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simp4konig · 7 months

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"Can't sleep?" König x Gender-neutral Reader

Word count: 3704

Having flashbacks about the battlefield and unable to fall asleep after an exceptionally draining mission, you go seek the comfort of your Colonel in the middle of the night.

*Slow burn

*ANGST!!💔... dw it gets wholesome at the end i promise ❤️

*Thanj you to Azzy!! (My No.1 Fan...🥹🫂💘) for this request !!!🙋🏼‍♀️💫💞💞✨Love u too🫶💕,, I kind of 🥺slightly🥺 maube a littke bit🥺🥺🥺went off prompt and König isnt affected by the mission per se BUT i have fulfilled the CUDDLING part!!! ☺️☺️pls dont show up to my fhome with pitchforks and torches im sry it just sorta happened ok😱

Also i rhink i have dementia bc I thought someone else rqsted König comfortinf rreader in a storm???😰😰Turns out nobody did so maybe i hallucinated it or smtj idk🤷🏼‍♀️Anyways I thought to merge these two ideas together so lmk what u think abt this lil (by "lil" i mean WAY too long🤪) drabble🙏💕

*Reader is pining for König

*Events loosely take place in the KönigxKing (as in, reader's call-sign is "King" storyline) mini-series. This serves as a slight backstory for King (reader). Again, this is by no means in any chronological order in relation to the series, so this can also be read as stand-alone! :)

*THANK YOU FOR 100+ FOLLOWERS!!!!!! 🥳🎉🎊✨🎇💖I SWEAR ONE IT LITERALLT FEELS LIKE MID-AUGUST WHEN I HAD LIKE 7 WHERE DID U ALL COME FEOM??????😰😰💘 IT MEANS SO MUCH FOR ME LIKE I CANR STRESS THIS ENOIGH BC IM SO HAPPG U GUYS THINK MEWORTHY ENOIGH OF YOUR PRECIOUS FOLLOW AND WANT TO READ MY WACK WORKS!!!!!!🤧🤧💖💖 LIKE??????? 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹THANK U THABK YOU RHABK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🫶🥰🥰💖💖💖❤️💞💞💕💖💕💕💞

...

You couldn't sleep.

It was raining relentlessly outside, the pitter-patter of water droplets hitting your window. Storm clouds boomed loudly outside, and despite the blinds being pulled tightly shut, lightning occasionally flashed through the cracks, elongated shadows of buildings forming on the walls.

Counting down the seconds until you'd hear the rumbling thunder, it would only be a few kilometres away, and you'd shudder at the sound, shivering.

While tossing and turning in bed, you had kicked off your covers and were staring at the ceiling, still wide awake. Normally, a storm like this would be like a lullaby to your ears, yet now it did nothing in helping lull you to sleep.

Even if you wanted to sleep, how could you when those corpses haunted your nightmares?

Laying in bed, your mind replayed the same scenes like a movie reel, the same screams like a broken record:

Lifeless, unblinking eyes with mouths agape and an expression of fear permanently engraved on their pale faces; flies swarming in hordes to harvest the soft tissues of the irises and tongue, eating the human mush; limbs contorted in unnatural positions, arms and legs crushed by the force of detonated mines, bones broken under the weight.

Rumbling roaring of machine guns and the deafening explosions from hand grenades meant that the high-pitched ringing would drown out everybody's yelling, muffle all noise from your surroundings, and you'd only be pulled out of your daze when you'd find yourself stumbling on unstable ground, on bricks and cheap concrete that had all crumbled.

Bodies would drop so fast it'd take at least seconds for you to register whether it had been an enemy or an ally.

You'd pull the trigger, but seeing a bullet go through someone's forehead and the exaggerated shock stamped on their face — a permanent expression in their final seconds remaining forever in death — left you wondering why you would ever sign up willingly to do this.

Disorientated, you'd struggle to pull yourself together, would enter far too many close calls for a soldier to count, and would only get a grip once you saw a familiar face, a reminder that you weren't alone in the warzone.

Even now, the sonorous sound kept echoing in your head, and, if you listened closely, it resembled hundreds of hoarse shouts, so many people screaming at once in collective agony.

You flinched as a bolt of lightning suddenly struck the sky.

Sparing an absentminded glance at your digital alarm clock, your eyes widened slightly at the time: 1:56am.

Damn... you thought. ...it's that late already?

Drills would begin at 7 o'clock, and you had to have woken up at 6 to brush your teeth, get dressed, eat, and mentally prepare yourself for the day, so you kissed a good night's sleep goodbye, and accepted the telling off from your superiors the following morning for under-performing.

...Still, how could you sleep after what you had experienced? What you experienced and would continue experiencing?

Accepting high-pressure missions and a demanding workload once you had enlisted, you thought that your ability to keep calm under pressure and stay composed would mean that you would have been unaffected by the shooting by now, and be taking everything in your stride. Calm, composed, and unaffected, is what you had thought you'd be. Surely you'd be able capable enough to cope with it all?

