theimaginesyouneveraskedfor

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Just how it goes. The one you want, doesn't have time for you. The one your don't, has too much time.

Little Surprises 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, cheating/established relationships, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Andy Barber, side of Mike Weiss

Summary: You have a baby on the way but it’s not the only surprise.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

"You're nervous," Andy says as he sits beside you. You look down and stop your leg from bouncing.

"Sorry. Er... I am." You answer.

"About?" He prompts.

"The baby, just in general. I guess. It's a lot. I've been reading so much and... feels like a whole mountain," you sit back and cradle your hands in front of your stomach.

"I don't relish that feeling but I remember it well," he says.

"Mm. Mr. Barber, you don't have to stay."

"I don't mind," he leans back and stretches his neck. "It's kind of... exciting. My boy's about to graduate. He's done with mom and dad. It's almost... nostalgic," he shrugs. "Unless... you don't want me here."

"Well, erm... it is nice to have someone. It's a lot to go to these all alone."

"Yeah, your husband didn't come to the others?"

"Not yet. He's very busy. And he's my boyfriend," you sigh. "Things happened quick."

"Ah, right," he nods.

You shrink down. You must see very naive to someone like him. You have a baby on the way and a boyfriend too important for either of you.

"Well, what about mom? Your mom? Laurie's was elbow deep in everything about the pregnancy." He twirls his thumbs around each other. "The appointments, the shower, the nursery... felt like she didn't trust me."

"Oh, no. My mom... passed. In high school."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"Not your fault. She wouldn't be very much help either." You squirm and clasp your hands tightly. "I can do it. I think. I... I think I'll be a good mom because I always wanted one... maybe that's stupid."

"I don't think so. Parents are... tough," he replies. He plays with the knot of his tie. "My dad wasn't there. Hasn't been. He's in prison. Better for everyone that way."

"Oh my." You murmur. "I hope... I just don't want to ever do that. Leave my baby behind, you know? I... maybe... maybe I didn't think this out."

"Sweetie, please, you're going to be great because you are thinking about it at all. Lots of people don't. You will do this. It'll be fine." He puts his hand on your shoulder and rubs your arm. "It's okay to be scared. It's good. It means you care."

"Thanks--"

Your name undercuts your words. You look over at the nurse and gulp. You stand. Your purse falls onto the floor.

Andy scoops up the bag and hands it to you. You take it with a shaky smile.

"Hey, you want me to come with you?" He offers. "Up to you."

"Um," you glance at the nurse. "Okay. If it's okay."

"Sure," he stands up.

He follows you across the waiting room and down the hall. The nurse tells you to take off your shirt and put a hospital gown on. Andy shifts.

"I'll stay in the hall," he assures.

The nurse leaves and shuts the door. You take of your shirt and put the gown on. You go to the door and open it and inch.

"It's okay now, Mr. Barber."

He pushes away from the wall and comes in. He closes the door and sits in the chair across from the bed. You climb up and lay down. You wiggle your feet restlessly as you stare at the ceiling.

"Forgot what it was like," he mutters. "Doctor's and stuff. Laurie's been bothering me to get my cholesterol checked for years."

"She cares a lot about you," you say.

He hums but doesn't say anything.

The tech enters before the silence can grow tense. She greets you and covers your bottom half with a sheet. She pulls your waistband lower and tucks the top into it to bare your pelvis.

She blocks Andy's view of you as she squeezes the gel onto the wand.

"I'll be cold," she warns.

She presses it against your pelvis and you flinch. She feels around as she looks at the screen, dragging around your stomach and pelvis. She pushes down and chimes.

"There they are," she gestures to the screen. "And they are very healthy." She continues to shift. "Just gonna get as many images as I can."

"Okay," you lay still as she continues. Beyond the physical, you feel like little more than a cadaver.

"You two must be very excited. Oh and they're just the perfect size."

"Um, er," you stammer. How do you explain that Andy is your boss, not the father.

"We are. Very," Andy says. "Can I get a closer look?"

