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highonmarvel · 2 months

Note

Hi! 👋🏼 I'm the very long request anon from a month ago. Sorry for replying so late. I haven't logged onto Tumblr much these past months and I just saw this. I'm honored to just get an acknowledgement from you,thank you so much for remembering me 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼 I'm really grateful for it ❤ Tho,I saw that you posted this on Feb 5 and now it's almost March 5,so I'm so so so sorry for the very late reply 😢🙏🏼🙇🏻‍♀️ Sorry again! 😓

Again,I'm also very sorry for the very long request. My whole premise for my fic request was basically a dark Reader who has an unhealthy obssession with Bucky but she doesn't know that he's also obssessed with her and is doing the same thing to her. He's probably more obssessed with her more than she ever did with him. And I want him to be soft dark like the soft dark Bucky that you wrote in Himalayan Salt. So that means no physical abuse/physical violence towards reader aka no Bucky hitting,punching or kicking reader in any kind,please. Just noncon sex of him forcing himself onto her after she "forced" herself on him first. Oh and a long haired Bucky for this one as in the Bucky from the "CA : The Winter Soldier & Civil Era" I could've just said this but I don't know why I wrote it that long and add a burden to you.

Also,sorry to make this ask long again but I had to since I think my last ask very flawed and had confusing plot holes,so I wanted to clarify. If you found a plot hole in the way that I wrote Reader to "kidnap" Bucky,feel free to write it in a way that you think it works. I just wanted dark Reader to finally decided to "take" him for herself and Bucky knew exactly when cause he's also stalking her so he saw her preparations (to drug/sedate him/knock him out,the ropes whichever way you think works for super soldier like Bucky to be believably kidnapped by a normal woman with no power or super strength) and decided to play dumb and lured her to take him by being in his apartment/house exactly the right time she sneaked in and he pretended to not know she's inside and BAM! She strikes and restrained him on his bed and there goes the act of him playing the clueless victim making reader feel she has the upper hand here,letting her "forced" herself on him (cause that's exactly what he wants. He's desperate for her to touch him and has been dreaming of her touch for months) even tho he could easily break out of his restraints anytime,he didn't. He let her have her moment, only for him to reveal his true intentions and mutual obssession he has with her afterwards after dark Reader got her obssession filled release with him.

I apologize again for a very long ask,this will be the last 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙇🏻‍♀️ Even tho my request is long,feel free to write it short as I think all the scenarios that I requested can be fit into a short fic. And also,don't forget,you're the writer 🤝🏻 And I'm just an anon sending a very long request because I'm suck at writing myself. So it's all totally UP TO YOU if you want to take my request or not. I understand that you're busy and you have a life outside of writing. Even if you won't take my request,I'll still be here re-reading your works and will continue to read new works from you in the future. I'll still be a loyal reader. I just love the way you write dark fics,they're exactly what I'm looking for. Also,I LOVE,LOVE,LOVE Himalayan Salt. I re-read that one a lot of times.

So please don't feel pressured to take my request. I'm already embarassed enough for sending you two long anon asks. You can just ignore my ask from January if you don't want to,that's okay to ❤

Thank you again for acknowledging me! I'm still reeling from excitement that I got an acknowledgement from one of favourite writers here ❤ Hope 2024 has been treating you good and better than 2023. I hope you're doing well and in good health,always. Remember to always put yourself first. Your health,your happiness,your wants your needs always comes first before everything else,always. Because you should matter the most in YOUR OWN life. So take good care of yourself and only do what makes you happy ❤ Have a great day! Thank you so much again for the acknowledgement alone! It means a lot to me,you have no idea! 🫂❤ Take care! ❤

my reply was even later, you don’t need to apologise, i’m grateful for your support either way. and there’s no reason to be embarrassed for long asks, it just shows you care. thank you for all the support and love you’ve been showing me, i think you’re my number one fan. and if you’re interested, 2024 has been treating me better. i think i’ll be alright. i can not thank you enough for your kind words. and i’m sorry for taking like three months to get around to your request. i just realised i have one from 27 december 2023, so you’re not the only one who’s been waiting.

#sweet asks

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highonmarvel · 2 months

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Hello! It's not 2024 yet,but it will be in one more day so Happy New Year in Advance! May I please request a dark!reader with a soft!dark Bucky? Not a dark or fully dark Bucky but soft dark one like the Bucky you wrote in your recent story called 'Himalayan Salt'. Your dark Bucky really scares me as they are truly dark and cruel,and stay true to the dark fics genre. But for this request,may I request that he won't do any hitting or physical abuse towards the reader? Because I find that I really liked your 'Himalayan Salt' soft!dark!Bucky.

My request is dark!reader is obsessed with Bucky and stalks him,snaps his pictures to keep to herself,steal his stuffs to keep as souveniers,basically everything a yandere would do. But she has no clue that Bucky is also obsessed with her,probably more than she is of him and that he knows everything that she's doing to him when she thought he wasn't looking or didn't notice. He even finds it amusing and think of her as an adorable amateur stalker. She doesn't talk to him and never introduces herself to him (which Bucky wishes she would do) because she thinks someone as handsome as Bucky wouldn't even spare someone like her a glance so she resorts to watching him and fantasizing about him from afar.

Reader got herself in his apartment (that he didn't have proper security or proper locks for on purpose so she can enter easily and his apartment,not hers,because she wouldn't be able to get him back to her place as easily) to hide and wait until he gets back. He has tiny cameras in his apartment that connects to his phone that let him know that Reader is in his apartment and is about to kidnap him. He get home ASAP,acts normal and unaware and purposely stands near to a spot that he knows reader is hiding at and turns his back to her to let her knock him out. She knocked him out and tied him up/restraints him on his bed. He woke up some time later to reader explaining her plan to keep him and reader forces herself on him. Which he pretends not to like at first so he can let her have her moment and let her think she has the upper hand here. But then he started laughing and giggling which confuses and creeps reader out before he broke out of his restraints easily and flipped her over,pinning her on his bed and revealing that he's knew all along and he's far more obsessed with her as he thinks about her everyday,enjoying the little game they play that's she's unaware of and have his way with her in the end. His turn.

I know you said to expect physical abuse or hitting in your fics as they are dark fics but I want to request that Bucky doesn't hit or physically abuse reader in any way in this one,if I can. And vice versa with reader never hitting or physically abuse Bucky except to knock him out as I find her chloroforming an enchanced super soldier unrealistic. Just the non con or dub con committed towards Reader by Bucky in the end. So I guess it's a soft!dark!reader x soft!dark!Bucky request.