Yet, you weren't any of those things. Never getting used to the stress that would persist even while on supposedly "low-intensity" extractions. You'd always be on edge, always recoiling at hands that would reach over to tap your back as encouragement or hold your shoulder in reassurance on base.

You believed you could never familiarise yourself with the panic and unpredictability of missions and being hyper-aware of something, anything, everything going wrong, with the adrenaline that would course through your body and take over your senses in times of fight or flight, with the nerves that would keep you on edge hours after landing safely on base.

But, most of all, with the nights you'd lay in bed, unable to fall asleep: nights like these, when every time you closed your eyes, you saw the eyes of dying comrades; when every time you walked along the corridors, imagined yourself diving across the floor and felt shattered shrapnel breaking under your feet; when every time you sat in an empty room, heard ear-piercing blasts and the ricochet of discarded shells just missing your head.

Whereas the other operators seemed to be completed unmoved by any of their deployments and would shrug their shoulders off of the events, the anxiety for you lingered, trauma deep within your soul consuming you whole.

How could you ever get over the fact that you were shooting real people? Losing real soldiers?

...Losing yourself along the way?

All this work took a toll on your psyche, but comparing yourself to the other soldiers made you feel like such a coward, and second-guess ever enlisting in the first place.

...Well, you did so because it had been your only option all things considered, but looking back on it, you thought that maybe it would have been better if you hadn't chosen anything at all.

Accepted the grave nature of your failures in life, the same life that would have had inevitably ended with you pre-maturely in a grave.

After all, you had no job prospects to look forward to, no dreams to strive for, no aspirations to achieve.

Failing your school exams time and time again until you had finally achieved a result that was good enough didn't earn you any security, as you weren't exactly employable with grades you had just barely managed to claw to even pass.

Really, it was hopeless. You were hopeless.

To say your family was disappointed in you would have been an understatement. Out of three children, you were labelled the disappointment child, the underachiever and failure.

Your two siblings worked as a lawyer and an engineer respectively, while you had never even been able to grasp the basics in education, never spoke with your teachers of anything other than the worrying results of your exams, never came home to share a thing with your parents you had accomplished with a smile of pride stretched on your young face like your siblings did.

Never. Because you weren't ever good enough.

At the dinner table, your siblings boasted of promotions and of revolutionary research, of trials and of successes, of their brilliant breakthroughs, as you sat on the side of the table, listening from the sidelines, excluded from all of the grandeur that you couldn't relate to.

Still, it was always better to keep your mouth shut than to make a dent in the conversation, further embarass yourself and prove how lowly you were, than to have so many pairs of pitying eyes talking down on you in patronising tones, of the subtle condolences from your parents and their regret with triumphant smirks and condescending attitude from your siblings.

In a last ditch effort to make your parents proud, you made the decision of joining the military. You were young and impressionable, under the impression that your parents would finally be impressed.

...Of course, they weren't. In fact, your decision made them even more disappointed, shaking their heads sympathetically with strained smiles stretched on their lips.

Maybe that was the reason you couldn't handle the pressure of the military, you thought. You were weak, incompetent. Pathetic.

Although no one told you explicitly or made you feel that way directly, somehow, you always had felt inferior. Somehow, you felt that no matter what you did, how much you did, how well you thought you did, you wouldn't ever come close to the others's level.

That, despite your effort and dedication, you would never be good enough. Would always be inferior no matter what, because you always had been and would always be so.

...Your Colonel never made you feel that way, though, and you never quite understood why.

After all, your interactions were few-far-and-inbetween. It made you wonder what made you feel this way, and what spark ignited the warmth you'd feel when he was around.

Although a man of few words, the words that he did say to you would matter, though. His praise, his acknowledgement, his always being there made you want to keep going and prove your worth to him.

It started off as sporadic encouragement:

Your skin glistening with sweat, an accented voice would say "Gute Arbeit," over your crumpled body on the gym mat.

Offering you a gloved hand, you grasped it gratefully, and he pulled your tired body with ease. "Good job, King."

A lopsided smile from you as you'd wipe the sweat from your forehead and brows after sparring with someone else, limp limbs barely keeping you standing. His eyes were betrayed no emotion under his veil, yet a thin-lipped grin was behind it.

"Thank— you— sir!" You'd manage to breathe out, still panting for breath. "I did— my best, but— I didn't win."

"That does not matter," he'd say, speaking in a tone you couldn't quite recognize. "Very good job. Keep it going. Soon, you'll be able to pin even me down."

You'd laugh weakly at his words, yet would immediately feel a surge of motivation to keep working hard, and would train up to the point of exhaustion behind closed doors. Thinking you'd be alone, you'd punch a dufflebag with grunts of effort, missing the tall silhouette observing you with crossed arms in the corner, satisfied.

Then, those became casual greetings;

"Guten Morgen, soldier. Nice day, ja?"

Turning around, you'd see your Colonel walking towards you, frame visible even from a distance.

You smile broadly, eyes crinkling up in genuine joy, before you caught yourself and coughed. "Y-yeah!"