You nod and the tech angles around. He gets up and stands behind her as he looks at the screen. You shyly peek up. His lips part as his blue eyes almost gleam.

"Wow," he utters. His throat bobs.

"Just a little bean," the tech says.

You push yourself up on your elbows to see. You stare at the pulsing image. There's a baby in you. A real life inside.

Your heart clutches as your eyes crest. You're going to bring a baby into all this? Into Mike not showing up? Into being alone and afraid?

You lay back and breathe out until the tears recede. Andy stays close, startling you as he touches your hand. He smiles down at you.

"It's so amazing, isn't it, sweetie."

You blink and nod. "Yeah, uh, yes."

"We can send you a few with you to put on the fridge," the tech says. "Show family."

"Oh, sure," you agree. You can show Mike. Maybe then, he'll show up.

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

can you repost your “let me be your ruler” fiction onto here? AO3 is banned where I live, and I loveddd reading that

It is on @darkficsyouneveraskedfor/@darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

He was sure to remind us how untrustworthy we are too

It's like Loki wants a punch in the mouth

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier | S1:E1 - New World Order

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Hi! I'm TOTALLY IN LOVE with this fanfic you wrote!! could you please write another fic about Thorin x reader? maybe where Thorin tries to push away reader because he thinks he's too old for them and is scared the sickness of the dragon will take him again? I don't know if you're accepting requests, it's totally fine if you don't of course 🙏 thank you ❤️

Like a Heartbeat Drives You Mad

Thorin was evasive. He was never very talkative but since that night he chanted your name like a prayer, he kept himself elusive. You wouldn't be so presumptive as you think him afraid of you, perhaps just slightly embarrassed. As he said, you had no doubt it was likely the side effect of his constant frustration with you.

You walked with Dwalin and Balin. The elderly brothers competed often with their fearless king in the arena of gripes. They moaned of every ache or pain or even just an unexpected dip the ground, as if the land were working against them.

Kill and Fili and were not far behind in the train. They sounded as if they were having much more fun. You slowed, unnoticed by the aged warriors, and joined the brothers Durin. They greeted you with a fistful of mud across your coat.

"Eh? Is this why you're causing ruckus?" You wiped off the muck and scowled.

"What else is there to do in this swamp?" Kili flung a fistful over the heads of the elder dwarves.

A grunted replied from ahead, beyond where you couldn't see. The thick figures ahead of you parted and made way for the fuming bull. Thorin puffed into his beard, muck strewn through his hair.

"Which on of you--" He jabbed his finger in the air then choked as his crystalline eyes fell on you. His index hovered just before you before he dropped it. "No more throwing dirt!"

He turned and marched past back through the brothers ahead of you. You stared at his back as Fili whistled and Kili clucked. You continued to scrape the mud from your jacket.

"I hope there's a river ahead," you muttered.

"That was odd of uncle." Fili commented.

"Wasn't it?" Kili agreed.

"Huh? He yells at you two often."

"But not very much this time," Kili countered. "I expected at least a cuff on my ear."

"Or a box on the chin," Fili added.

You dropped your arms and puffed out. You kept on, dragging your feet on the soft earth. A heat nipped at your ears and you glanced between the brothers. They smirked.

"No more mud--"

"Never worry. We've had our fun," Fili held up his hands. "What has transpired?"

"You threw mud--"

"No, between you and Uncle Thorin," Kili nudged you. "What've you done?"

"Me? I've done nothing but the only thing we've been doing. Walk!"

"Something..."

"Naughty."

The brothers continued each other's thoughts.

"What? No!" You protested.

"You are a poor liar."

"I do not lie."

"We both saw it. Uncle... has a heart?" Fili chortled.

"You are wrong."

"Never," Kili insisted. "Shall I ask him or should you, brother? I should like to see the red in his cheeks."

"You are deluded," you scoffed and hurried ahead. "I tire of you."

You stepped back between Balin and Dwalin. You sniffed and shook your head. You stared up at the king, gripping his ax as he lead the charge. Alone.

"Is there something amiss with the king?" You asked.

