You, the wunderkind sniper. The one whose test scores read like fiction, who could pick a target off at a kilometer with wind in the double digits. A natural. A prodigy. A nightmare.
Because every second outside of the scope, you were impossible.
“Are you even listening?” Ghost’s voice was flat, irritated. He’d just spent ten minutes explaining windage and bullet drop, things he knew damn well you already understood.
“Yeah, yeah,” you said, sprawled out on the mat like it was a beach towel. You were fiddling with your suppressor, then your shoelace, then your scope again. “But also, did you know slugs are basically just angry hotdogs? Like… if hotdogs could kill people?”
Ghost pinched the bridge of his nose. “Christ almighty.”
“Don’t blaspheme,” you teased, rolling onto your stomach. “You’ll scare the bullets.”
It was like trying to train a Labrador puppy. With a sniper rifle. That could outshoot him.
He tried to be stern. He was stern. But then you’d go and prove yourself. A flicker of focus, just a second where your bouncing knee stilled, your eyes narrowed, your breathing slowed and crack. Perfect headshot. Clean. Lethal. No hesitation.
Ghost stared at the target through his binos, then at you, still grinning like you’d just told the funniest joke in the world.
“You’re insufferable,” he muttered.
“And you love me,” you shot back, already distracted again, plucking a blade of grass and trying to balance it on the barrel.
Ghost didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because if he opened his mouth, he wasn’t sure if he’d bark at you to shut the hell up… or laugh.
And that scared him more than your aim.
Is this good? No but I don’t wanna do chem hw so you get this
summary: After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.
parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader
word count: 6.5K
warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum
a/n: this work is for @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge! My prompts were "enemies to lovers" and "Again! Please, again!"
I am incredibly thankful to Suz for letting me participate. I haven't been able to participate in a challenge since forever ago 😅
ALSO! This is my first time writing enemies to lovers, as well as curvy!reader! even though i'm curvy myself, i hope i did okay ♥
This work is not beta-read. all mistakes are my own. If any mistake is glaringly obvious, please feel free to message me and let me know!
p.s. I listened to a lot of PVRIS + Nothing But Thieves writing this, can ya tell?
p.p.s. the amount of willpower and struggle with my muse it took to finish this is... a lot. i think she scratched my cornea at some point.
If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!
gif by @unearthlydust | dividers by @cafekitsune | warning banner by me ♥
my ao3 | my masterlist
title from: You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves
Read this fic HERE on ao3!
♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥
𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚
Bucky Barnes has always hated you, and you have always hated Bucky Barnes. At least since you first met, that is.
Being the newest recruit– and only sharp-shooter– to grace the S.H.I.E.L.D. Direct Action Team’s roster since signing on the Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, the hostility was almost immediate from the second you walked in your first day.
You couldn’t help cringing– which would be quickly followed by raging annoyance and a slight migraine– without remembering your first time training with Bucky. He made it crystal clear he didn’t trust your previous experience or trainers, let alone your sniper training. Within the first week he ground your spirit into dust with his leather combat boots, quashing any attempts to defend yourself. And it’s not like you weren’t familiar with his history, either; he’d broken every single last sharp-shooter that came to the team before you, a hardass ex-assassin with an introverted mean streak who happened one of the top snipers in the United States Army during World War II. Old dogs certainly can learn new tricks, though, and it was extremely apparent when it came to Bucky Barnes.
When you finally had enough midway through the third week, you snapped at him after he corrected you for the umpteenth time on your foot positioning, pointedly informing him you weren’t built like you could take on a goddamned semi-truck with one hand.
Once you finished, he silently handed you a pistol and challenged you to a shoot off. One-handed. You considered it a tie. Tony considered the training range off-limits until he got government permission via S.H.I.E.L.D. to replace every single shooting target and torso dummy in the compound– including the extras.
After that, the two of you weren’t allowed in the gym, on the same mode of transportation, in the infirmary, or the training range without someone else to supervise with a tranquilizer gun at the ready and within arm’s reach of said supervisor. More often than not, though, the ‘someone else’ was either Steve or Natasha– depending who won the coin toss before training that day– and the tranquilizer gun wasn’t really more of a tranquilizer gun than it was a slight sedative to calm each of you down enough for either Steve, or Nat, to drag you out without kicking and screaming at each other. Granted, it only happened one time– a workout competition-turned-sparring match that lasted the better part of four hours– but everyone else agreed to keep it around. Just in case.
You learned, however, exactly how much ketamine it took to down a raging super soldier with a vibranium arm. You couldn’t help but make horse whinnies under your breath every time you passed Bucky in the compound for at least a week.
With a year of domestic missions underneath your belt, S.H.I.E.L.D. constituted you ready to travel with the DA Team on international missions and operations. You were elated, excited to prove your worth and wit to everyone; especially Bucky, because maybe then he’d be at least keen enough to start showing you a drop of respect.
Then there was the fallout of when you both learned you’d be sent on the next mission. Together. Albeit with Natasha and Clint– but together.
Fury said he didn’t have a choice. Tony claimed it was out of his hands. Natasha, while protecting a cowering Steve from the flames and daggers shooting out of yours and Bucky’s glares, flat out told you, “either you both learn to work together, or neither of you are working DA missions again,” adding, with gritted teeth and a pinched bridge, “The whole team thinks you’re a fucking pair of walking time bombs. I don’t wanna use the damn ketamine gun again.”
The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to Turkey with your rifle, wits, and the waiting promise of separate hotel rooms upon arrival.
A reddened sun dipped over the Istanbul skyline, swathing the city in shadows. Dusk was imminent as you ascended the rusted fire escape and stepped onto the roof of the abandoned building; the dilapidated outside was perfect enough to designate it as the main stake out location. You sighed in awe at the view, catching the remnants of the sunset while pausing for a brief break before switching into ‘work mode.’
“Stop fuckin’ around, get into position,” Bucky said through your ear piece. Shit. You forgot he could see your video feed via the harness crossing over your chest and the cameras Natasha set up on the roof and the building next door.
“Sorry, Sarge, thought I’d enjoy the view before I dome some fuckin’ war criminal from a thousand yards away,” you huffed. The line went silent, save from what sounded like very faint cursing amidst the static. You rolled your eyes, swinging the gun bag off your back, unpacking and assembling and loading, preparing for working on yet another thrilling Saturday night.