"Always a nice day whenever you're around, sir," you'd tease, playfully winking at him as he approached you, yet you were yet to master it without blinking both eyes.

He'd chuckle heartily, flattered, then shook his head to hide how his face flushed under his veil, and held up a hand.

"Thank Gott I have you here. My day would have been ruined."

"Have a good day, sir!" You'd call after him brightly, and he'd turn around for a final time with a two-fingered salute. Strange, since he was your superior, not the other way around, but you shrugged this off as a friendly gesture.

Until it developed into a sort of mutual connection.

In your eyes, at least.

You didn't want to assume that you two were friends, as the man was way out of your league. Strong, muscular, and a disciplined soldier — a Colonel, no less — a man of influence.

Besides, he, conversing with the only-recently-recruit-turned-soldier that was the slowest to understand a joke, did not comprehend complicated terms, and was the least bright out of the entire faction was not something you wanted him to be associated as, didn't want to tarnish his reputation.

You reasoned that you didn't want to bring down the Colonel down to your low level, so you kept your relationship as just that; associates. Aquaintances. Nothing more, out of respect for your Colonel.

Little did you know, the Colonel had developed a soft spot for you.

It seemed as though the storm had gotten worse, as the rain was unrelenting, and the tapping on the glass increased with force. Booming thunderclouds made your room shake.

A sigh as you turned to your side again. 2:07am.

Your thoughts moved back to your Colonel, and you started missing him, longing for him. The warmth that radiated off him made you wish he'd take you in his arms, hold you close to his chest, and you suddenly felt so cold. So lonely and cold.

Maybe it was childish of you to be feeling this way — he was your superior, after all, and you had no reason to be so attached — yet your daily encounters made you gain feelings for the man. Made you feel things when he was around.

Somehow, he brought you security. Made you feel protected. Safe. Like you could always count on him for having your back.

Made you forget that you were so useless, and was the reason for the fuzzyness within your chest, the buzzing feeling you'd feel as you'd be grinning from ear to ear after speaking to him.

Made you feel like you weren't pathetic. Weren't a wasted wishing star. Instead, you were appreciated, seen, even.

You wanted to see him. You wanted to be with him.

...Would he want you, though?

No. Of course he wouldn't. You weren't good enough.

A deep sigh. 2:15, the digital alarm clock displayed.

...What if he actually did want you? Not even as a partner, but just to be around him? Breathe the same air as him? You thought you weren't worthy of his time, but maybe, just maybe he wouldn't see it as such a waste.

Another crash of lightning brought you to your senses.

Finally making up your mind, you huffed in exertion as you pushed yourself off your stiff mattress, not bothering to organize the mess of blankets on the floor.

Walking with certainty, before you realised it, you were at König's bedroom door. Standing behind the door, hand hesitatingly reaching for the handle, you bit your lip, confidence wavering.

Should you really go through with this right now? What if he was asleep at that moment and all you'd do is disrupt his slumber? It wouldn't be fair of you to disturb him so late in the night, especially when he had so many responsibilities.

Still, you inhaled deeply, and, as quietly as you could, knocked twice.

You almost jumped out of your skin at the familiar accented voice of your Colonel.

"Come in," he said hoarsely. His tone was almost warm, inviting, yet you shook your head at the idea, and pulled the handle.

Entering inside, you slowly closed the door behind you. When you turned around, König was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, seemingly deep in thought. Wearing a tank top and cargo pants, his head was hung low, his veil hanging loosely over his head.

The blinds were drawn open to reveal the sky dominated by darkness, the grey curtain of monochrome on the nearest buildings cast down by the clouds, the raindrops that remained on the windows and the rhythmic echoes against the pavement as they dropped in syncopation.

The sight, his presence, were both so... relaxing. In a way, your anxiety was relieved by the tranquility of the scene, and it made you forget the internal turnoil you had been going through for the past few hours, made the tension in your body fade.

"Ah, King," his arms dropped to his sides and he raised his head to meet your eyes in the dark. "I had a feeling that it would be you."

You fidgeted nervously, not knowing what to do.

"Bitte, schön," he said, patting the empty space beside him on the mattress. "Please, sit down. I insist."

Slowly lowering yourself to his side, you sat at a reasonable distance away from him. With the both of you sat down, the size difference was still very noticable. His height made him hunch over you, and one of his thighs was like the two of yours combined.

So nervous, you didn't even notice how his back slumped so you'd be both at a similar level.

He cleared his throat. "What brings you here so late in the night?"

An awkward tug of your t-shirt collar.

"Can't sleep," you stated simply.

"I see." He was quiet for a few moments. Then: "And you decided that my room was the place to go?"

Your face heated up, and you averted your gaze. "Well, sir, it's j-ju—"

"—Nein," he cut you off, holding up a hand to stop you. "I have told you so many times not to call me that. Call me König."

"But— but you're my superior," you gasped, mouth agape. "You deserve to be addressed with respect! I couldn't possibly—"

The protest died on your lips again as the man shook his head, the loose material of his veil following his movements. "Nein. None of that matters. I want you to call me by my first name."