"What mean you?" Balin wondered.

"Nothing. It is only... he has been quiet with me."

"Isn't he ever?" Dwalin snorted.

"Hm, suppose..." you trailed off and once more kicked ahead of them.

You pumped your arms to meet the gait of the king. He didn't seem to notice you. Not until you greeted him aloud.

He flinched, "what are you doing?"

"My king--"

"I am scouting. You must stay with the others," he looked past you, not at you.

"Yes, I will. Once you tell me what that was."

"What what was? Be plain. Dwarfesses and their riddles," he growled.

You sighed, "you ran away from me like I was an orc."

"Do not speak of them lest they appear," he chided.

"Apologies, my king, but tell me why--"

"I did not run."

"Surely, you did. Your nephews saw it--"

"My nephews are fools," he argued.

"But I am not." You returned.

It was his turn to sigh. He put his chin down and walked with his hands clasped on the handle of his ax. He tisked between his teeth.

"You should be with the others."

"You said so already--"

"You shouldn't be near me," he warned and turned his face away from you.

"I shouldn't? Because you are king?"

"That is not--" he paused and set his chin straight. He watched the horizon as he continued. "Would you invade my waking hours as you do my dreams?"

You tripped but caught yourself. You blinked in surprise. "So you were--"

"It hardly should matter. You should obey your king and be away," he waved you off.

"Why do you dream of me?"

He was silent again. This time for a while. You wavered and think to take his command. Before you can, he cleared his throat.

"I am old and old dwarves grow wild. They're mind wanders... their wits with it."

"You are unwell?"

"Mmm, not in this moment," he grumbled. "Not with you near and so is the issue. A king shouldn't feel such. Not for a dwarfess as you."

"Eh?"

"A king prone to delusion as my father was. A man with years in his bones like sand in a glass."

"I would not be mistaken, my king, what you say--"

"A confession I trust you treat with discretion. For I know, you are too young for such a proposal and I am too mad--"

"My king?" You chuckled. "Would you not even let me think on it before you accept rejection?"

"You would mock me," he stared at his boots as he trod on.

"Never, my king. But I hear you. Let it settle in my ears so I might have a clear thought." You girded, "I will return your answer before you dream of me again."

"You tease, still."

You grinned and tilted your head, "I've not yet decided if I do or I don't."

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

FRANK CASTLE & BILLY RUSSO The Punisher • 1.06

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Hi! Randomly thought of ur blog and your fics n I hope you’re doing well! Happy new year :)

Happy New Year!

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Are you going to continue the campus AU on ao3 😞

My guidelines for asks sent are in this post. I appreciate your interest in my story. I would appreciate some patience in my updating, especially on ao3 as I have discussed that I've been dealing with harassment on that platform. I'm doing my best.

Thank you again for taking the time to send an ask.

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

I was possessed of sluttery! I just couldn't help myself but really we can blame @stargazingfangirl18

It's the weekend, so tell me who's making you weak, hehehe.

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

God: A rom com but add knives

Break-In 3

Character: God the Bounty Hunter

Warnings: this drabble includes elements which may be dark. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Explicit, 18+. Please reblog and leave some feedback.

A day off is exactly what you need. Still, your internal clock doesn’t register the break. You wake up at the same time, make your coffee, and contemplate the meaning of life. When the single-serve finishes its churning, you claim your mug and yawn over the brim, blowing away the wisp of steam. 

You cross your apartment, the air stuffy with the damp spring evening melding into the warmth of the rising sun. You go to the balcony door and watch the haze of orange behind the cityscape as the dark blue ripples to shades of cerulean. As you let yourself out onto the narrow balcony, you find your way impeded.  

Your coffee splashes over the top of the cup and splats onto the figure slumped across the concrete. You sigh and take a sip. The man always shows up when you’re in dire need of caffeine. You look down at him, perplexed at what to do next. He’s too big for you to move on your own and you have the humanity to wonder why he’s passed out. 

“Ughhhhhhh,” the catlike intruder groans as he rolls onto his back and you flinch, nearly spilling more upon him. 

