainstgirl]

I can’t do this anymore

when you wake up you see that you’re alone in bed, you look at the alarm clock and it was 3 in the morning “babe?”  you get out of bed looking for him. The door to the terrace was open so you decide to see if he was there, and what you see makes your heart break. “chris….babe” you run by his side. He was lying on the floor crying, there was a half empty bottle of alcohol at his side “what’s wrong?” you kneel beside him. He seems to not recognize your presence so you caress his face making him look at you. “Chris” he smiles when he sees you, a smile that does not reach his eyes “what happend?”

“i can’t do this anymore” he says between sobs

“do what chris?” you ask confussed.

“this” he simply says.

“us?” you say hurt.

“No…god no..not us babe….my career” he says taking your hand and you sigh in relief knowing that it wasn’t about your relationship.

“what happend Chris?” you brush the hair off his forehead.

“i can’t ….I can’t keep up with the interviews, the tours, the paparazzi…” he begins to say and you notice his anguish in his voice.

“do you want to quit?” you aks.

“i don’t know…i just know that i can’t keep doing this y/n” he says with a broken voice.

“but you love acting” you say looking into his eyes.

“but not what comes with that“ he admits.

“look fame is… is something you can’t just leave” you both know it “but you have the money to not work again, if you want to quit i’ll support you”

“but?” he says half smiling, he knows you very well.

“but….you love acting, it’s you passion, i don’t want to see you loose that, keep acting, read scripts and when you find something you like, do it, without pressure, only do projects that you are passionate about” you say while you caress his face.

“What would I do without you?“ this time he really smiles.

“i don’t know, I hope you don’t have to find out“ you say smiling too.

“i love you” he kisses you “Thanks for being by my side“

“always” you say leaning on his shoulder and he kisses your forehead, you stay in that position while you watch the sunrise.

MASTERLIST