A heavy silence lingered over the two of you, words left unsaid by you both.

"So," König prompted, "what brings you here, King?"

Pausing to think over a pretence, the best you could come up with was: "The storm scared me."

"Ja?" Even with the fabric covering his face, you could almost see the skeptical smirk on his lips.

"A soldier like you afraid of loud clouds? Some rain?" He chuckled.

"Really, I'd have thought you better than that, King." If you didn't know him well enough, you'd have thought he was mocking you, yet despite the sarcasm his eyes held a genuine concern for you.

An bashful laugh escaped you as you rubbed your arm, nails slightly digging into your skin.

"Okay, tell me the truth, King," Leaning forward, his tone became serious. "I know for certain you aren't scared."

He searched for your eyes, yet you avoided his gaze.

"Something is troubling you. Is that it?" He cocked his head to the side, fabric falling loosely over his shoulder. "You can tell me, King. I am your superior, you know. You should tell me these things."

"Well... it's j-just—"

You bit your lip, willing the tears to stay in your eyes.

Don't cry. Don't you dare cry.

König watched you, patiently waiting for you to continue.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, vulnerability showing in your eyes. "—This recent mission, it was— it was really, really difficult. And I just..."

König shuffled towards you until your knees were almost touching, watching you intently. As your body trembled, a hand hovered in uncertainty by your shoulder.

Sniffling, you wiped the wetness on your face with your arm, voice breaking.

"I-I just think that I'm not strong. That I'm... weak. Not— not good enough to be working with people that are so much better. So much stronger—"

Your breath hitched in your throat, voice coming out in a broken sob. "—I-I mean— I'm so pathetic. I shouldn't be so... weak. I should — I should be better. Wh-why—"

Tears flowed freely down your face. "—Why can't I be better, König? Why am I so— so useless?"

Without saying anything, König wrapped his strong arms around your body and pulled you against his chest, pulled you close so you could let it all out. For a few moments, he let you cry, ever-so-gently stroking the back of your head, fingers running through your hair. Weeping into his chest, his steady breathing soothed you.

Once you recovered enough from your emotions, you pulled away, downcast. Face red and blotchy with tears, eyes puffy and pink from crying, lips quivering and voice hoarse, you felt so pathetic. So, so pathetic.

"F-fuck, s-si— König—" Trembling. "I'm so so sorry. I'm too emotional, please, I'm sor—"

"Nein." His tone was soft, yet firm. Definitive. "You have nothing to apologise for, King."

Both hands cupped the sides of your face, tentatively tilting your face upwards. His expression was forlorn, and you felt tears brimming in your eyelids again.

"...You're not weak. You're not pathetic. You're not useless. I see you always trying so hard, King, always giving it your all..."

He paused for a few moments, deliberating over how best to put his thoughts into words. "...Maybe... maybe your best isn't the best out of anyone's bests, but it's the effort that counts." He rubbed the back of his neck, then let out a mono-syllabic laugh. "Scheiße, did that make sense? Sorry— I'm not good with words—"

You glanced away. "—Hey," his hand reached to hold to side of your face. "Look at me, King."

"You're not weak, not pathetic, not useless," he repeated, voice wavering.

"You're none of those. You're better than you think you are. Your inner strength," a finger pointed at your chest, "your heart, it's so full of goodness. So full of so many good things that don't define you, but instead changed you for the better."

"Maybe... maybe you aren't the aren't the best, haven't been the best, or never will be the best, but it's not your fault. You try so hard, and the odds... the odds are stacked against you. And, sometimes... sometimes it's okay to not be the best. You don't have to be fearless, the strongest, perfect. You can just be... you."

His eyes were pleading in the dark. "Please don't doubt yourself. You're so— so much better than you imagine."

A shaky breath. "So much stronger than you tell yourself. I can promise you, you are your own person. Other people's successes don't define you."

König turned around to glance at his alarm. 2:36.

When he turned back, your face had slowly regained the colour on your cheeks, eyes sparkled, chest rose and fall at a steady pace. You said nothing, yet König knew you listened to every one of his words.

"Looks like it's too late for you to fall asleep in your own room," he whispered, gently caressing your face. "Stay here with me, King."

Eyes immediately widening in surprise, you were about to protest. "B-but— I couldn't possibly, König—"

That protest died on your lips as König's arms engulfed you again, and brought you down against his mattress so you were laying on his chest. Cocooned like a protective blanket over you, you didn't need him to say anything more. You felt so... safe. Loved.

The storm outside seemed to calm down, and lightning no longer crashed against the window. Rain faltered, and some clouds were separating in the darkness of the sky.

Before you knew it, your eyelids became heavy with drowsiness, feeling a wave of calm wash over you, cleansing away your sorrows.

Just before you fell asleep, you heard König say something in German, barely above a whisper, but you did not understand:

"Schlaf gut Schatz. Ich liebe dich."

...