Sorry for this long & shitty request and sorry if this isn't really in your lane. I just needed to get this off my chest before I forgot about the idea completely. And I just wanted to try my luck. It's also okay if you don't want to do it,I understand ❤ I'll be treating myself to your other works and upcoming stories in the future. Take care of yourself,hope you're doing well,stay safe and have a blessed New Year ❤❤❤ Thank you for just reading through my terrible request alone and sorry to put you through this lol. Thanks again ❤ Much love! 💞

i’m gonna be honest with you, i wasn’t really into this. the idea sounds cool but i’m not really into dark!reader, though i see where you’re coming from, and i get that my fics are really fucking dark, but someone has to do it. but this was so well thought out and you were so kind at the end i had to do it for ya. and i had fun! it was outside my comfort zone, that’s why it took so long (among other things.) you had a lot here so i apologise if it doesn’t come out as you wanted, but i tried my best, and i did change it just a little bit. here it is:

Amateur Hour

Bucky Barnes: A glimpse generates an obsession, though maybe it’s not as one-sided as you think.

content warnings here!

Sort of subdued all your life, you’ve never had the courage to come right out and say you liked someone, and that led you to observation more than conversation, watching people you admire closely, but nothing more, until you see him.

It’s a fairly overcast day, the sun just peaking out enough so as to not make the air cold. You sit peacefully on a park bench, reading a novel without the threat of rain tempting fear of getting your book wet. You hear someone coming down the path, obviously, because this is a public park, and you don’t know why you look up, but you do, and the wind is knocked right out of your chest.

You’ve never seen a man as beautiful as him, brown hair and mysterious steel blue eyes with a perfectly sculpted jawline and just enough stubble so as to make your heart rate pick up. You don’t realise you’re staring after him until he turns and gives you a quick friendly smile, pink lips upturning for a moment before he continues, but enough to make you develop an obsession of sorts.

You’re used to watching people you admire, and that’s as far as it goes, but this… this is different. He has to have been sculpted by God Himself, strong arms and broad shoulders you all but want to be wrapped in. You could never speak to a man like that, but you could never let him escape in the streets and never see him again, you’re already haunted by the image of him having only briefly met his eyes, you know you’ll go insane if you don’t know him, and so a less insane option is to… watch.

Very casually, you shut your book and stand, stretching before strolling in his direction, keeping your footsteps small enough so that you can follow without him getting suspicious as to why you don’t overtake him. You take in the tress around you, nature you usually appreciate, but you can’t really observe any beauty anymore without knowing they will never compare to the man in front of you. It’ll never be enough now.

And you don’t know it, but Bucky smirks to himself as he hears your gentle footsteps behind him.

You turn out as he does, and usually you would be more vigilant to pickpockets and busy people speed walking on the pavements of New York, but there’s nothing in the world that can take your focus off of the back of his head. You’re sure you must have bumped into a few people, but you can’t recall it, mumbling an apology every once in a while until you stop them completely, trying to keep as silent as possible. You follow him for a bit, though you’re not sure how long; every concept you’ve ever known—time and space—are nothing compared to him. You’re desperate for him to look at you again, you almost want to out yourself right then and there and force his lips onto yours, but you know that’s dumb, yet still it takes you a lot more self control that you ever thought you needed to keep your cool.

You reach a block of apartment buildings and slow down slightly—with less people around, you don’t want to look suspicious. When he turns to one, you turn to the one across the street, watching in the reflection of the glass door entrance as he lets himself into a building. So that’s where he lives. You jot down the address in your notes app and take a picture of the place, just in case, ducking behind a car to see if one of the windows will open revealing him. You frown when after a few minutes, there’s no movement, and so you head around the back, where the flat is facing an empty lot rather than a long road. And you see him, standing by his window, the breeze perfectly combing through his hair.

So you’re the quiet type, you note, seeing as he’d rather his place face no one than everyone. You can’t help yourself from taking another picture, and just before he disappears from your sight. Once he’s gone, you press your back against the wall and grip your phone with both hands to take in that beautiful sight forever. You can’t fight it anymore, you have to know him.

***

Bucky chuckles to himself as he steps back. He knew you were in the park, he came specifically for a walk to see you, but he wasn’t really expecting you to have such an immediate and visceral reaction to the sight of him. Bucky’s no stranger to flirty glances, but he saw that glint in your eyes, and he knows it; it’s the same one he had when he saw you. When he heard you get up behind him, he hoped it was because you were going to introduce yourself (not that he needed your name, but that seemed like an easier way to go about it) but when the sound of your footsteps didn’t speed up or die down, he knew you were following him. Bucky’s obsession with your started when you’d sweetly bought a cake in a cute bakery, and you just screamed innocence to him right off the bat. Now, well, maybe you’re not so innocent in your own eyes, but, if anything, you’re a little naïve to him, and he finds it adorable.

***

The next day you head back over and sit in your car for a little bit, waiting for him to come out, but you get an opportunity just as good. The mailman comes around with probably some junk mail, and you hop out your car, pretending you were entering your own building. When he opens the door, you stop him.

“I’m just going in, don’t worry, I can take it from you,” you say with a friendly smiles. He thanks you for helping him on his long route as he hands you a few letters and magazines: junk. You wave him goodbye as you step in and the door falls shut behind you.

“Do you live here?” a voice asks, and you startle as you turn to security seated behind a desk.

“No! I’m just volunteering a little on the mail route,” you smile at him, innocently, and raising the pitch of your voice to appear sweeter, “And I’m sorry, I just need a little help getting it into the right boxes.

“Well, I can do it for you,” he offers, but you shake your head.

To avoid suspicion you offer, “Well, there’s five floors, you can do floors one and two and I’ll do three and up.” You counted that the man you’re obsessed with lives on the fourth floor.

He agrees and you get to work putting mail where he tells you each person and their door number.

“James B Barnes?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. You had done a few on his floor and asked a little about each, but most of them were either women or people living together, and you knew he had to live alone, he seems really reserved and to himself, likes the quiet.

“James? I don’t know a James…” you frown as he furrows his brows in thought, but suddenly he snaps his fingers and smiles, “Ah, Barnes! That’s Bucky, 4D, really keeps to himself.”

Bucky. But you have to make sure it’s the right person.

“I see,” you say as you gently place letters in a box on the fourth row marked with the letter D, “You don’t know much about him?”