You silently prayed the hotel had a decent bar with decent hours.
Dropping into a prone position, you were thankful for the custom-fit tac suit that hugged your body as your hips and thighs scraped against debris littering the roof as you positioned the scope of your rifle, placing your hand delicately on the trigger.
“In position,” you muttered, adjusting into a more comfortable, ready-to-bail position in case things went south. When you shot prone, it felt as if the mission at hand weighed just a bit heavier than others. More unbearable. The tactical suit and additional weapons attached to your aching body rivaled that of cinder blocks chained to your legs, weighing you down to the ocean floor in an attempted drowning while you tried to stay above water.
It's never gotten easier, but it's never been harder.
The past two days had been filled with inconsistent sleep, hiding out, and keeping watch, all while under the watchful eye of Bucky. Bucky, who was watching you from inside the stakeout building, who threw a super soldier temper tantrum about having to figure out the ‘nonsensical logistics’ of how to stream a fucking live video feed, who barely bothered to say a word to you while meeting Natasha at the location that morning– aside from graciously allowing you to borrow his weapons cleaning kit.
“You didn’t bring your own?” He cocked a judgmental brow at you, looking you up and down like a creature that crawled out of the Black Lagoon. Steely sea-blue eyes met yours, sharp and bright. Challenging. The collar of your tactical suit had instantly tightened.
“Figured we both use the same stuff, might as well bring the one to save space,” you shrugged, cocking a hip.
Bucky’s eyes flitted to your pronounced curve before you straightened, swallowing.
“Fine. Go nuts,” he sighed reluctantly, gesturing for you to sit in the guarded seat across from him. You sensed his piercing gaze follow you, feeling the same heat creep up your neck and cheeks just like all the other times he watched you. You chocked it up to an intimidation tactic, because it sure as hell worked.
You shook Bucky out of your brain. You needed to stay focused.
“Copy. Target is en route to position, t-minus two minutes. Make it clean and make it quick.” Natasha's voice was cool, calming you and the usual racing thoughts in your head during these types of missions. You preferred her over anyone else to be your spotter since your first time out in the field, but this time she was assigned to be the plant, luring the target away from the rather innocent party-goers so they wouldn’t be splattered with brain matter and skull fragments courtesy of you.
Though, you had to admit, in the right scenarios, that was one of the more satisfying things that came with being a sniper.
“Don’t fuckin’ rush it,” Bucky chimed in.
You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Copy, Nat, just keep dangling the carrot.”
“You know I’ll do more than that. Out.” You could hear her wink.
Two minutes might not seem like much, but missions like these can make it feel like a lifetime. Part of you hoped Bucky watched every second. The other half hoped you could smack the doubtful smirk off his stubble-ridden face– the same exact one he had whenever he watched you train. It was like he wanted you to fail. Like he was expecting it, anticipating it.
You pinched your wrist. Now was not the fucking time.
You brought the scope closer to your face, targeting the window Natasha would be bringing the target in front of. The crosshairs helped even out the scene while you lined up the shot right between the bedroom’s curtains. You readied yourself, focusing on breathing and controlling the rise and fall of your chest, steadying your bottom half. You blinked, then, and through the sights you spotted the golden shimmer of Natasha’s dress reflecting off the room’s low lighting. Finger on the trigger, delicately squeezing as the target’s head entered into the crosshairs, stepping unknowingly into the middle of your aim, mere seconds left to live, left until he rots in his deserved place in hell.
Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Pull.
The target dropped in mere milliseconds as the shot reverberated throughout your body, the sound thankfully muffled by your ear pieces and the silencer. The recoil of the rifle dug into your shoulder, fighting against the rest of your body anchored by stiffened muscles. You exhaled, shaky, still, pushing the scope from your face and resting your head on the cool metal of the stock, allowing it to sear into your burning forehead.
“Confirmed kill. Target down. Meet you back at the hotel, over,” Natasha’s breathless voice crackled into your ear.
“Copy. On my way down. Bucky do you–”
White hot pain suddenly seared through the back of your skull, slamming you face-first into your rifle. You clutched the back of your head, whipping around to be greeted by the dark void of a gun barrel. You froze, blood draining from your face, stomach free-falling as your gaze traveled up to meet crazed eyes and a twisted face. The man– your assaulter– was clad in black with hints of a tattoo running up his neck like blackened veins. No doubt the symbols hidden under his collar belonged to the syndicate run by his boss. The boss you just killed.
He snarled, yellowed teeth glistening in a maniacal grin. “You’re going to pay for that, little bitch,” he spat and nodded to your rifle as he shoved the barrel in your face. The metal practically branded you like marking a cattle for slaughter.
“Try me, prick,” you gritted through ringing pain and a locked jaw, snarling at the man as you rose, slowly, the barrel unmoving as the gun followed your position.
His grin widened. He began pushing you backwards towards the edge of the roof. Quickly, you kicked your foot out, catching his ankle and grabbing his wrist, pointing the gun at the darkened sky as you clawed at his fingers to release it from his grasp. A deafening shot rang out as you wrestled, sending an elbow straight into your jaw that shoved you away. He aimed for you again as you pulled a knife from your waistband, hurling it at any limb you could hit. It nailed him in his thigh, deep enough you knew it hit bone. He dropped the pistol in favor of his leg, allowing you enough of a break to kick the gun off the roof, sliding it off the opposite edge and down the fire escape.
You stood. You noticed the flicker, the fire, in the man’s eyes as it raged, burning brighter than the streetlights below. He yelled as he lunged, knocking you down again. Hard. Lungs deflated, pain seared through your spine, leaving you sputtering and gasping, grasping desperately for anything: his arms, his legs, your knife, your knife in his leg. Your head spun from the impact, rage and bile boiling in your stomach as arms and legs kicked and thrashed. The man grabbed you by your hair as if to scalp you, limping his way to the edge of the roof, dragging you along inch by inch. You deadened, going limp, hoping to make it that much harder for him to drag you with a knife in his fucking femur. Your stomach dropped as the wind picked up and the distance from the fire escape grew farther away. You knew what was in store: a five-story drop onto the hard street below.