“Hi,” you peer down dumbly. 

His blue eyes flit side to side then angle to the glimpse of the sky beneath the next floor’s balcony. He lets out a deep breath as his brows furrow and ripples line his forehead, “morning.” 

Is he saying good morning or is he stating the time? For as little as he’s ever said to you, you’re not certain. You sniff and let it out in a heave. 

“Are you hurt?” You ask, giving in. 

“I am wounded,” he answers and grits his teeth. 

You nod. That doesn’t really help either of you.  

“Can you move?”  

He grimaces and plants his hands beside him. He pushes himself up with a growl and leans heavily forward. He’s panting from the effort. Shoot. 

“Yes,” he puffs. 

“Got it,” you cluck. 

You back up and reach to set your mug on the ledge that stands under the rows of windows looking out over the balcony. You keep the door open with your foot and come back out. He hugs his stomach as he rubs his bruised temple. 

“Do you need help?” 

He shakes his head and shifts, reaching for the railing. He hauls himself up with a suppressed grunt and hunches before he can stand straight. His eyes meet yours as he faces you, dragging his foot as he limps forward. 

“Concussion, bruised ribs,” he hobbles closer, “foot might be fractured.” 

His diagnosis is cool and detached. As if it isn’t his own body. You step back out of the way and he enters the dark apartment. Only the kitchen light and the slowly blooming sunrise glow in the space. He staggers onward and you claim your mug. You’ll wait until you see the bottom to figure this out. 

As he falls onto your couch, you go into the kitchen. He sits with his head tilted back and takes straggling breaths through his nose. You take out a second mug, a pod, and tap the brew button. You languish in the tension as you wait for the long grind. 

You continue to nurse your own coffee as you bring his out and place it on the square table beside the armrest. He rumbles as he opens his eyes. His pupils are dark pits. 

“Thank you,” he mutters. 

“Mm,” you push your tip against your teeth, “you know, I’m not too good with blood so...” 

“Coffee’s fine,” he sits forward and stymies another groan. He grabs the mug and drinks, sighing in relief. “You got a bed sheet I can ruin?” 

You consider him. This is strange. You’ve just accepted that he’s going to come and crash on your couch and there’s nothing you can do about it. Why? It’s probably that knife. He hasn’t hurt you and you don’t want that to change. 

“Sure,” you agree with a shrug. 

He takes another sip and brings his other hand up to feel the heat through the porcelain. He focuses on the mug and you back up. He isn’t even asking you to help, you just assumed. As you go to grab an old sheet out of the linen chest, you can’t help but wonder what happened to him. You don’t think he’ll be any more chatty about that than anything else. 

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Like the title says... he's all in.

All In 13

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: I had this pistachio cake and it was so good. I didn't know what else to put here but yum.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You’re shaking, barely able to keep your legs from collapsing beneath you. Even with Bucky’s arm around you, you’re weak. His confidence makes you feel even smaller; reminds you of who and what you really are. You’re not this. You’re not arm candy. You’re not some gorgeous supermodel. You’re just you. 

As you get to the end of the hall, you face the elevator and wait. His large hand squeezes your hip and he draws you even closer. He surprises you with a peck on your head. A thrill flows through you. 

“I’m the luckiest guy in this casino, baby,” he purrs and urges you through the doors as they open. 

You gulp and lean back into his arm as you step on, the transparent walls peering down on the drop. You try not to look and put your hand over his. You cling to his fingers and close your eyes, dizzy from the descent. 

“Ah, I forgot, doll,” he holds you even snugger, “Don’t worry, I got you. You stay close to me, alright?” 

“Okay,” you wisp out as the motion of the elevator adds to your displacement. 

When at last you reach the bottom, you nearly wriggle right out of his hold. He keeps you firmly against him and struts off with you at his side. He releases you only to hook his arm through yours. You cling to him if only to keep from tripping in the heels. 

You look down at yourself, recalling your attire as you pass a mirrored wall. You barely recognise the woman and yet it’s you. The make-up isn’t too heavy, your hair is perfectly done, and despite your frightened expression, you look good. Better than ever. Well, anything is an improvement over your typical aesthetic. 