“Nah, only that he’s really into gloves, never see him without ‘em, even in scorching hot weather.”

The man you saw yesterday was wearing gloves, even though it wasn’t really cold. That has to be him.

It takes a while to fill up the rest as you try to keep friendly conversation going to not appear suspicious. When you’re finally done, he goes back to scribble something down on a piece of paper.

“You know, he says as he finishes it off, “If you’re going to be coming down this way for a while, you should have the building code, make it easier for you,” he hands you the piece of paper with a smile.

“Thank you!” you say, a little too eagerly as you read the code: 8496, “I’m often busy with work so I’m not sure how many days I can be here,” you sulk, “But I’ll try come in every once in a while, count on it.”

James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, apartment 4D, you’re getting somewhere.

You’ve started to notice that you’ve been so distracted lately you’ve been misplacing items; a t-shirt you thought was in your cupboard would end up on the floor, a few of your bras seem to have disappeared, and you can’t find random notes you’ve written and placed throughout the house. But it’s fine, once you have him you can deal with all that: none of that is as important as Bucky.

You’ve always been a bit of a loner, but the next two weeks you spend talking to no one, not even responding to work emails as you stalk Bucky. You’ve managed to sneak in a few times (he doesn’t lock his door) and grab some of his stuff—you even wear his t-shirts sometimes, absolutely intoxicated by his scent—snap a few pictures for memories. Following him around, you find that you were right: he is more of a loner; he hardly talks to anyone, he’s got two friends, Sam and Steve, who he sees maybe once a week for drinks, but that’s it.

On a Friday night, you snap: you have to have him.

***

Bucky is in the middle of taking a sip of beer, watching Sam and Steve laugh at his deadpan joke, when he gets a notification on his phone. It’s a specific sound he has just for the cameras in his house, tells the guys it’s security, and they get it, they think Bucky is a little paranoid from his past, but if anything, his past makes him more comfortable to being exposed to attack, he knows he can take them, and no one with half a brain cell would try a serious-looking well-built man.

He manages to excuse himself for the night, but not without a little protest from Steve and Sam. To get out of explaining himself, he places money on the table for the men to get another round on him, and they cheer as he exits the bar.

Outside in the dark, he opens the app and turns his phone landscape to swipe through the multiple cameras set up in his house to get to the one where you are. Of course you’re in his bedroom; he’s noticed you’ve been stealing some of his clothes, once even a pair of his boxers, and so he moved your stuff to a better hiding spot. From watching you, it didn’t even seem like you noticed your things going missing, that or you didn’t care, but he knew you weren’t as attentive as you thought. Once he literally followed you in his car just to see how far he could go and you didn’t pay it any mind, walking through your neighbourhood as normal—though, granted, you did have your earphones in.

Excitement ripples down Bucky’s spine and he can’t help but smile at the screen as he notices you ducking behind his bed. Really? Behind his bed? Not even in the closet? He bites his lip to prevent himself from laughing, but not in a malicious way, in an adoring way, that you really are committed to this, but not as committed as he is. He’s seen the chloroform, baseball bat and ropes you bought, you’ve been planning it for a little, but nothing could prepare you for him.

He has to stop himself from full on sprinting down the road to get back home. He does to want to show up sweaty and panting, so he tries with all his might to make it casual stroll. He makes sure to slam the front door behind him so you know he’s here, and he sighs loudly as he shrugs off his jacket before tossing it onto the couch. Maybe it’ll spook you too much if he went straight to his bedroom, so he goes to the bathroom first to freshen up a bit, give you time to really think this through, maybe you’ll change your mind. Not that he’ll change his.

His bedroom door is closed, which he finds a little cute because he knows he left it slightly ajar, but you didn’t really take that into consideration. When he enters, he turns to close the door behind him, giving you time to sneak up and hit him over the head with a bat.

He falls, pretends he’s been knocked out, as if a bat could take him out; he’s been punched through walls and barely flinched before getting back up to fight. It takes a lot in him to stop himself from smiling as he feels you lift him from under his armpits and drag him onto the bed. It takes a bit, but once he’s lying down, you puff out a breath and wipe your brows; that was a bit of a workout for you, but for him… how easy it would be to manhandle you.

He hears you shuffling and feels harsh rope chafe against his skin as you wrap a piece around his ankle, not nearly tight enough, and he thinks it’s because you don’t want to hurt him, which is sweet. You’re just so sweet.

Once you’ve ‘secured’ his ankles and wrists, he waits a few moments before he pretends to stir, coming to consciousness. He puts on a confused and scared look as he notices you at the edge of the bed, as if he hasn’t been dreaming about this for the longest time. As soon as your eyes meet his, he can hear the near whisper, swoon-like sigh you give. Bucky has never considered himself too attractive, doesn’t pay much mind when someone is attracted to him, neither gives him an ego boost or knocks him down a notch, but you, the way you’re so affected by his presence has his heart rate picking up.

“You’re just so beautiful,” you breathe, “Bucky.”

Bucky tightens his fists to prevent himself groaning at the sound of his name falling from your lips, and he’s struggling even more now to restrain himself, wanting to fuck you so hard that’s all you can say, just broken sobs of his name as you come over and over, legs trembling around his waist…

“I’m sorry,” you apologise as you stand.

The corner of his lip twitches, and he can tell you’ve noticed, but that scared face he’s putting on for your benefit quickly takes over his expression as you climb over him. He wants to beg you to stop, maybe give you a little more time to feel in control, but it’s been a while now, and he can’t help the chuckle that slips past his smiling lips.

You look up from his crotch to see him full-on laughing now, not necessarily deranged, but laughing like you’ve told him a genuinely funny joke. You sit back on him carefully as you watch this odd behaviour, that really unsettles you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologies, still with a smile on his face as he shakes his head, “It’s just… come on, now. You’re adorable, but what is this, amateur hour?”

You don’t really have time to take in his giggly response to being ostensibly held captive before he easily pulls himself free of the restraints. You gasp and grab hold of his waist as he grabs hold of your hips, easily pinning you underneath him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Trying to contain his amusement, he drops his head to hide his smile, but can’t hide it away again when he looks back down at you.

“Two weeks?” he breaths over you, his tone not mocking, but near incredulous, “Try two months, sweetheart. I’ve seen your internal conflict, knowing what you were doing is wrong but not being able to stop, huh?”

He raises an eyebrow with his question and you gulp and look down from his eyes to through his legs.