I don't know who needed to hear that, or if anyone even did, but I stand by the words I wrote. Although you are reading this, and are likely a stranger, and I'll never face you in real life, I want you to know that you *are* good enough. And if it takes a person on the internet using a fictional character to tell you so, then so be it. You are still valid. 🫂

...

Note: i rhink some of the ppl that read my previous fics will be able to tell that i went tryhard mode on this one 💀💀

Its mostly bc im back in school and were going over all the stupid fancy shmancy literative devices and figurstive language (god why cant u call it literallt anything else i swear why does it have ro be so unnecessarily overcomplicated just call it sentence structures or writing techniques istg.man😭)so i unconsciously chanelled all of thise boring technicalities into this 😬

With me writing as a hobby you'd think I'd have the highest grades in English? No💔I wish LMAO

I NOW HAVE 130+ FOLLOWERS!!! Which is unbelievable if u wsk me bc etf why wre eo mwnt people following me i don't deserve this qt ALL 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 THANK YOU ALL 🥹🥹🥹🫶🫶🫶💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

I still remember when @puff0o0⭐ began their self-aware au with König and Ghost qnd ive qlways veen cheerint for her from the sidelines ☺️☺️come to find out shes been mentioning ME in THEIR podts and writing on their blofs thwt my CoD blog is good and i.????😭😭😭cant????????😭😭😭😭😭 Literally -99999 damage and an ARROW 🏹 STRAIGHT thru the HEART 💘🥹 I LOVE U B (platonically ofc dw)😽💕💓💓❤️💞💞💕💞💕💞💞💞💕

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cchellacat · 5 years

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Fornication (part 4 of It’s Not A Cuddle)

Love All The Marvel Ships Challenge

Day Eighteen ~ Fighting Side By Side

The rain was coming down hard and fast, sheets of water reducing the already terrible visibility even more. The sun had set hours ago but the sound of guns and rockets continued, now mixing with the crashing of the thunder in the skies above.

They’d been pinned down in the trench for most of the day. The German tanks blocking off their only escape route back to where the allied lines had reformed. The 107th was in trouble. They all knew it. Knew that even if they survived much longer, the way things were going, the way the Germans were successfully pushing back their lines that by the time help might come, they’d either be dead or captured.

He sat with his back against the wall of mud and dirt trying not to look too closely at the puddles of dark liquid filling the base of the trench. In the back of his mind he was screaming in horror and revulsion. How many of his fellows had been killed today? How many comrades in arms, men he had come to call friends had he watched die? Blown apart by shelling or just brutally cut to ribbons by the tank guns.

Bucky flicked his lighter absently, staring at the flame as it flickered and died with a sputter in the wet air. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore, if death perhaps wouldn’t be a kindness, just to escape this hell he was living in. The Catholic in him raged against the notion of death by design but the practical man in him considered it. It would be so easy to step out into the no man’s land and just let it happen. No more running. No more hiding, like rats in a damn maze, being pushed further and further from safety into whatever trap the enemy had concocted for them.

Impossible as it seemed, it grew darker still, the rain continuing to fall, the sky throwing the occasional strike of lightening accompanied by the deafening roar of thunder. That’s when it happens, the sky above him cracks open, a whirling blaze of white striking down just yards away. At first, he can’t see a thing, the light has almost blinded him. Unlike the others who are quickly running from the sudden strike he stays put, too stunned at the event to do more than blink.

That’s when he hears them. Americans from their accents. A woman and a man.

“What the hell was that? I swear to Thor I am going to kill Jane! What was she thinking tinkering around with the Bifrost like that?”

“Calm down Doll, it’ll be fine. You know she never messes up for long, we’ll be back before we know it.”

“This was meant to be a nice vacation, a little trip to Xandar, meet up with Rocket for that pod race and go on a tiny little adventure with the Guardians. Instead we get rain and mud and….. Oh My Disney, fucking hell pugs!”

“Shit, Darcy, get down now, and keep quiet.” The mans voice dropped into a low growl and he could just make out the sound of gun being drawn and the wet sound of two bodies hitting dirt.

He stays put even as they crawl towards where he’s waiting, curious to see who the fuck has fallen outta the sky, because it’s the only explanation he can come up with for their sudden appearance.

A moment later a curvy body is dropped into his lap and he catches her without thought, a second later, a large form drops into the trench beside him. In the darkness he can’t make out their features but the girl squirming in his arms elbows him sharply in the ribs.

“Quit wriggling sweetheart or I’ll drop you in the mud.” He tells her caustically. There’s a sharp intake of breath and she locks up tight, every line of her hard and still.

“You drop me in it and you’ll be sleeping on the couch for a month Barnes.” She hisses at him, digging tiny fingers into his shoulder.

It’s his turn to go still. How the hell does she know his name.

“Because we married her, Punk.”

Up close the man flicks a lighter and Bucky gapes as he is suddenly confronted by his own face looking back at him.

“What to hell is going on?”

The girl wiggles again and in his effort not to drop her his hand slips from her waist, up until he feels the soft brush of the underside of her bust.