You pass through the hotel lobby into the main room of the casino. The ringing of machines and flashing lights stun you. He stops with you and raises his chin proudly. To him, it’s just another night. For you, it’s a night you won’t ever forget; one you’ll never know again. 

“All of this is ours, doll,” he says. You wince at that word; ‘ours’. It’s a fantasy, he knows it. It must be what he tells all his women. 

You can only let a jitter shake you. He continues on and you follow. The chaos of the casino has you senseless. You drift through like his shadow as he pulls you along.  

Yet, you notice that you are not unseen. You feel the eyes all around you, you see them. Necks crane, bodies twists, and lips whisper. You’re overly aware that they’re watching you. No, they’re watching him. 

You feel ice form a shell over you. You numb yourself to it all as best you can. If you let yourself feel the storm brewing inside you, it will surely blow you over.  

Bucky stops you and winks at you. He reaches to rub your hand on his forearm and gives a squeeze, “relax. I got you. You trust me, don’t you?” 

You exhale and nod, “yes.” 

“Alright, then, doll,” he pulls his arm back and puts his hand on the small of your back, “let’s go.” 

He walks you along, a casual pace. The looks continue. People acknowledge him as he passes, the bartender calls him sir and several other staff. He approaches a table and you steel yourself nervously. Men in suits chuckle loudly as dice are thrown against the trim. 

“Stark,” Barnes stops beside a man with grey patches at his temple, “you didn’t bring your own dice again, did you?” 

“They searched me on the way in. What’s that about?” The man snickers, “but I see you get to bring your own toys.” 

The man makes a show of looking around Bucky, leering at you. Bucky pushes him straight by the chest, “never had any problem finding something to play with.” 

“Ah, don’t be so sensitive. Your girls are always so much fun,” the man, Stark, taunts. 

“Keep your hands to yourself, that goes for the staff too,” Bucky warns. 

“Wow, have you demoted yourself to bouncer now?” 

“These are my people, Tony,” he claps the man’s shoulder, “consider it a friendly reminder. I know you tend to forget.” 

The man scoffs and rolls his eyes. He takes the dice as they’re held out to him and tosses them onto the felt. Bucky tickles your lower back with his finger and you squirm, elbowing an unexpected figure behind you. You let out a squeak and turn as Bucky does the same. 

“Hey,” a skinny man, not much taller than yourself greets, “been looking for you.” 

“Steve,” Bucky says, “what’re you doing here?” 

“Ah, you know,” he scratches his floppy golden hair, “you haven’t picked up your phone so--” 

“Shoot, what’s the date?” 

“Buck, it’s tomorrow,” the blond, Steve, grins, “I’m just making sure you show up. Ma would be real disappointed.” 

“I wouldn’t miss Sarah Rogers’ birthday for anything,” Bucky avows, the genuine tone in his voice wrenching at your chest. “You gonna stay and enjoy the tables? You still got your complimentary chips waiting on you.” 

“Told ya, I don’t like to gamble,” Steve chuckles, “but thanks.” 

“I’m sorry, buddy. I should’ve picked up. I’ve been so busy...” Bucky pauses as Steve smiles at you sheepishly as if he’s only just noticed you.  

“I get it,” Steve’s lashes flick, “she’s... miss, you’re real pretty.” 

He sounds as nervous as you feel. His cheeks tinge pink and he tucks his thumbs into his pockets. His brown slacks definitely don’t fit into the sparkling casino. Bucky laughs too. 

“Chill, have a drink at the bar before you go.” 

“Thanks, pal,” Steve smooths back his hair, “but I should probably head out--” 

“She don’t bite, Rogers,” Bucky chides, “well, I’ll tell her to keep her teeth to herself,” he rubs your back and slips his fingers around your side, pulling you close once more. “Have a drink for me, alright?” 

“Alright,” the smaller man exhales, “don’t forget.” 

“I won’t,” Bucky promises. 