“Where do you think all your shit’s being going? Things don’t just disappear, touches aren’t always just dreams. And listen,” he brings a hand up from your waist to gently tap your cheek, signalling for you to look back at him, and you do, “I’ve enjoyed playing this little game with you, but I’ve been waiting too long for this now to let you have all the fun.”

You gasp as he ducks his head to press a gentle yet possessing kiss to your neck, grasping onto his hair to keep his mouth against your pulse. He smiles against you, and you take a deep breath in as you turn your head to allow him more space, gently tugging him downwards as you listen to his soft kisses and feel the loving stroke of his fingers on your inner thigh. His gentleness soon turns a little more rushed, like he’s desperate; he lets out a choked groan as he grinds his tightening jeans against your thigh, which you return with a moan of your own, pulling his head from your neck which he at first tries to fight, so lost in the taste of your skin, the quickening rise and fall of your chest against his, your sighs of his name, but he reluctantly pulls away, only to be immediately pulled down to your face as you crash your lips against his. He can tell you’re eager by the way you shift your thighs every once in a while, but he knows there’s fear in the trembling fingers that hold him against you.

Once his tongue slides into your mouth, you know it’s over, unable to stop yourself from draping your arm over his neck so he’s as close to you as possible.

“Bucky…” you moan against his mouth, rolling your hips against him.

“Fuck,” he rasps.

You desperately claw at the waistband of his jeans, and he smiles as he pulls away and sits up to take in your flushed cheeks; he’s hardly touched you and you’re already pleading, “Please, please, please.” He’s sure by now the only words you can get out are ‘fuck,’ ‘please,’ or ‘Bucky,’ and he can’t quite decide which is his favourite one… Definitely his name.

“It’s coming, sweetheart,” he says as he undoes his belt, “Hold on.”

It’s no task for him to pull off your pants as you arch your hips, and he really can’t help but smirk to himself as he notices the dark patch on your underwear when he slides it off next.

He props himself up as he slowly pushes into you, grunting at how good you feel. You moan and Bucky rewards the sweet sound by hiking up your thigh to hit you deeper. You cry out as he bottoms inside you, digging your nails into his back and squeezing your eyes shut, cunt tightening around him, too.

“Oh, fuck,” he whines as he pulls back and pushes into you again. Your hands move to grasp onto his shoulders, and if you’re pushing him off, he doesn’t notice it, letting out a whimper when he hits your spot again, your fingers grasping onto him for dear life.

He tried to keep slow, but he hurries a little, fucking addicted to feeling you, so lost he’s letting pathetic noises fall from his lips as he pushes into you each time, making sure to give praises of, “Fuck, that’s good, you’re so good, fuck,” between harsh breaths, and you can reply with nothing but whines and moans under him.

When he feels your legs begin to tremble, he pulls the one over his waist further back, hitting you even deeper, causing your eyes to roll into the back of your head, and this time he feels your nails break into his skin.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” is all you can get out as he hovers over you.

“You gonna come, sweetheart? You can do that, fuck, please, please come for me.”

If the feeling of his cock wasn’t enough to drive you over the edge, his pleads and whines do it; you let out a broken sob of his name as you clench down on him, orgasm ripping through you better than in all your fantasies.

“Fuck, yeah, yeah, that’s good, ‘m gonna come in you now, okay?”

And it doesn’t take long, a few more thrusts and he releases himself inside of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and letting out a long groan of your name. When his breathing has slowed slightly, he raises himself to look down at you, and he doesn’t think he could deny himself another round, whether you want it or not.

✪

[taglist; @cjand10, @pr30087, fill out this form if you’d like to be added!]

#dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #dark bucky x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky x you #dark bucky x you #yandere bucky barnes #dark!avengers #dark avengers

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highonmarvel · 2 months

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back from the psych ward, fuck yeah.

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highonmarvel · 3 months

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to my very long request from a month ago, i didn’t forget about you, love.

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highonmarvel · 3 months

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there’s still a lot to come, don’t worry. thank you for reading!🤍

Dilated [I]

Steve Rogers bumps into a woman whose pupils are larger than normal.

content warnings here!

You startle at the contact and quickly slap his hands off, immediately groaning at the cramp suffocating your left upper arm as you pull it back. You can’t really see the tall man in front of you through your watery eyes, and you can’t wipe your eyes due to your sweaty palms.

You’re struggling to really comprehend what he’s saying; you know he asked if you’re okay, and then?

“Can I take you home?” his voice comes through hazily.

“Wh- What?” you ask, the question immediately flying out of your head as your eyes rapidly scan the streets, like looking for signs of danger, when you’re sure there aren’t any.

“Can I take you home,” he repeats, slowly and louder. You turn your head to wipe your face on your shoulder as he continues, “I’m Steve. Steve Rogers.”

That’s Captain America, no?

With your eyes less blurry now, you’re just able to make out the blue eyes and golden hair under the warm streetlights.

“Okay!” is all you can muster, and you’re not sure to what he took it: okay to take you home or okay that’s his name? Maybe you should give your name in response but you don’t, you can’t. When he asks for your address, you snap something at him that you think is where you live, though you can’t tell through your irritation; he’s really agitating you for some reason; he’s done nothing, but he’s got you annoyed, or maybe you’re just annoyed in general after Sharon cut you off. You wonder why, because it’s not like she doesn’t have a supply, and it’s not like she cares whether you live or die.

You stumble a few times and sway slightly as you stay just a little ahead of him in beat to get to your flat but refuse his offer of a strong, steady arm around your waist to keep your stable. You don’t want to touch him at all, feeling hot and hotter even just walking beside him, everything radiating heat, but especially his body.

You get to the entrance of your building and push your shoulder against the door to stumble into the hall. You don’t notice Steve come in behind you under he places a large hand on the small of your back and you jump in fright with a yelp, whipping around to face him.

“Sorry!” he apologises, “I’m sorry, but I really need to make sure you get in safe. Is that okay?”

You wish he would stop talking, and you guess he knows you’re not really processing what he’s saying, but you don’t really have the drive to snap at him, just letting him trail you as you walk up four flights of stairs to get to your door. He stays alert behind you, ready for you to fall backwards and into his arms, but you make it, surprising even yourself.

You fumble with your keys, ignoring his offer to help as you drop the key four times before you get it in the lock and then another three trying to turn it. You don’t kick off your shoes, don’t take off your jacket or even pull your sling bag off, you just crash face first into the couch and fall right asleep.