With impressive strength for a man who was actively bleeding out– and bleeding all over you– he swung you around by the fistful of hair in his hands, dangling your bottom half off the edge of the roof. You fought the panic beginning to set in, thrashing your feet around in an attempt to find some sort of foothold as your hands scrambled to grip the ledge. To add insult to injury, he slammed your head down, skull and jaw dropping with a dizzying thump. A gruff laugh erupted from his chest, and he spat at you. You glanced hesitantly over your shoulder. The world stretched and morphed the longer you looked; your eyes saw a fifty-foot drop while your brain saw a thousand foot death sentence. You willed your sore neck to turn back to the man, only to fight the scream that bubbled up your throat at the sight of a miniature pistol pointed execution-style at you. You ceased any movement, eyes widening, grip tightening on the inch-thick ledge of the roof that held you from becoming a human pancake.
“Looks like you’ll pay after all, bitch!” He grinned, cocking the pistol and preparing to fire. As he squeezed the trigger, as you squeezed your eyes shut, there’s a muffled shot, and then a warm, oozing feeling running down your face and neck. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, greeted by the sight of the man’s jaw slackened as his eyes began to roll back in his skull. A singular bullet wound centered on his forehead leaked brain and blood and bits of bone. He’s shoved over, body falling like a rag doll and spilling onto the roof. He’s quickly replaced by a seething, panting Bucky with a pistol pointed where your would-be-killer stood. Your eyes widened as your chest constricted, fingertips grinding against the edge as your arms burned and begged to be pulled to solid ground. He lowers the gun, lips parted, eyes boring into your soul like he’s seen a ghost.
“Sar–Bucky, I’m fuckin’ slipping here!” you yelled as your left hand began to give way to gravity. The entirely reasonable request seemed to piss him off even more as he cursed, dropping his gun and grabbing harshly onto your arms, yanking you back up. He dropped you onto the roof in a heap. While your muscles screamed and you hacked up your lungs trying to regain normal oxygen levels, the annoyance you harbored for Bucky returned just as quickly as the gratefulness you had for his rescue faded once he turned his back on you, heading to the fire escape.
“Thanks, Bucky, but Jesus fucking–”
He whipped around, blue eyes flashing crimson– a warning sign to choose your next words extremely carefully.
“Clean up n’ get the fuck down. I’m leaving with or without you in ten fucking minutes,” he seethed, fists clenching onto the fire escape bars. You winced at the groaning sound the metal emitted as he bent it out of place, imprinting his palm prints into the bars.
“Bucky, I– What do–” you stuttered. Thoughts were racing as you looked between him and your would-be murderer decaying in his own drying blood a few feet away. You looked back at him. His eyes, swimming with something unrecognizable, mixed with fear and anger plaguing his features– like he remembered something so vivid, so real, that he was reliving it again.
“Just,” he turns his back to you, voice shaking, “get down here.”
The back alleyway was lit with a single, softly glowing flood light that led out to the busy streets. Bucky, who was already waiting for you with a furiously tapping foot, surveilled you with a stuck-snarling lip as you jumped down from the fire escape. The gilded plates in his hand leading up under his sleeve glinted with the violet-tinted vibranium.
There's a moment, a beat, shared between you as you stood to look at him. You stared at one another, gazes unwavering and refusing to break, to blink. The shadows surrounding you began to move as if they were dancing on Bucky's face, sharpening his jaw, his features. He stayed on you, eyes flitting ever-so-slightly over your form.
Your face burned.
Bucky cleared his throat. “Take a fuckin’ picture why don’t ya?”
You rolled your eyes. “Could say th’same for you.”
He grumbled something– probably cursing you– under his breath. As he opened his mouth to hurl an insult your way, both your phones pinged.
♦ Natasha: Taking last flight out of IST. Jet coming early AM. Lay low. Don’t kill each other. Please. Talk soon.
You swallowed a groan.
“Fuckin’ great,” Bucky muttered, loud enough for you to hear.
“Uh, okay. Fuck you, too, then,” you shot at him defensively. Knee-jerk reaction. Pinching the bridge of your nose and kicking yourself, you dropped the subject. Not the fight you wanted to pick at that moment. “Let’s– let's just call a cab and get to the hotel.”
“No. I have a bike. And we’re going to a safehouse.”
“Bucky, it's dark enough, my bag is–”
Suddenly, he was much closer than a mere second before, backing you up against the wall of the stakeout building. He beat you in height by a decent amount, but him towering over you really put it in perspective. His broad shoulders heaved, vibranium arm whirring in overdrive as he jabbed a plated finger at you, his face inches from yours.
“I. Don't. Fucking. Care,” he stabbed each word into your sternum. “Bike’s down at the other end of the block. We're taking it, or you can fuckin’ walk. Doesn't matter to me.”
You wanted to take his finger and break it.
You glared, focus shifting between his startlingly bright blue eyes and the strange closeness of his face to yours. It was like you were seeing him– like, actually seeing him– for the first time in high definition. All of his details– the small scars by his hairline, the slight crookedness of his nose, crow’s feet and worry lines beginning to etch themselves into his skin, the indent between his brows– overwhelmed you as your eyes darted all over his face. You snapped back to his glare and were suddenly very conscious of your own facial expression that failed to rival his. You set your jaw and furrowed your brow.
You doubted it was convincing.
“Fine.”
He stepped back and started striding down the alleyway with you at his heels. Your grip on the straps of the gun bag burned your palms as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s annoyingly long strides. At the intersection between the main street and two shops sat a garage; it appeared closed for the night, but was still open to Bucky, apparently, who pulled a key out from under an unsuspecting plant. He unlocked the large metal door, lifting it to reveal a tiny space that was barely big enough to house the large motorcycle and a workbench scattered with parts and tools. He strolled in like he owned the place and grabbed one of the helmets hanging off the motorcycle’s handles, handing it to you with an outstretched arm as he saddled himself onto the bike. You looked from him to the helmet, mouth agape and brow arched in confusion.
When you didn’t take it, he rolled his eyes and shook it at you.
“C’mon, we don’t have all night.”
“When the hell did you–”
“I’ve got my ways. Now c’mon, put the damn helmet on,” he huffed, leaning back on the seat. His thick thighs clenched and straddled the gunmetal-body of the motorcycle. You held back the shiver that ran up your back as you crossed your arms, hip cocking out in defiance. In the briefest of pauses, Bucky stilled, and you swore you caught his eyes scanning down your body, your curves and full figure, before snapping back up to meet yours. He scoffed, smirking to himself and shaking his head.