As the blond strides away, slightly off kilter as he looks around, seeming lost as he tries to see around the people around, Bucky draws you away from the dice table. The small man reminds you a lot of yourself in some ways. He’s braver than you, he came all alone. 

“That... who?” You wonder. 

“My best friend. Since we were kids,” he answers, “good guy, just a bit... uppity. His ma’s got her birthday tomorrow. You should come.” 

“Oh, uh, that’s... I don’t know--” 

“She’ll be happy to meet ya. She’s been telling me to settle down for years,” he scoffs. “Her son too and he does try...” 

“Well, this isn’t.... it’s early--” you stammer. 

“You still don’t believe me,” he challenges you as he angles you to face him. He brings his hands to your arms, stroking the bare skin with his roughened fingertips, “you don’t think I’m gonna keep ya, doll?” 

“No, I didn’t-- I don’t know. It’s all so new and—I'm sorry, Bucky, I want to—I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know--” 

“Shhh, doll, I’m not mad. I got work to do. That’s fine,” he trails his fingers up the strap of your dress and tickles your throat, “I’ll keep it up, don’t you worry. Let’s get ya a drink.” 

He walks you to the bar, laying his hand on the top as the bartender crosses to him attentively. Bucky pauses before he orders and looks at you, “ladies first. What do you want, doll?” 

You look between Bucky and the bartender. You have no idea. You weren’t planning on drinking, you’re already a mess as it is but you don’t want to be rude. 

“You like cranberry, doll? How about a cosmopolitan?” Bucky suggests. 

You nod and face the bar again, “sure, uh, please, a cos...” 

“Cosmopolitan, coming up,” the bar tender agrees, “usual, sir?” 

“Single,” Bucky holds up a finger, “I wanna keep my wits about me.” 

The bartender sets to work and you fidget. You crane around to see the rest of the casino, a furor rising from the blackjack table. Bucky rubs your arm and draws your attention back to him. You give a nervous smile as you try not to think about those watching you in turn. 

“Hey, don’t even worry about it,” his voice is low and gravelly as he brings a finger up under your chin, “the only thing that matters is us, doll.” 

Before you can react, he leans in to kiss you. You’re caught entirely off guard, trapped in his snare as his tongue glides along your lips. He hums and pulls back, dropping his hand with a sigh. 

“I gotta get a hold on myself,” he laughs as he shows his palm, “you make it hard, doll. You really do.” 

You rock and smile bigger. Your cheeks are fiery and your temples are pounding. The bartender announces your cocktail and puts it up. Bucky takes it and hands it to you. You thank him as he turns to retrieve the short tumbler of flat whiskey. 

“Go on, have a taste, doll,” he encourages as he gives a gentle tap to the base of the stemmed glass. 

You look down at the coned glass of vibrant red liquor and juice, a twist of lemon against the brim. You raise it cautiously and give a sniff before you press your lips around the glass. Your eyes flick up as Bucky lets out a rumble. He fixates on your mouth as you sip, his teeth graze over his lower lip. 

Your cheeks pinch as you taste the mixed drink and you pull it away from your mouth. You dab your lips with your knuckles, terrified of smearing the gloss. You flutter your lashes at him and force another tight smile, “mm, it’s... sweet.” 

“Dangerous,” he smirks, “I don’t do cocktails. They go down to easy.” 

“Oh,” you give a guilty pout. “I don’t...” 

“It’s fine, it’s not that much,” he waves off your excuse, “really, doll, you could use it. It’ll help you relax.” 

“Right, er, thanks,” you slowly turn the stem between your fingers and look down at the glass. “I’m sorry I don’t...” 

“Hm,” he shifts closer as your voice drifts off, “sorry for what, doll?” 

He nudges you smoothly away from the bar, putting you back into step as he casually traverses the floor, his hand right on your back. He guides you subtly with the constant warmth between your hips. It is both comforting and disjointing. He’s there with you, propping you up, and yet you do not belong. 

“I don’t really fit, er, or... know what to do,” you murmur. 

He leans in to hear your small voice. He scoffs. 