***

Steve is surprised at your exhaustion. His first guess was heroin withdrawal but that’s more likely to cause insomnia, and then he worries you may have died in front of him, but your breathing slowly returning to regular and your snoring assure him you’re alive. Well, barely.

He has to stay overnight, how can he just leave you like this? Tomorrow will probably be worse, you can’t be alone by yourself right now. He’s not sure if he should pull a blanket over you, take your shoes off and rest your head more comfortably on a pillow. He decides to leave you, worried if he takes one thing off he may not be able to stop.

But he should probably get something to help you, right? And he needs a glass of water himself. Your kitchen opens right into the living room so it’s easy to find. He pours himself an ice cold glass, sipping it as he walks back to you and settles in an armchair across from the sofa you’re passed out on. Your place isn’t really decorated; he can see lighter squares against your walls, and wonders if you sold those pieces of if you’ve recently moved and a previous tenant took their frames.

Maybe you’re an artist; he’s heard artists are tortured, a lot of them do drugs, or maybe a musician; he should probably check your bedroom to be sure, just to learn about you so tomorrow he can get you the appropriate help.

There are only two doors, one leading to the bathroom. He’s immediately drawn to your medicine cabinet to check if you’ve got anything here, because if you do, he needs to get rid of it. He finds more bottles of sleeping pills than needed and a prescription for depression or anxiety meds, making a mental note to flush the sedatives down the toilet in a few hours; not now, he doesn’t want to wake you.

Adjacent to the bathroom is what he assumes if your bedroom door, which he is right about, and as messy as expected (he wondered how your living room, kitchen and bathroom appeared tidy enough—if you were in this state often, you’d definitely be unable to maintain even basic cleaning). Maybe you didn’t use those rooms. Not even the bathroom?

Clothes are scattered on the floor and pillows and blankets have been thrown off the bed, sheets too, leaving a bare mattress with a small bloodstain on it. A desk sits by the window, looking out to just another red brick apartment complex, with a broken laptop and scraps of paper cluttering the surface and the ground, a small bin overflowing with paper and broken pens.

He finds a manuscript laying on the floor—so you’re a writer—and finally he can put a name to your face. Should he clean your room, or is that really weird? In less than an hour he’s developing this caring instinct, and he tells himself it’s just his job, Captain America wanting to help everyone and all, he’s a superhero after and before all.

Steve gets another cold glass of water and settles in his seat across from you. For the first time tonight, you look at peace; your eye lids aren’t moving as rapidly, your breathing is steady and deep, your limbs aren’t trembling, muscles aren’t cramped, and your wild sweating has slowed, though he can still even see the layer sticking to your skin.

***

When you peel your eyes open, you’re grateful for the overcast weather, though you’re still a little blinded by the light. You feel like pure shit: weak and sore with a pounding headache and overwhelming nausea. You turn your head to vomit off the couch, surprised to land it in a bucket waiting for you and not your stained carpet. Blinking is hardly helping as you try to get your lashes to unstick each time they flutter. Your heartbeat is slow, slow enough that were you feeling more aware, it would concern you, and you wonder if you’re dying.

You’re hardly regaining full consciousness when your gaze finally lands on a man sitting across from you. You scream as you sit up and jump further back into the couch, but you can’t hold yourself up for long before you tumble back to the cushions, your shoulder hitting the edge making you wince in pain and heavy head lolling over the armrest, straining your neck.

“Relax, relax, you’re gonna hurt yourself, you need to calm down. I’m Steve,” he introduces himself in a friendly manner but he doesn’t smile, instead scanning your face with furrowed brows like he’s looking for any injuries.

He looks like the man from last night, yeah, and it takes you a few moments to grasp that he’s Steve Rogers, Captain America himself. Your breathing rate increases as your mind races to find a reason as to why Captain America is in your apartment. You vaguely remember being turned away again by Sharon last night, and you remember someone mentioning she was dealing some more serious shit than what you needed, had he found out about that? Thought you were an accomplice? Or maybe you were in danger; maybe Sharon had found out you knew and was going to kill you, and he was here for protection. Did you do something really illegal last night to the point one of the world’s greatest superheroes had to watch over you?

“I know who you are what are you doing here?” you plead for an answer, desperation coating your tone as your heart beats wildly.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” he coos, taking a step towards you and keeping his hands visible, like approaching a stray dog, “I was really, really concerned about you last night, I couldn’t in good faith leave you, I had to make sure you got home safe.”

But… it’s the morning. Did he stay all night? You kind of hope he did instead of leaving and somehow breaking into your place when you were passed out, if anything.

You’re shaking, and you can’t tell if it’s from withdrawal or if you’re scared. But why would you be scared? You have the world’s greatest protector concerned with your health and safety. Something about him is unsettling, and at first you think it’s just your agitation finding reasons for anxiety when there are none. He was just being nice, being so much more helpful than you could have ever asked for, but you can’t help but wonder, wouldn’t he have better things to do? More serious threats to take care of? Why would an Avenger prowl the streets and take such an interest in a random woman rather than an inter-dimensional threat?

Something just isn’t sitting right, and you can’t tell if it’s your scattered imagination or a real possibility of danger.

⍟

[taglist; @cjand10, @pr300877, fill out this form if you’d like to be added]

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highonmarvel · 3 months

Text

Dilated [I]

Steve Rogers bumps into a woman whose pupils are larger than normal.

Previous Part: [Prologue]

content warnings here!

You’re struggling to really comprehend what he’s saying; you know he asked if you’re okay, and then?

“Can I take you home?” his voice comes through hazily.

“Wh- What?” you ask, the question immediately flying out of your head as your eyes rapidly scan the streets, like looking for signs of danger, when you’re sure there aren’t any.

“Can I take you home,” he repeats, slowly and louder. You turn your head to wipe your face on your shoulder as he continues, “I’m Steve. Steve Rogers.”

That’s Captain America, no?

With your eyes less blurry now, you’re just able to make out the blue eyes and golden hair under the warm streetlights.

“Sorry!” he apologises, “I’m sorry, but I really need to make sure you get in safe. Is that okay?”

***

“I know who you are what are you doing here?” you plead for an answer, desperation coating your tone as your heart beats wildly.

But… it’s the morning. Did he stay all night? You kind of hope he did instead of leaving and somehow breaking into your place when you were passed out, if anything.

Something just isn’t sitting right, and you can’t tell if it’s your scattered imagination or a real possibility of danger.