“The fuck are you laughin’ at?” Your face turned hot, prompting your arms to hug tighter over your chest. You felt off balance.
He said nothing and tossed the helmet to you. Your arms uncrossed and reacted much faster than your brain did as you barely caught it, slipping it on. Pointedly sighing, you relented and climbed onto the bike as Bucky put his own helmet on, sliding the visor down. In the shortly-live silence, your breathing echoed his, the air weighing heavy with anticipation. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every single little touch, every tiny movement made, every breath taken– like a bucket of ice water getting splashed on you, you were present for what felt like the first time that night.
The bike roared to life and Bucky leaned forward to fit his body closer to the handles.
“Might wanna hang on,” he yelled over the noise. You hesitated, probably for a second too long for Bucky’s liking as he looked behind you and rolled his eyes (you knew he did, even behind the stupid visor.) He reached behind his back and grabbed your wrist, pulling you against him and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your free arm followed suit, tightly embracing him, heart pounding in your chest at the sudden act. You lurched forward as he rode out of the garage and began down the street; the location was a mystery to you, other than you knew it was one of the regular S.H.I.E.L.D. approved safehouses in Istanbul.
Weaving through the other bikes and cars, you couldn’t help but lean closer into Bucky, watching the lights and sights pass by in a blur. Fingers fanned over his abdomen as you held on, feeling the firm leather tac jacket against your skin– which became firmer upon pressing into him and feeling like you were palming a brick wall. Knees fit together at the sides of the bike, shifting ever-so-slightly whenever he braked or shifted. Worst of all, as you hugged your chest into his back, you had a front-row seat in viewing the way his broad shoulders twisted with laser-like precision as he drove.
It took every ounce of energy not to let go and fall off the bike.
The four-flight trudge up to the safehouse– more like safeapartment, actually– was a miserable one, especially with twenty pounds worth of gear on your back and a highly impatient super soldier on your ass telling you to “hurry the fuck up.”
“Again: ‘m not built like a fuckin’ freight train, here, Bucky,” you panted as your legs struggled in rounding the fourth and final landing. He didn’t bother to wait for you, instead turning wordlessly off the landing, heading down the hallway to the door with the keys jingling against his vibranium hand. You caught up to him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he fumbled with the sticky lock, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his hands moved. The way the vibranium prosthetic moved as fluidly as his flesh and bone, the way the plates glinted in the dimly lit hallway, the way his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own.
Bucky swung the door open, pulling you out of your trance. He flicked on a light switch to reveal a small apartment complete with a cramped living room, couch, small T.V., and an open kitchen in the back. A hallway diverted off to the left, presumably to the bathroom and–
“It’s a one bedroom,” Bucky muttered, stepping into the apartment. You looked at him incredulously.
“You– you’re kidding, right?” you asked, closing the door behind you and dropping your bag off to the side.
“No. Why would I?” Bucky turned to you, cocking a brow with hands set on his hips, revealing his undone tac jacket and the tightest fucking dry-fit shirt underneath. It was practically a second skin, hugging against his abs you felt earlier. You stared slack-jawed at him like he didn’t just hear himself speak.
“Because there’s only one fucking bed?”
“Yeah. And I’m taking it. You get couch duty,” he stated matter-of-factly. His crooked smirk prodded at your nerves.
You scoffed and mirrored his stance. “What? No! I did the work today, you sat around and just… watched.”
His face hardened. “I sat and just… watched?” he repeated, tone challenging you as he took a step forward.
You swallowed. “You heard me.”
One second, you were ready to hurl another choice word at Bucky. The next, you were slammed against the back of the door. Hard.
Bucky had rushed you, grabbing your arms with bruising force and forcing them up, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. You yelled in protest, failing to squirm out of the cage that was his body.
“Look at me right fuckin’ now,” he demanded, lips curling into a snarl and bared teeth. His voice turned, a complete 180. Dominating, commanding, enraging. When you didn’t obey instantly, he slammed your wrists against the door again.
“Look at me!”
“No! Fuck– Get off me!”
With your feet still free, you started kicking him, eliciting what sounded like a growl that rumbled from deep within his chest. Bucky passed your wrist in his metal hand off to his flesh one, pinning both hands above your head while shoving a thick thigh between both of yours– right against your core. An uncontrollable yelp escaped from you as he pushed. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, and it took every bit of control to stop yourself from clenching your thighs together automatically. The fire Bucky ignited only grew, imaginary flames roaring in your stomach and racing up your limbs. His prosthetic hand snaked up your neck and squeezed your chin, squishing your cheeks and lips, forcing your eyes to him.
You felt lightheaded. Bucky– fuck, nobody– ever grabbed you like that; like you belonged to them. To him.
“You’re gonna listen to me, and listen good,” he shook your face, “I saved your fuckin’ life tonight, ‘member? When you were defenseless and as good as fuckin’ dead on that roof? You made me shoot that piece of shit point blank. You made me almost shoot you.”
His voice shook and he looked away, biting his lip then coming back to you. “I fuckin’ saved your life when you should’ve saved your own. If it’d been any later– if I’d been a second later–” He steadied a breath, shaking his head and scoffing a laugh. He focused back on you with wildly electric blues. “I saved your life. Therefore, I get the goddamned bed tonight. Got it?”
You stared at him for a second longer before nodding gently. The energy building between you was enough to burn the entire building down if someone lit a cigarette. A smirk slowly bloomed across your lips. He released your chin, hand sinking down to rest against your collarbone.
“Is that all, Sergeant?”
His Adam's apple bobbed.
“What did you just call me?” he whispered, sliding a vibranium palm around the column of your neck, plated fingers resting on your pulse point. He twitched. Inches.
“You heard me.”
The air, thick in the apartment, felt charged.
“Needja t’say it again. Can’t hear too well,” he slurred, licking his lips. Eyelids fluttering, hands squeezing. Centimeters.
“Whatever you say,” you lilted. Millimeters. “Sergeant.”
Lightning struck. Everything ignited, setting fire to both of you as Bucky’s lips seared into yours. Hard, sloppy, desperate as tongue and teeth swapped secrets like old friends. He was unexplored territory, yet he felt so familiar. His prosthetic slowly relented the grip on your wrists, dropping to your shoulder, sliding down your chest where he greedily groped and slid over every last peak and dip of your body: tits screaming for release from your suit; hips jerking in short bursts at his every movement. He grabbed your ass and pulled you closer, forcing your thick thighs to spread wider as his own pushed further against your arousal.