“Classy Barnes, I should have known this version of you would cop a feel the first go round too.”

“I was not copping a feel Darcy, I was getting us both out of a bad situation.” The way he says it is fondly acerbic, like this is some running gag only they know the full story too.

“You still ended up with both hands on my ass.” She slings back, the feeling that this is a much-replayed argument increases. Since said ass is currently sitting on his thighs, he’s not sure he can blame the other guy for feeling her up, it’s a great ass.

“Pretty sure you weren’t complaining at the time Sugar.” The amused huff this draws from her pushes her softness more firmly into his hand and he quickly drops it back to her waist.

In the flickering light of the of the zippo he watches incredulous as the two bicker like and old married couple.

“We are an old married couple. I’m old and she’s married.”

“Yeah, married to you, you mook!” Bucky tries to ignore the way she’s snuggling into him now, not sure whether he should be offended by her sassy comeback to his doppleganger.

“Can you read minds?” He asks as he stares at the man with his face.

“Don’t be an idiot, of course I can’t read minds, I’m you, I remember this.”

The dame, Darcy, finally makes a grabby motion towards his counterpart and he lifts her away from Bucky and onto his own knee. Bucky lets her go with numb fingers.

Darcy flutters her hand at him in greeting. “Hi, I’m Darcy, sorry about dropping on you like that, but Barnesy here just tossed me in, guess he knew you were there. Speaking of knowing things, what the fuck babe, why didn’t you tell me about this?”

The guy shrugs and settles her more firmly in his lap rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on her thigh. Completely ignoring him and focusing instead on his girl.

“Was never really sure how good my memory of this was, seemed a bit trippy at the time, thought I’d hit my head or something.”

“When are we anyway?” There’s an undercurrent of something in her tone, like she’s asking something else along with it.

“Somewhere in Italy, 1943 a few days before Azzano.” The answer given is less teasing and more serious than those before and the two share a look of understanding as she nods before brightening up again.

“Shit, is this going to mess anything up?”

Bucky wonders how anything can be more messed up than this, trapped in a trench, a few hundred feet away from certain death.

“It’ll be fine Doll, it’s just the Germans.” He tells her with a tight grin. She rolls her eyes at him and sticks her tongue out.

Bucky stares at them, at himself, more specifically, with utter astonishment.

“Just the Germans? What the hell is wrong with you?”

They both look at him then, her with a guilty sorrow and him with a grim shrug.

“Chill my dude, I can totes give you some cuddles if you’re feeling upset.”

The way her eyes regard him make him uncomfortable, part of him thinks he would like nothing more than to take her up on the offer.

“Darcy gives the best cuddles.” His counterpart shares conspiratorially.

“Yes, I do!” Lifting her chin with pride in her statement leaves him with the urge to laugh. The playful air is back between the two now and all Bucky can do is watch as the two start making faces at each other.

“Are you two fucking insane?” If he could, he would have shouted it.

“Jury’s still out.” He’s told in a teasing manner. “But considering they found me not guilty on grounds of diminished responsibility I guess it’s possible.”

She’s quick to cut in again, ready in an instant to poke fun. “Oh shut up, there’s not a piece of you that’s diminished in any way!”

Bucky just stares. It’s finally happened, he’s flipped, had a screw loose, gone crazy, nut’s, insane, was no long in possession of his faculties, turned wako!

He begins to wheeze, hysterical laughter bubbling up.

“I’ve lost it, I’m losing my mind, I’ve finally cracked…”

The dame looks at him with a little concern and makes a shushing motion as his voice rises.

“Don’t worry Buckeroo, this will all be over before you know it.” She attempts to comfort him.

“You still got your taser Doll?”

“Sure I do, there’s four charges left in it, why?”

“Might have to knock him out if doesn’t calm down.” He drawls mockingly before frowning. “Wait, who did you tase today? What did I miss?”

“Who do you think?”

“Steve? What did he do this time?”

“He was laughing.”

“Again?”

“It’s bat shit crazy pants, I swear, ever since he and Carter came back from Russia he keeps smiling.”

“Better than the permeant scowl he’s had on his face since we met.”

“Yeah, nope. It’s unnatural is what it is. Rogers has always had a stick up his butt.”

“I Know, I’ve been a little concerned too about the sudden change, but did you have to tase him?”

“He was freaking me out!”

“Twice?”

“He was cackling…. And he winked at me”

“…………..”

“Wait, Steve Rogers?” Bucky pipes up, wondering if they’re talking about his friend.

“You know any other Steve’s?” Darcy asks with an eye roll.

“Who are you people?”

“We already told you, he’s you and I’m your wife….. we’re from the future.” She turns back to his counterpart and batts her eyes. “Aww Barnesy, you were super cute at this age! I just want to pinch your cheeks.”

“You do that and I’ll pinch your cheeks Doll-face” He tells her, running a hand over the curve of her ass threateningly as she giggles.