⍟

[taglist; @cjand10, @pr300877, fill out this form if you’d like to be added]

#dilated #dark!steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x you #dark steve rogers x you #dark!steve rogers x y/n #dark steve rogers x y/n #yandere!steve rogers #yandere steve rogers

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highonmarvel · 3 months

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500!

wow! thank you all so, so much for 500 followers! i’m squealing with excitement, i can’t even begin to express how amazing this is! and so, as promised, here it is!

#500 followers

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highonmarvel · 3 months

Text

Dilated

Steve Rogers bumps into a woman whose pupils are larger than normal.

Prologue

Part I

#dilated #dilated masterlist #dark!steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x y/n #dark steve rogers x y/n #dark!steve rogers x you #dark steve rogers x you

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highonmarvel · 3 months

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Dilated [prologue]

Steve Rogers bumps into a woman whose pupils are larger than normal.

content warnings here!

Avengers didn’t handle drug busts, naturally, they had bigger issues. The only time they did deal with substances out on the streets would have been the untamed distribution of Super Soldier Serum, but other than that, no one was in the tower tracking cocaine deals. Still, though, one would think that when an Avenger walked by, everyone would weakly attempt to get their act together, just stand a little taller, maybe give a half nod, but you didn’t.

It’s past midnight, approaching three AM, when you stumble into Steve in the dark, and he’s a little surprised for a moment, at your overly casual nature, and carelessness—at first he thinks you’re agitated because of the unsafe hour for a woman to be roaming the streets on her own, briefly considers you’re a prostitute due to your slightly disheveled look, but when he gently grips your shoulders and pushes you off of him, you fall into the dim streetlights, he can see your pupils are dilated.

His gaze is fixed on your eyes for just a little too long to be romantic, until you grasp shaky hands onto his forearms and lift yourself upright. You shoot out a quick apology, sweating heavily and breathing unsteadily.

A mess, you’re clear as day a mess, but to Steve… he’s never seen a woman as beautiful as you, even though your features are slick with perspiration, your limbs are trembling to the point he wonders how you can even hold yourself up, your eyes are darting unnaturally quickly to spot what he can’t see, and you’re so anxious your heart is about to leap out of your chest, his enhanced senses allowing him to hear the drumming against your ribcage despite the two arms distance between you.

He wants to help, he know he does, wants to rehabilitate you in some way, he can’t leave a woman with so much to live for to essentially kill herself.

“Are you okay?” he asks as he places his strong hands lightly on your shoulders, attempting to stop your shaking. He lets his gaze trail down your arm, noticing a bruise spreading across your inner elbow.

⍟

Next Part: Dilated [I]

[taglist; @cjand10, @pr300877, fill out this form if you’d like to be added]

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highonmarvel · 4 months

Note

Happy New Year! Hope you're doing well wherever you are ❤🫂

happy new year! thank you so, so much, sweetheart! i hope you’re doing well!

#sweet asks

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highonmarvel · 4 months

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stop it, you’re literally one of my favs, i’m so glad you like my stuff! happy new year, sweetness!

Theses are the fics I've read this month and would highly recommend you reading. Please go and show some love to these amazing creators!

Please read the warnings to each fic🤍

Divider by @saradika

fluff - ❀ angst - ❁ both - ✾ smut - ❅ series - ✸

Bucky Barnes

HR - by @highonmarvel dark fic

You Belong To Me - by @sergeantbarnessdoll (Winter Solider) ❅

Nothing Breaks Like A Heart - by @buckybabesonly ✾

Riding into the night - by @veltana ❅/❀

Was, Wasn’t by @shurisneakers ❁

Steve Rogers

A shelter in the storm - by @witchywithwhiskey ❅

Watchful Eyes - by @espinosaurusrexex ❅ ✾

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highonmarvel · 4 months

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taglist form

if you’d like to be added to my tag list, please fill out this form :)

#taglist #admin #around the blog

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highonmarvel · 4 months

Note

alright, alright, i’ll write a part two. i’m so glad you enjoyed!🤍

Hi there! May i please request a mob!steve x reader where the reader used to be with him but when she found about his mob life she left him so like the HR he decided to ruin her life and one day he just shows up in her now downgraded apartment and manipulates and gaslights her into coming back to him, and she just goes back because she’s just in a vulnerable place

Feel free to add your own spin to it btw love your work soo much! Especially the biker!bucky 🤗

oh, i like this! and thank you so much for the love! i hope you enjoy. and i apologise for taking over a month to get back to you, shit’s been wild for me. okay, here we go:

Easy Luxury

Steve Rogers: You find out how your suspiciously wealthy boyfriend makes his money, and have to start over without it.

content warnings here!

It was never manipulation, it was a deep understanding that enabled him to know what you needed before you even opened your mouth, a symptom of being the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy next door type. Naturally, he knows what’s best for you, you’d never have to question him. And you didn’t.

Steve was suspiciously wealthy for such a humble and down-to-Earth guy, but you didn’t question it; his expensive car, his shiny watch, his high rise penthouse, his seemingly endless cash, you didn’t read too much into it, you just enjoyed his presence, and his luxury didn’t hurt either; anything you wanted, and things you didn’t, Steve gave to you, and you accepted gratefully. He even insisted you live closer to him until he didn’t have so many people coming in and out of his apartment for something he never quite explained, and then you could move in with him. You live in a nice ass building a block down from him, making for easy visits, curtesy Steve.

You sigh as you place your bag down in the lift on the way up to the top floor, excited to surprise Steve. You had head to see your parents for what was supposed to be two weeks, but after just one you’d had enough, and you missed Steve.

You excitedly bounce on your toes as you pick your bag up again, the elevator numbers just a few ticks from the top. With a wide grin, you stare straight ahead as the the doors open, and that smile immediately drops.

Right in the middle of your living room, Steve is ripping the teeth out of a guy tied to a chair. Even the back of his shirt is bloodied, and there’s so much blood on the floor you have to assume there have been many other people in this man’s position in the time you’ve been away.

“You fucking rat,” he grunts as he pries the man’s mouth open again and sticks an adjustable wrench into the back of his cheek. It clasps onto one of his wisdom teeth and Steve pries it out, and you can tell he’s satisfied despite his back facing you. The man lets out a bloodcurdling scream and Steve tosses the tooth onto a pile of at least five others.

“Workin’ for the Starks, huh?”

The Starks are a well known mob family in New York, and if they’re Steve’s rivals then…

You gasp out loud.

Steve whips around, and his face, though covered almost entirely in crimson, goes pale.

“Baby! You’re back early.”