“Been–” Bucky smacked your lips, kissing hungrily across your cheek and biting down your neck, “Shit– Been wanting this so– long, fuck–” He pressed into you, his cock harder a gun in his waistband. You couldn’t hold onto the intensely lust-filled moan that spilled from your throat much longer. Bucky grinned against your neck, lapping and sucking and marking your skin like he owned you. Like he could do whatever he wanted to you.
And you let him.
“Gotta get this shit off you,” Bucky mumbled into your neck as he shed his own jacket, face not leaving your skin. Rough hands grabbed onto you and ripped away the buckles and buttons of the jacket that kept your body from him. A deep groan rumbled inside his chest as he threw the top half of your suit to the side, drinking in the beautiful sight of your body, hugged in all the right places by the cami that was riding up your stomach while your tits gasped for air, spilling out, fighting against your sports bra.
“Holy–fuck, holy shit.”
Bucky Barnes was speechless. And you were the reason why.
He stopped as your wrists came down from above your head and fell down your frame.
“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”
Your heart stopped.
“You’re telling me.”
Another charge surged and you threw yourself at Bucky, sending both of you stumbling through the living room. Hands grasped and groped. Fingers busied themselves with removing clothing, undoing pants to throw one way and stripping shirts to toss another. You were magnetized to him, carding through his cropped chocolate hair, hooking your arms behind his neck– which was still bare and practically begging you to mark it in every way you knew. Stumbling over an end table, knocking into the wall that led down the hallway, dragging one another to the bedroom only to pause when you whined at Bucky to shut the door.
Both of you were near-naked, relishing in each other’s skin by the time you made it to the bed, falling on it with him on top of you in a heap. Bucky hiked you further up the bed, dropping you onto the several pillows that made it feel like Cloud 9. You looked up at him straddling your hips with legs that seemed to spread wider the further down he sat. Eyelids fluttered while your pupils adjusted to the dark bedroom. What lay before was a scene out of your wildest fantasy.
Bucky sat back on his hips, hair spiking out in wild tufts, cock aching to break free from the confines of his briefs as he stared back at you hungrily. His tongue jutted out to wet his lips, dragging the bottom half back into his teeth while his lust-blown pupils trained directly on you. You truly hadn’t registered the god-like, sculpturesque muscles leading down his chest and over his rippling abs that finished in a very defined ‘V’ below the waistband of his briefs. The veins bulging in his arm and hand were enough to send you spiraling. Everything before you left you speechless. Wanting. Needing.
Bucky slid painstakingly slow hands over your hips, up your waist, your ribs, slipping curious fingers underneath the hem of your sports bra. He didn’t rip it off like you expected, however.
He looked at you. Really looked at you. “You–” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “y’know this’ll change everything. Right?”
You nodded, eager, confident. “Yeah. I– I know.”
“You wanna do this?” He tugged harder.
“Yes.” Another tug. Your tits begged for release.
“And you… got protection, er–” he hesitated, cocking a brow.
“Pill. I–I’m on the pill,” you breathlessly assured him. You added with a shrug, “I assume you didn’t bring any…”
He scoffed a laugh. “You weren’t exactly on my list of things t’do.”
“Well I hope I’m a top priority, now.”
“Number fuckin’ one.”
The elastic tore as he ripped the fabric, finally releasing your breasts from their constraint. Bucky discarded your ruined bra and turned back to you. His hands gravitated automatically to your chest, kneading, squeezing; thumbs and index fingers on both sides felt around for your nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, eliciting a squeal from you and another rush of arousal flooded your core.
Bucky hummed while locking his lips onto a pointed peak, mouthing and nipping and sucking. You mewled, running a hand up the back of his head and through his messy hair. His vibranium hand started downwards, sending your senses into overdrive as metal fingers teased the hem of your hipsters that met the crease in your thigh. He released your swollen nipple with a pop.
“Fuck you’re soaked, baby,” he moaned. Tugging your hipsters down your legs, he returned to leaning back on his hips. You’re breathless, panting, melting before him as he palms his thick erection. The girthy, leaking head poked over the waistband, aching to finally meet you. To feel you.
He stripped his briefs off, springing his cock free. You couldn’t tell if the uncontrollable moan that escaped from your lips was because of how mouth-watering he was or the thrilling worry that flooded your mind at the thought (and soon-to-be very real act) of fitting him– all of him– inside you. You glanced at him, catching the way his eyes darkened into something sinister, something hungry and uncontrollable. His jaw hardened as he pumped himself, leaking precum droplets onto your thighs.
“Get on your fuckin’ stomach,” he commanded. You obeyed, willing to do anything in your power to quell the iron-hot ache that made your pussy throb with want. The second your palms hit the mattress he grabbed you, hands bruising your love handles and ass as he yanked you back to him, shoving your face down into the pillows. With your cheek pressing into the mattress, face squishing into your elbow, all of the oxygen was pulled from your lungs. A beat of silence filled the void between you before a loud SMACK followed by a stinging pain radiating from your ass.
SMACK. “That was for the back talk.”
SMACK. “That was for scarin’ me t’night.”
SMACK. “And that was for makin’ me have to wait this long to fuck your stubborn ass.”
Drool dripped from the corner of your mouth and onto the sheets as you chewed your lip, trying (and failing) to dull the harsh, hot pain. Hands gripping your hips, bruising and rough, he yanked you back to meet his front. His cock jammed in between your cheeks as he grinded on you, kneading your ass to mold around him.
“You’re gonna take me,” he rasped, low and throaty. “All of me.”
You felt him line himself up with your entrance, his girthy head poking and prodding at your entrance. A beat. Hesitation from both of you before he finally snapped forward, plunging into you, filling you, stretching you wider than you could’ve imagined. Once inside, he paused, shifting inside you, cursing breathlessly at the perfect fit. You groaned and desperately shifted your hips in silent hope that Bucky would fucking move. The stretching, the fullness, everything gnawed at your insides that were begging for release. For pleasure.
“F-fuck Bucky, please–!” He slowly, painfully, rolled his hips in small, dragged-out thrusts before pulling out of you with the most self-control you’d ever see from him and jamming right back into you.