“Let me tell you something, doll. You fit just nice on my arm. You don’t need to worry about anyone else but me, you got it? All these people in this room, they’re nothing. All these lights, all this noise, and I can only see you,” he purrs. 

You giggle nervously. He’s so flattering. He always knows just what to say.  

“Thanks, I...” you look away, embarrassed at your little confession. You’re supposed to be trying to blend in and yet you can’t help but put yourself on the sideline. He’s not the type. He is the main attraction. 

“You feel better, doll?” He asks as he rubs the dip of your back. “If it’s too much, we can go somewhere else.” 

“I’m... I’m good. I don’t wanna ruin the night,” you say, “really.” You raise the glass and sip again, “it’s really good, thank you, Bucky.” 

“Mph, I love it when you say my name,” he snarls, “come on.” 

He continues along, guiding you between tables and behind distracted bodies. The tables are packed with gamblers and figures pass from one to one, a line forming around the counter dolling out chips for cash. You take it all in, as if it’s a scene in a movie, observing all the background characters... still, you don’t feel like the star. 

A sharp pain strikes your arm suddenly and you stumble into Bucky. He keeps you from teetering onto your ass as he hugs his arm around you. Your cocktail slips out of your grasp and the glass cracks on the floor, splashing the remnants across the carpet.  

You’re pressed into Bucky as the unstable man latches onto the tall stool he just slid off of. The impact of his elbow thrums in your arm and you rub the tender spot and wince. Bucky shifts you behind him and moves as fast as a shadow. The back of his dark jacket strains across his shoulder blades as he grabs the man by his collar. 

“Hey, what the hell are ya doing? Watch yourself! You nearly knocked my woman over,” he sneers as he as good as shakes the man, “you made a mess of my carpet, you scumbag.” 

“Bucky,” you squeak in horror, the hot eruption of rage surprises you. He is a different man; he looks more like a wolf as he snarls at the offender. “It was an accident--” 

“Nah, it was a mistake,” Bucky brings the man even closer, “get the hell outta my casino before I break you like that glass.” Bucky shoves him away and kicks the broken glass on the floor, “now.” 

He puffs his chest out as the other man rambles drunkenly, apologising and staggering, skittering off in an uneven gait. He glances back several times as if fearing he’ll be followed. Bucky signals across the room and you see a man in a suit nod; he must be security. 

“Bucky,” you touch his elbow and gently graze his sleeve down to his hand, “are you okay?” 

He opens his fist and lets you tuck your hand into his. You’re quaking again. You cling to him out of need. You’re adrenaline rings in your ears. You don’t like anger. 

“I’m sorry--” 

“Don’t be sorry, doll,” he squeezes your hand as he exhales the tension from his shoulders. He looks down at your hand and lifts it, turning to you as he kisses the back of it. He leaves a tingle on your skin, “I like that.” He tightens his grip as he keeps a hold of you, “you need a fresh drink, doll.” 

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Lol this was a journey of a comment and I love it

The Bargain 7

Masterlist

Warnings: financial stress and abuse, coercion, noncon, and some possible unmentioned triggers.

Character: Nick Fowler

Summary: You realise you don’t know Nick anymore.

Note: I'm still on a short hiatus for my novel but might drop tiny tidbits here and there between.

As always, I appreciate all kinds of feedback. A like and reblog means so much to me! <3

You pull the straps over your shoulders, the satin sheet cool around your figure. The frigid night ekes in through the window as you move through the dark. Your ears are pricked for the measured breaths keeping tempo. He’s asleep. You’re not free, but you can catch your breath.

You think of closing the window before you go. It nips deep into your flesh but he’ll be fine in the heaps of down and fabric on the bed. You ease open the door and edge down the hallway, careful not to do more than scuff the floor with your bare soles.

You take the stairs one at a time, careful not to creak on your descent. You go into the den, nightie swishing around your legs as your impatience boils over. You unclasp the glass doors framed in walnut and take out the bottle of Shiraz. You take it to the window bench and nestle up to watch the night gales stir the autumn leaves.