A loud explosion nearby has them all go quiet and he feels a stab of fear not for himself this time, but for the dame wrapped up in his future self’s arms.

Older him cocks his head to one side and gives him a considering look.

“You’ve got one job mini me, look after our Doll. Don’t fuck it up!” Then he finds himself with an armful of the dame again as he watches himself leave.

She pulls his head down to whisper to him as they try to stay quiet.

“Just so you know, you are getting shit for this stunt when we get home.”

“I didn’t do anything!” He exclaims lowly, while digging around in his pocket for the zippo since his other self has taken off with his.

“Don’t.” she tells him, placing her hand over his. “We’ll give away out position with the light. It’s why you’ve run off right now. I know you, you wouldn’t leave me behind unless there was a threat needing taking care of.”

He reluctantly repockets the lighter and tries to distract himself from how nice it feels to have her weight back in his lap. She’s a tiny little thing and strong too from the feel of her, but she has generous curves in all the right places and she smells like apples. When she tucks her head under his chin he relaxes a little and pulls her in close. The tiny snort he hears tells him she’s holding back from making a comment. He almost says something, but the noise of three sets of booted feet jumping into the trench a little way down stops him.

“Shit, I think we’ve got company.”

She motions for him to put her down which he does with reluctance, but she’s right, if they’ve got enemies incoming he has to be able to fight, he grabs his rifle as she settles into a crouch beside him, pulling out an odd looking device from a holster on her waist.

Three men come upon them then, pointing guns. Bucky gets ready to defend them, bringing up his rifle. It’s short and bloody, he kills the first, but before he can get the second one, Darcy pulls the trigger on her little device and it shoots out a tiny metal projectile that digs into the skin on the soldiers neck, lighting up a little as he gurgles and drops, eyes growing glassy. Then she does the same to the second. Stunned, he watches as this one too, drops down dead. Before he can say anything, there’s a noise behind him and he swings the gun round, firing immediately. Another four German soldier have snuck up on them. The gun jams and he goes for his knife, throwing himself in front of the gun another enemy is bringing to bare on Darcy. Using him as cover, she shoots the one behind with her taser? Bucky makes quick work of the soldier he tackled and they both turn as one on the last enemy. He’s not sure who took him down first. Her or him, he falls to the ground dead, a knife lodged in his throat and the smell of ozone from the electrical device Darcy used filling the air.

They stand there panting, truthfully he thinks he’s the one more shaken by the sudden ambush. He acts out of desperation and pulls her into his arms, running his hands over her body, checking for injuries. She stands patently as though it’s nothing more than she would expect and when he’s satisfied she’s not hurt he wraps her against his chest and clings to her, burying his face In her hair and breathing in the scent of apples.

“Barnes…… are you cuddling me?”

“It’s not a fucking cuddle Doll.” He tells her stubbornly, his face still pressed into her hair.

“Lewis.”

“What?”

“When you do this, you say ‘S’not a cuddle Lewis.’. Lewis is my maiden name.”

“I do this a lot?” He asks sceptically.

She tips her head back and looks up at him.

“I really hope you remember this later…”

Darcy surges up and captures his lips in a hard, desperate kiss. At first he doesn’t know what to do, well he does, but he’s too shocked by the suddenness to do anything more than freeze.

It’s the look on her face that does it to him. He’s known her for all of maybe an hour, not once in all that time, has she looked anything more than strong and confident. But she’s still in his arms, her face now looking up at him half apologetic, half embarrassed and he can see clear as day the tiny sliver of hurt, of rejection in her eyes. It hurts him, deep in a place he didn’t know was still capable of feeling, it hurt.

He stares into her eyes and brings his hand up to cup her jaw, brushing his thumb under her eye and catching the tear that’s forming before it can fall. Then his lips are crashing into hers, it’s messy and hungry and urgent. All he can feel is her, pliant and willing as she encourages him, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging on the ends. He’s losing himself in her with each moan and whimper, his hands traveling over her body, pulling her in and then her hands are moving down, pulling his hips to grind into her and it’s him that gasps and suddenly this is more than just a kiss. There is a desire, a longing for more.

“Fuck… tell me stop Darcy, tell me to stop.” He whispers brokenly into her mouth.

“I want this too…. Please, I need you…. Don’t stop…”

He’s too gone to care as he lifts her and steps over the bodies of dead men, down the narrow trench until they find a dugout where the officers had worked. He has her inside quickly, pulling off his coat and laying it on the rickety table. She doesn’t protest as he lifts her up so she sits on the edge, she just invites him close, legs opening to him so he can push his hips flush with hers as they kiss eagerly, hands pulling at clothes, till they could touch each other’s skin. He grinds his hardness into the heat between her thighs, rutting into her as she shudders with each press.

There’s no finesse to it, no delicacy, just desperate desire and need driving them both. His shirt open as she kisses and licks at his chest, her teeth scraping and nipping. He’s never felt so much want for a woman before in his life. She kicks off her shoes, and loses no time in helping him pull her legging off, her hands reaching for his belt and making short work of unbuckling it.