“Fuck! Again! Please, again!”
He obeyed you; his hips gradually began to pick up speed, thrusting erratically into you.
“Gimme your arm,” he gritted between hissed curses. Your brain was on a three-second delay between hearing him and when you started to twist; too slow for Bucky’s liking, he growled, bending– and, in turn, stuffing himself until his base scraped your ass– to grab your arm, pinning against your back with a stern hold. The pain, the pleasure, the all-of-it fanned the flames inside you, growing hotter and hotter and threatening to implode.
“‘M so close, baby, so–” he gasped, “Fuck, where do I–?”
“Back,” you answered, muffled against the sheets. “My back, I– ah!” You clenched around him, locking him in place as the implosion erupted within you. White-hot flashes of intense pleasure shot through your veins like a lethal shock. You screamed. You trembled. You felt the most all-consuming release rock you to your core, all while Bucky drilled into you harder, faster, his own coil on the brink of snapping. His hips began to stutter into you while you rode your high, mewling when it was time to pull from you in a hurry, his fist furiously pumping the last few seconds. A pleasured cry came from his body as hot ropes shot onto you, painting your skin in warm bursts, cum pooling where your spine arced. He groaned. Fist slowing in pumps, he fell onto the covers next to you in a heap as you cautiously lowered your back.
For a minute it was just your labored breathing echoing one another. The smell of sex lingered in the air, the distant sounds of the streets below and within the quiet building were muffled by the walls of the bedroom. It felt like forever before the bed shifted. Bucky stood, fumbling around on the ground for his discarded briefs. Kneeling back onto the bed, you flinched at the suddenly soft touch of fabric as he cleaned you up, wiping your skin until satisfied. He tossed the boxers back onto the ground somewhere unseen, rolling over back to his place next to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your lips, biting it back as you flipped over to look at Bucky, who was already staring at you with a soft smile.
“Thanks.”
He shrugged in response. “Looks like we both needed it.”
You nodded. “Does this mean ’m still sleeping on the fuckin’ couch?”
“Hm. No, I’ll let you off the hook,” he said, grabbing the covers and pulling them over you both.
“I think I like being off the hook better than being on it.”
“Mhmm, sure,” he hummed. The covers shrouded you as he placed a metal hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb in soft circles as he pulled you in for another electrifying kiss.
Sniper x König, and he finds out Sniper gets a touch bitchy because they can't break a door as easy as König. Has to put more effort into doing the normal things he can do with a blink or a flick of his wrist. Maybe Sniper wanted to help with infantry and for X reason they couldn't?
Oh, that would make her even more bitchy. Maybe that’s why he does it, though? He lives for her loss of composure. It feels vindicating.
And while we love to create a perfect narrative foil, I think it would be much more irritating if she didn’t care about her placement. She just got put there because that’s where she performed best in training. You could ask her what it’s like to be a sniper and she says “it’s fine, I guess. Could be worse,” so casually, like she couldn’t care less.
imagine you’re a sniper on the field and your team has been compromised and killed— when you find them.. you also find the 141.
(this is my first post so please be nice 😞 i had an idea and just couldn’t contain it.)
It’s been 10.. no, 15 minutes? you can’t quite tell, your eyes are strained and tired from staring through a scope. the last thing you heard from your team was that they were moving in— “ETA, how copy?” your voice rings over the radio, choppy and almost unintelligible.
you get nothing but static cutting in and out, shit. fuck! now what? you can’t just leave them— and especially not without the intel.
you pack up your sniper, unhinging its stand and chamber and putting it into your bag— much easier to carry this way. Your scope tucked safely in one of the pockets, and your ammo in a cargo slot.
now, time to see what shit your team has stepped in now. you trudge ( unwillingly and undesirably may i add) down the stairs of the building you resided in, and rush out the door.
your eyes dart from one side of the street to the other— coast is clear. you make a break for it, running for the door that is creaked open slightly, you shove the door as much as you can and squeeze inside.
oh god, the blood— the smell.. it’s enough to make bile creep up your throat and a grimace appear on your face.
you’re team is clearly gone— whoever did this meant for you to find them.. almost like a warning. you grip the pistol at your side, you hear something— footsteps, maybe? you have no time to think on it when—
oh my. in any other circumstance, this man would have you on your knees with his looks but in this one— that’s not the case, with his closed fist flying right towards your face.
you duck, “Fucker!” you yell, your fist coming up and hitting him blow his jaw— ‘uppercut, motherfucker!’ you think, with a small— almost unnoticed smirk.
you feel hands grab your head— covering your eyes and mouth, while another set grabs your arms and holds them down.
“Fuckin’ ‘ell, bonnie.” a scottish sounding voice starts, “you really know how’ta put up a figh’!” he says, and you can hear his smug smirk.
“what a shame that we can’t say the same for your team..” Another voice perks up, sounding more commanding.
“don’t speak on my team.” you grit out, you’re fists are clenched— although held back, the 141 can see just how much of a ‘threat’ you are. you wriggle and try to break free from their grasp, but that just earns you a scoff.
“Stop strugglin’. you couldn’t escape even if you tried.” a deep, british accent resounds. you hear shuffling before someone says something you honestly wish you had heard wrong.
“We should take ‘er back to base. could be useful— maybe we can get her to talk about why shes tryna get dirt on us.”
oh fuck, no. no, no— they must have you mistaken, right? you were here for info on the 141– and even though you’d never seen them— this couldn’t be them right?
Chapter one of my riseofthedeadcollab, by @medusashima is here!! Took me long enough
Warnings: Foul language, world typical injuries. Wc: 7.4 K
About: Japan has fallen under the weight of the apocalypse, but three prestigious colleges remain as sanctuaries, trying to take back the world they once knew. But something strange is happening in the depths of the city, and Bakugou doesn't know what this could spell. He has enough to deal with Shiketsu and Ketsubutsu's powerplays. But he at least knows (hopes) you're strong enough to protect yourself.
It's a fucking shitshow out there.
It's a fucking shitshow everywhere else too really, but fuck this really takes the cake.
Across from him, hiding behind a wall, Kirishima meets his eyes. A horde of those nasty motherfuckers were in the corridor ahead of them, standing in between them and the plexiglass holding all the medicines that they needed. Either they run, and they could outrun these shits, the exit isn't too far off and Sero still has the car still running, or they take a chance and start blasting.