You finger flies to the close button for the doors, pressing furiously as if that’s gonna make it happen faster. Steve races towards you, calling your name as you anxiously push the button at lightning speed. At the very last split second, just before Steve can stick his hand between the doors, they shut, and the lift begins to descend. You hear Steve’s frustrated “Fuck!” and banging above you as your stomach sinks with the elevator.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, what can you do? Steve had convinced you to quit your job, you pretty much lived exclusively off of him, but you can’t possibly stay with him, yet you’re rendering yourself homeless if you leave.

Once you get to the ground floor, you race out the door, leaving your bag behind and ignoring a concerned look from the doorman as you dart out. You phone buzzes in your pocket, and you know it’s Steve. You ignore the vibrating phone call and run towards your apartment. You’re sure you have some money cobbled together from Christmas cards over the years. No way in hell you can pack your things, and you know you’ll have to get rid of your phone, but you need at least a little bit of cash.

You’re sure you’re on the verge of dying from a lack of oxygen as you make it to your apartment and slam the door behind you, locking it, too, though you doubt that’ll keep him out.

You’re furiously rummaging through drawers when a gentle rap at the door makes your soul damn near leap out of your body.

“Honey?” Steve calls, voice calm as ever, as if he didn’t just commit such unspeakable violence, and who knows what fucking else he’s done that you’ve never seen? And how did he get here so quick? Is he still covered in blood and spit and flesh and evidence from his torture?

You try to tune him out as you look for the last of the envelopes to add to your small pile, but you can’t ignore his gentle voice trying to coax you into a state of relaxation he would soothe you into when your anxiety became too much to bare.

“Sweetheart, let’s talk about this.”

“Go away!” you manage to shriek through hyperventilation.

“Don’t do something stupid,” he warns, voice low in a way you’ve never heard him use before, and if you were terrified before, you were on the verge of a heart attack now.

With a few envelopes and no way to escape, you run to the window and peer down; you’re three floors up with some soft patches of grass beneath you. You don’t have time to even calculate it, surely adrenaline will get you through the pain if you’re severely hurt. You’re working up the nerve, and just as Steve busts the door in, yelling your name, you jump, luckily landing on your feet, but falling soon after, and briefly wondering if you’ve dislocated your knee as you scramble to stand and start running.

Steve shouts your name from the window but you don’t even look back, just running to God knows where. You’re sure you’ve run full speed for more than half an hour when, by such luck, you stumble across a really cheap looking motel. Just as you throw some cash to the guy to give you a key, you feel around in your pockets for your phone, panicked, and for the first time in your life, you’re glad to have lost it. He can’t find you now, at least not by tracking, you hope. Though you might have expected to be plagued by insomnia due to your stress, you pass right the fuck out as soon as your head touches the crusty pillow on the room’s stained mattress.

***

The sun isn’t out when you snap your eyes open, it couldn’t have been more than six hours since you ran away, then, but there’s no sign of Steve, and you let out the biggest breath of relief there ever could be. You head to the bathroom to shower and think of your next move, but it’s so filthy you wonder if you’re only making yourself dirtier by stepping in. You’re sweaty, and your body is physically tired from the sprinting. You flop onto the floor as you try to consider your next move. You’ve got an old friend living in Queens! You haven’t spoken to her in years, literally since high school, but since then she had practically been living on her own and raising herself and her sister, you can’t imagine she’s moved since then.

You have to walk a ways before you manage to get to an area you can hail a cab, and that takes a little more effort than you would have liked to exert. By some grace you manage to remember the address, and as you pull up, the house looks pretty much the same as all those years ago, giving you a glimmer of hope.

You drag yourself to the front door and manage to knock despite your weak body.

The door opens after a few moments to reveal the red hair you haven’t seen in forever, yet still, she looks virtually the same.

“Natasha!” you say as you collapse into her arms.

“Oh my God!” she cries, but she catches you with ease, “What are you doing here? What happened?”

You can barely speak, but she seems to somewhat understand as she leads to you to her living room and gently sets you down on the couch. Her blonde sister comes running into the room, eyes wide and panicked.

“Yelena!” Natasha calls, and hurriedly says words in Russian you could never understand. Yelena leaves and returns with a cup of water, which you gratefully accept, not realising just how thirsty you actually were. You gulp down the water like a dying fish and Yelena immediately leaves to get you another.

Sitting down and not on the verge of dehydration, you can speak, but your voice is still hoarse.

“I’m sorry for dropping in like this—”

“Don’t ever apologise for coming to me,” she cuts you off sternly, nearly angrily, like she’s irritated you thought you could ever bother her. She was this way in high school, but still, you haven’t spoken in years and years, and you feel bad for that. You know she can help you, or she’ll try to do everything in her power to do so, but you can’t let her get involved in mob business… like you were, unknowingly.

“I’m just in a rough spot,” you say, nodding thanks to Yelena as you take the second cup of water and down it even quicker than you did the first one. She sits down next to you, concerned, as Natasha is seated across from you on the opposite couch, leaning forward, forearms on her thighs as she listens attentively, “Don’t have a job or a place, or anyone else I can go to. I’ve got a bit of money, can you help me find a cheap place?”

“Just stay with us,” Yelena says, sitting up straight.

“Yeah,” Natasha agrees, “It’s clear there’s a lot going on, please, don’t be alone right now. You can stay here, I can help you get a job.”

Even after all this time, she treats you so beautifully, but you can’t let her get wrapped up in this; if Steve finds you, he might hurt Nat and Yelena, and you’d never be able to live with that (and maybe you won’t have to if he kills you too).

“No!” you say, a little louder than needed, causing the pair to give you strange looks, “Please,” you say, speaking softer now, “If you want to help me, can I just use your shower and you help me get a place? I know you know a lot of people.”

You can tell she wants to protest, but Nat only presses her lips into a thin line and exhales through her nostrils, nodding before standing up.

“Okay,” she concedes, “Yelena will get you some fresh clothes and I’ll make some calls.”

“Thank you,” you say, with more sincerity than you ever have in your life. Yelena helps you up, and you want to protest, but realise you’re a lot weaker than you thought, and you can’t tell if it’s mental or physical exhaustion.

You have to sit down in the shower, rinsing the stickiness off of you and watching it float in the few centimetres of water before being whisked down the drain.

You’re steadier on your feet once you’re clean and dressed, and you pop into the kitchen just as Nat hangs up her phone.

“Okay, I’ve got somewhere $95 a month, but it’s not great.”