You wiggle free the cork, left loose by your last indulgence. You take a swig and sigh at the relief of the bitter flow across your tongue. You used to hate the flavour of wine, now you live for it. Those few minutes a night you can wash away the day.

You’ll have to replace the bottle. Again. Eventually he’ll figure you out. He’ll notice the label or the charge on his statement. You don’t really care, it’s just wine.

The billowing winds offer a soothing backdrop for your inebriation. You finish the bottle to your surprise. You want more. Anger brims in your drunken veins at the realisation that even this stolen delight is bound in his control.

You get up, the room jittering in your vision. Oops. You’re drunker than you thought. You hadn’t eaten enough at dinner. 

You teeter through to the kitchen and fill the bottle with tap water. You go back to the den and find the cork, forcing it back into the neck. You pause and stare at the shape of the bottle in your hand and belch. You’re pathetic.

You close your eyes and pout. How did it end up like this? You’re not supposed to be here. Not with Nick. Not like this. He’s your friend, now your keeper. It’s supposed to be different.

The vision of you walking down the aisle, white petals raining down in what can only be a fantasy, a man in a tux waiting for you at the end. Your eyes wet as you see Curtis watching you with a glimmer. Your heart pulses as you resist the urge to rush into his arms. Then you see Nick, across from him, watching with snakish spite.

The bottle slips from your hand and shatters at your feet. You gasp and look down, shaken from what could have been. What should have been.

You spin and look around at the ghostly darkness swathed over the space. You hate this. You hate it all. Each step you take is off kilter and reckless. You grab the low table before the artificial fire set into the wall and push it on its side with a deafening boom. You clatter the arm chair onto the floor, then that ridiculous chess table her never even touches.

Your rampage cannot be stopped even as you’re aware of the ruin, of what this will get you. You don’t care anymore. No matter what you do, it will always be torture.

You swing open the liquor cabinet and pull down a bottle, dropping it onto the hardwood. It smashes and the contents splash up your skirt and leg. Another and another. The sour scent brews around you with each crash.

Then the light flicks on and gives sight to your destruction. You stop with a bottle of scotch clutched in your fist. You wobble as you turn to face Nick, watching with sleep consternation. He grips the door frame and grits his teeth.

“Sweetheart…” his eyes scan the room with disappointment.

You don’t think, you just hurl the bottle at him. He side steps as it hits the wall just beside him, a shower of glass and scotch smattering down. He stares at the brown stain on the wall then slowly turns to you.

You waver as he stays silent. Marching towards you calmly even as his eyes blaze. You gulp as you look back at him, senseless. He brings his hands up to frame your face.

“Sweetheart,” he bows to look down, “what’ve you done to your feet?”

You let your head drop and look at your feet. Little cuts bleed along the side of your soles and red prints stain the wood beneath. You shrug and let out a sob. You know he’s angry, you just don’t know what he’ll do next.

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Hi! Didn’t you have an imagine/one-shot titled “An Arrangement”? Or am I thinking of another blog?? I can’t find it anymore and I loved it :(

I search it and it was the first thing to come up?

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Thanks so much! 💕

Very important ❓️: is multicharacter accepted in your challenge?

YES 😍 tbh pretty much anything is accepted because I am incredibly chilled and love your writing 🫡

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Dumb question, are you on Instagram??

privately but i don't share it here

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Hey, I hope you are doing good. You deleted all of your works in ao3, which worried me a bit so I hope you are okay...

I didn't delete my works. They are available to registered users only at the moment.

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

I think he showed himself because he’s done waiting... no need to hide when he knows he has the advantage on all front.

Watching, Waiting... 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, violence, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: There’s a man watching you.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Note: Hello lovelies. Would love a little extra love with this one as I’m working on the third and final part still.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Delilah minds the counter as you go through the bin of new arrivals. You sit on the short square stool as she rings out customers and steeps fragrant herbs at request. You rest the price cards on your leg as you write out the flavour and price per ounce in neat print. The task is mindless and calming amid the afternoon rush.

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