And they really need this fucking medicine, so there's really only one answer.
In sync, they raise their guns, take aim and start shooting.
______
"We just grabbed as much as we could carry, we made sure we got you that asthma pump and your damn allergy medicine too, so here." Kirishima finished pulling out all the bags they brought and filled, and Sero got out of the car to lean against its side, lit cigarette in hand. Bakugou wrinkled his nose.
"Put that shit away man. Your teeth are already too fucking long, you trying dye them shits yellow now too?"
"Fuck off man," Sero chuckled, tapping the cigarette off so the ashes fell to the ground.
"You know these aren't allowed in the compound, so let me de-stress for a minute."
"Like you were the one fighting off hordes of zombies?" Kirishima grinned, canine sharp. The early morning sun was just cresting, bright and gold and warm. The light slipped over buildings and between the cracks of buildings, and Bakugou noticed how they made all his scars shine softly.
"There's a reason I'm the driver between us three. You keep bumping into shit and fucking up the car, and anger issues over here keeps trying to run over zombies."
"If I see one of those fucks I'm gonna kill it."
"You don't swerve and speed down a highway just to kill one or two. We need to conserve gas, it's a limited resource."
"It's always been stupid."
"Well, I'm still fucking awesome. I was driving and shooting down the ones that were chasing ya, like a movie. If that ain't badass I don't know what is."
Bakugou grinned, and held up his fist for Sero to pound it.
"Yeah, you came in clutch there."
One of the residents got in the car and honked, and Sero pushed himself off so they could start driving the car back to the garage, to check for any damages.
"You think Jiro and her team got back yet?"
"They left before us, and we've been gone for a couple of days, let's go check."
As soon as they step inside they strip down to their briefs in the corridor, and the cleaning unit takes their clothes to be washed and disinfected. Paramedics check their bodies for any wounds, namely scratches or bites, and when they've been cleared, they're disinfected and given new clothing, they head straight to the shower stalls.
Bakugou is done in ten minutes, and he waits outside for the other two to hurry the hell up, toweling his wet hair.
After that, they make their way over to their captain's quarters, knock, and they are let inside.
Aizawa Shouta is an imposing man, dark hair and one blood red eye. With his eye patch and prosthetic leg and slight stubble he looks like a man that takes no shit. And he is.
Which is exactly why Bakugou respects him, even before he got those injuries and before he was his captain, and just his professor.
"How did it go?" He doesn't look up from all the forms and papers on his desk but they respond all the same.
"We visited all the pharmacies on the West coast of the city, I believe we have more than enough to hold us down sir."
"All the pharmacies?"
"Most were already ransacked, probably by the other camps or sanctuaries," Kirishima explained.
"The only ones that were still mainly full and intact were closer downtown, towards the inner city. These had plexiglass we had to break to get in."
"Downtown is more infested, though we've managed to quell it some. How many zombies were there?" They shared a look at one another, and returned to their salute.
"Mainly four or five in each, sir. We left before more could arrive due to the sound of the gunshots.The last one however had at least fifteen, and a couple crawlers." Only now did he pause, and put down his pen, stare them down with all the exhaustion in his remaining eye.
"A couple crawlers? How many did you kill?"
Bakugou spoke up. "Around six, at least. Only one managed to escape and that was because we were focused on escape sir. Sero ran over it over though so it shouldn't be able to move much to do anymore shit."
"They only arrived after we killed all the regulars and had the bags mostly full. Bakugou held them off while I finished packing, then we hauled ass and ran to the van. That's when we used the shotguns to kill off the ones chasing, while Sero drove."
Aizawa stared them down over his stapled hands, and they stood still in their little line, backs and shoulders straight.
"....You ransacked the place?"
"No. Bakugou left some supplies scattered around." Three pairs of eyes turned to him, and he had to fight the urge to scoff.
"Not everyone lives in a compound or wants to join one. Doesn't mean we need to hog all the shit to ourselves." Aizawa's face didn't change but there was an approval there.
He sighed and unclasped his hands, back to his papers.
"What else do you have to report?"
"Nothing, sir. The number of zombies seems to be the same, with numbers increasing the more you go downtown. We noticed more Shiketsu markers though, they've expanded their territory." Aizawa sighed, and nodded.
"Yes, Jiro's team noticed that as well. They're growing, and fast too. Commander Nedzu had scheduled a meeting with them in your absence, and it's today at five. It would be good to attend."
"A meeting? What for?"
"Hopefully, an alliance." Three pairs of eyebrows rose in astonishment.
"Those Shiketsu bastards are stingy as fuck. Do you really think that they'd agree to an alliance?"
"They're small, but only in territory. And Ketsubutsu is in the same position, so they might ally with one another instead. They are just as, if not more desperate for shelter and food and medicine as we are. It's a good chance they'll be open to it, with Yuuei, with all the people and resources we have. There are strong fighters there too, and they'll do well within our ranks."
"Strong fighters yeah, until they decide not to cooperate or pick a fight or somethin'. What do we get out of that then?" His eye flashed, and the guys flinched back into position.
"They are humans, just like us. They're trying to survive any way they can, and with the way the world has fallen to ruins, it would do good for you to remember that we are not very different. We need to band together to survive. Now if that's all you have to report, I'll see you at five." They nodded their heads, and left the room without a word.
The compound was huge, and always near bustling, at least away from the captains quarters. People were on schedule, and followed it religiously; maybe having something to do constantly took their minds off the horror the world had turned into.
The cafeteria was decently full, and they immediately spotted Jiro's team in the far corner. Denki and Mina waved excitedly when they caught sight, and Jiro raised her half a bagel with a nod. Bakugou immediately zeroed in on the black bruise around Mina's eye, and the way that Jiro tilted her head, so her bangs could hide her cheek, and probably a bruise. They took a tray, got in line, and flashed their cards for authentication.
"Man, doesn't this remind you of highschool?" Bakugou gave Mina a look as she cut him off before he could say anything, and she swirled her spoon in her little yogurt, a fond smile on her face when the boys sat down at their table.
"No, not really. It's the asscrack of Dawn and you were always late, so we never had breakfast together."
"We did sometimes." Mina pouted at Sero.
"Once in a blue moon you mean."