Darcy doesn’t stop to think about what they’re about to do, only knows that she needs him, right now. She opens his trousers, shoving them and his boxers down far enough that she can take him in her hand, he’s hard and thick. The noise he makes as she strokes him firmly, twisting a finger over the head of his cock sends a flood of wetness from her core. His hands find their way between her legs, long fingers, sweeping between her folds and gathering the wetness, spreading it up until he finds her clit, carefully sliding over the swollen nub in tiny circles. She can’t think, pushing herself into his hand, needing more, inner muscles clutching uselessly as the ache builds and builds.

“I need you inside me….now.” It’s a command, one he’s happy to follow.

She guides him to her entrance and he sinks inside her slowly, his girth stretching her out, filling her, driving away the agonising ache. When he’s bottomed out, he stills above her and she wraps her arms around his shoulders as he rests her head against hers. Their eyes lock and she shudders at the raw emotion and need in them. She clenches around him and closes her eyes, unable to see the naked desperation there, he pulls back before slamming into her, she cries out at the surge of pleasure dancing up her spine, moving her hips to meet his as he angles his cock to drag against her clit. She digs her heels into his ass, as he sets a punishing rhythm, with each stoke he pushes deeper until all she can feel is him, deep inside her. She feels like he’s trying to leave his imprint behind.

“Look at me Doll, I want to see it, I want to see you fall apart.”

Darcy does as he asks, drowning in his eyes as he continues to thrust within her.

He wants to watch her come undone, she urges him on with her cries, his name a prayer on her lips as she tightens around him, he knows she close’s and he wont let go till she does, he wants to come inside her with her clenching around him. Wants them to die the little death together as they fuck each other back to life, a reminder that they didn’t die tonight. A memory for him to carry of this tantalising promise of a future they will share one day.

She’s right on the edge, he can feel it as her belly clenches and her legs tremble, on his next thrust he changes the angle, impaling her as she shatters, his name shouted brokenly into his neck. The feel of her walls clamping down drives him to his own peak and he surrenders to the pleasure, cock twitching violently as he fills her. She flutters around him, milking every drop, back arched, pulling him impossibly deeper. Her eyes are blown wide in bliss as he continues to rock against her, riding out the wave of orgasm. He kisses her softly, infusing as much feeling as he can into it. They don’t let go, continuing to cling to each other, he feels safe there, cradled between her hips. This feels like salvation, hope.

“I love you.” The softest whisper comes from her lips and he clutches her in close, bodies completely entwined, unable to say what he feels, unable to put it into words.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to say it back.”

The reassurance in her tone doesn’t make him feel guilty as he thinks it should. He doesn’t want to leave her warmth, but they can’t stay like this forever. He eases out of her, choking back a sob at the loss. Darcy runs soothing hands over his arms and helps him re dress. He helps her too as she slips back into her clothes, kneeling down to slide her shoes back on while she stayes perched on the table he just fucked her on. Part of him feels ashamed for taking her like that, fast and hard in a dirty hole in the ground. She deserves better than that.

He’s still shaking from the adrenalin when he sits down on a low bench, near breathless from everything, the fight, the fucking… the words she’s said.

Darcy climbs onto his lap and he folds her into an embrace, holding her carefully, like the treasure he knows she is.

“Now this is a fucking cuddle.” He tells her with the barest hint of amusement, letting her tinkling laugh wash over him as they both calm down.

It’s near dawn when his counterpart shows up, covered in mud and blood and tells them it’s time to go.

He leads them back to where the light first struck last night, on the ground are glowing markings in a circle. They seem to brighten as they get closer. Darcy runs ahead a little, running round the emblem, inspecting it.

“There’s a safe line back towards last base now. I took out four tanks last night and two battalions. You can get your men back to Azzano safely.”

“How the hell…”

“Don’t ask.” He tells him shortly. “You got her for one night. Don’t forget it, you’re going to need that memory, it’s exactly the promise you think it is. And when you find her again? Pick her up and run.”

“Pick her up and run?”

“You know what she is to us.”

“She’s ours.”

“Just as much as we are hers. Take her and run and never look back, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Everything that happens, she makes it worth it.”

Bucky swallows thickly. The future looks a little less bright than it did. Figures, there’s nothing that comes for free in this life, it’s all bought with blood and pain.

Darcy darts up and hugs him, kissing him quickly with a shy smile and he squeezes her hand.

“I can’t wait to meet you Doll.”

Darcy grins at him and then joins his other self on the glowing marks.

“Hey! Bucky, it’s Lewis, Darcy Lewis, don’t forget me for too long!”

Then the sky opens up again and the whirl of colour whisks them away as though they were never there.

Bucky waits a few minutes, watching as the marks burned into the ground fade and are consumed by the mud. Then he walks away, back to find what’s left of his men and lead them back towards Azzano.

@captain-rogers-beard

#love all the marvel ships #love all the marvel ships challenge #wintershock #bucky/darcy #darcy/bucky #lemons #it's not a cuddle

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