You shake your head, “It’s perfect, thank you.” You counted around $650 in your cash, but if you get a job you can make it work.

“But you’re not leaving before you eat.”

Eating breakfast with Nat and Yelena takes the weight of the world off your shoulders, the three of you laughing about events from a decade ago with the same vigour you did when they first happened. But you can’t shake the feeling you have to leave, quick.

You’re nearly done helping the pair clean up when Nat comes up to you.

“Hey, what’s your number? We should stay in touch, even if just for a few months, just so I know you’re okay.”

“I lost my phone,” you sigh.

“I’m drop in every once in a while then, okay? And you can’t fight me on this. I’m honestly really worried about you,” she throws her dish rag over a chair and walks up to you, holding your shoulders as she looks into your eyes, “But I’m so glad you came. I’m always here for you. So is Yelena.”

You look to the doorway Yelena’s leaning against and she gives you a smile, but it’s a little sad.

“Thank you, Nat. I love you, so much. And I’m sorry it’s been so long.”

“These things happen, it’s fine. I’m just glad you’re in one piece. Looks like you had a hell of a night.”

You laugh shakily and nod, “I did. I’m surprised I didn’t dislocate a knee.”

“Oh my God… okay, conversation for another time, let’s just get you into your place. Do you have anything we need to take?”

You literally have no earthly possession with you at this point besides the envelopes, which you tuck into the inner pockets of Nat’s biker jacket she’s lending you. You refused to take any clothes other than one other pair of pants and a t-shirt, but Yelena promised she’d wash your others and bring them back, though you’re not even sure you want them anymore.

“I’ll be back with them tomorrow,” she says as she closes the door, leaving you alone in a flat you’re sure has mould.

There’s only a couch, a mattress, and a clock you’re not sure if displays the correct time, which is more than you were expecting. You flop down onto the slightly dirty couch and run your hands over your face. Now fed, hydrated, and somewhat rested, you can’t think of anything else to distract you from thoughts of Steve…

Okay, you’ll try to find a job tomorrow, for today, there’s nothing more you can do but try to sleep, even though it’s not even midday yet.

***

As promised, Yelena drops off your clothes the next morning, with the tears poorly sewn up, but you thank her for the effort and encourage her to leave the building before you do, in case Steve is watching, but you don’t cite that reason.

Half an hour later, you stride out, taking a walk down the dodgy streets, and luckily, you come across a bakery with an “URGENTLY HIRING” sign in the window. Your little streaks of luck would mean much more if it wasn’t overshadowed by everything else, and your luck ends when you’re half way into the interview.

“What?!” you gasp, trying to lean over to get a better look at the computer screen the interviewer (who’s just some teenager, probably a temp) is trying to shield from you.

“Ma’am, you have a charge for robbery, we can’t hire you.”

You exit in a daze, nearly numb at the realisation Steve would go this far. Why not just kill you? If he was worried you’d go to the police (the thought had never even crossed your mind until this moment), he’d just fucking kill you, or kidnap and torture you, he wouldn’t just leave you to rot out in the real world, that’s too risky.

You sadly make your way back to your flat, and who’s there when you open the door?

Steve stands with a crisp blue shirt in the centre of the room, and what can you do about it.

You fall to your knees and sob, face in your hands as you try to take in your fate. What did he want with you? You want to say you swear you’ll never tell anyone, that you haven’t told anyone, but you can’t speak through your gasping sobs.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, slowly making his way over to you, like he’s worried he’ll scare you off, “It’s okay, don’t worry, I’d never hurt you, baby, you weren’t supposed to see that, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, I didn’t want to hurt you, ever, but I have.”

He sighs, and you manage to look back up at him, a somber coat over his blue eyes.

“And look at you,” he gently raises your arm to trace a finger over scrapes and scratches you guess are from darting through narrow alleyways and through thick bushes, “Baby, and look at his,” he gestures around him to the damp flat, and you sniffle, “You can’t stay here, come back, I’ll take care of you, like I always have.”

“Th- the arrest—”

“I had to do that, baby, I’m sorry. I just had to. If you were with me that never would have happened, see? And it can all go away. Honey, I’m offering you the world, all you have to do is come with me.”

With teary eyes you look around. You can’t live here too long or you’ll get some kind of mould poisoning, you can’t get a job, you can’t endanger Nat and Yelena…

“Okay,” you sigh, defeated, and just as Steve starts to smile, there’s a knock at the door. Natasha calls your name and you tense up, Steve looks down at you with his head cocked to the side.

“I think you better answer that, sweetheart. Tell her you’re not gonna be here anymore.”

He pulls you to your feet and you gulp as you lean your head against the door.

“Yeah?” you answer.

“Let me in.”

If Steve sees Nat, he’ll know who to look for if you try anything like this again. But he’s sitting patiently on the couch, and he nods towards the door, beckoning you to open it. You take a deep breath and crack it open a bit.

“Hey, what’s up?” you think you say, but you can barely hear your words over the pounding of your heart.

“Is everything okay?” she asks, and you shoot a glance behind you, which you immediately regret when Nat bounces on her toes to get a look.

“Yeah,” you block her vision and bring her attention back to you, still trying to keep the door as close to closed as possible, “I… I have to go…”

“What?” she asks, “You just got here, what’s changed?”

“Things have worked out, it’s all good now, don’t worry—”

You freeze as you feel Steve behind you, his tall frame casting a shadow over you and Nat. You shut your eyes, willing this to be a trick of light or a hallucination due to stress, it can be anything but real.

“Hi. Steve Rogers,” he extends his hand, and Nat tentatively takes it, in only a way you know — to everyone else, she wouldn’t seem cautious, but you saw the clench in her right knee that gives away her switch to defence.

“Natasha Romanoff.”

Fuck, Nat, why did you say your name!?

“Nice to meet you. Don’t worry about her, she’s in good hands with me.”

She nods.

“Steve, could you go get my clothes for me? I think they’re in the bathroom or the bedroom, they’re the only two other rooms.”

He nods and turns away. Once he’s out of sight, Nat’s expression turns panicked as she scans your face, noticing tears welling. She doesn’t say it, but you can tell she’s pleading “Come with me.” You shake your head and quickly wipe away the tears before they fall, just as you hear Steve’s approaching footsteps again.

You shut the door just as he exits the bedroom with your neatly folded clothes from your recent run.

“Natasha washed these, I assume? Or was it Yelena?”

⍟

[taglist; @cjand10]

#review

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