"What time did you guys get back?" Kirishima asked, a mouthful of food.
"Like, an hour or two ago. We would've gotten back quicker but the van ran out of gas."
"Oh shit, what did you do?"
"Had to go to a gas station and fill up the gallon. Only a couple stragglers there so we were able to kill 'em' and get back. Not many zombies on the highway, you know?" Denki shrugged. His hands were bandaged, and there was a scrape on his cheek. They all looked a little fucked up.
"You look like you got socked in the face pinky." Mina huffed at him but it was true. Her normal complexion, dark but kinda pinkish and warm, was pale, like she was an undead, and she had the nastiest ringer around her right eye. She immediately scowled.
"That's because I was."
"What, do the zombies know how to box now?" Sero chuckled.
"No, but that Shiketsu bitch I found going through our supplies does." The smile fell from his face, and that immediately had their attention.
"What?"
Mina sighed, and moved to tell the story.
"We were all fucking exhausted so we stopped to get sleep. Denki and I went to kill any zombies around and Jiro was setting up the traps and making sure we still had connection to contact the compound. I get back first and find this blondish bitch going through our shit so I immediately call her out, you know?" They nodded along and she continued.
"Anyways, she tried to run but I tackled her and we ended up fighting. I guess her teammates thought she was being attacked by zombies because they came running, and Jiro and Denki came running too and we all got in a fight. They ran but they still took like, two bags of supplies."
"And you're sure they were Shiketsu?"
Denki nodded.
"Yeah. After I punched a guy I saw those button things they wear. They all had one. It was dark so we couldn't really see their faces, but we saw those things."
Sero clicked his tongue, and stabbed his fork through his scrambled eggs.
"And we're supposed to meet these guys for an alliance?"
"What meeting? Alliance?"
"Shiketsu has been slowly expanding its territory. Commander Nedzu thinks it'll be good to join and combine what we got."
"It's not that bad an idea." Jiro shrugged, her gangly earrings swishing with her hair.
"More territory means we have more space for compounds or gardens or livestock. Make routes and expand human territory. Shiketsu got some hard hitters too, obviously, so we could go on more missions."
"And raids." The table looked at Kirishima, who didn't look up from his plate.
"Kirishima…"
"Even I'm not that suicidal sharkteeth."
"But it's viable. Slowly, we can get more ground, maybe even join other compounds. Take the city back."
"That shits not gonna happen. Not in our lifetime at least."
"Listen man," Kirishima put down his fork, a little forcefully.
"All I'm saying is that there is a chance, and I'm gonna believe in it. Gotta have some kinda hope in this fuckfest. Otherwise, what's the point of going on?"
No one really had a reply to that. They all looked at each other, haggard and tired, and continued eating.
Denki gathered the trays and bowls and utensils from everyone, and Bakugou was too tired to even protest, like he would usually do. He just nodded his thanks and Denki smiled wanly.
"Oh, did you hear if Izuku's team is back yet?"
"Hatsume received a message from them, they should be back by noon."
"They left before us, what took them so long?" Kirishima asked.
"We'll see when they get here."
With that, they separated. Men and women were split, even those with private dorms, and they each went to their respective sides, ready to catch some sleep before chores. Bakugou however made a detour, and walked the steps to the highest floor. From there he flashed his card, authority granted, and stepped outside to the roof.
It was like those rooms that castles would have for their archers, to shoot mainly unseen in case of attack. It was like that now, but with snipers instead of archers, no ceilings.
From this high up he could see plenty of the compound, the farmers starting to work in the gardens and fields and take care of the livestock, or people running to and fro carrying cargo. He was willing to bet a good chunk was what he and his team brought, and Jiro's. The sky was clear and the sun was bright, the wind crisp and choppy. But that wasn't what he was here for.
The compound had three snipers per wall. Each sniper was trained, best of the best, and took shifts watching the wall and shooting stray zombies, alerting the compound if there was a horde approaching. It was also their job to hold them off as long as they can in this case.
Bakugou walked over, quiet, careful to not disturb the other two snipers at the ends of the wall. This early in the morning all sound was echoing and loud, his breath the hiss of smoke after explosion.
He kneeled down, and gazed through the tall, vertical window.
She didn't move from her position, hands still and eyes steady. Her breathing was rhythmic and she made no sign to acknowledge his presence.
"...Theres one of those fucks right there." A blink from her wide eyed stare was the only acknowledgment. She probably already knew. One second, two, three, while the zombie approached the wall, and a bang! The thing fell dead.
She rolled her shoulder from the recoil, and went back to her gun.
"What's the score?"
"...Timothy has eight, Matthew's got twelve."
"And you?"
"Fourteen."
"That's my girl." Bakugou held out a granola bar, one of the soft ones, and she moved her head to take a bite. Bakugou brushed her hair out the way.
"How long have you been here?"
"I've been taking the deadman shift along with my normal ones." He felt a tick in his jaw.
"Fuck, you're gonna wear yourself ragged."
"I was worried about you."
She probably was. She probably watched their van leave too, from her post all the way here, and probably waited to watch them come back.
"Couldn't sleep?"
"No." Bakigou sighed and adjusted himself on his haunches, muscles aching.
"How did it go?"
"We had to travel farther into town, since most of the pharmacies were already ransacked. We got what we needed and then some, and came back."
"Got into any trouble with anybody?"
"You heard what happened with Jiro's team?"
"Nah," and now a smile spread across her face.
"Mina and Denki came out yelling and hollering as soon as they came out of the van, cause Momo was the one to come and greet them. Jiro was the only one not looking to get babied."
"Momo must've shit herself out of worry." Her lips pursed.
"Crude. Wouldn't you be worried if your lovers came back bruised and limping?"
"Jiro and Denki looked fine to me, and Mina only had a ringer. Who was limping?"
"Jiro was limping some but not too bad, I think it was just some swelling."
"Okay." They stood in the silence, feeling the morning sun's rays and the wind through their hair. She clicked her tongue and adjusted her rifle.
"What is it?"
"The wind's choppy. Its fucking up my aim, I gotta adjust constantly."
"You got that one bitch good." Already the body was being taken away by people in hazmat suits, leaving only a trail of blood that would soon to be washed away. She smirked.
"'Cause I'm just that good."
"Course you are." Bakugou held out the bar and she ate from it, eyes in front but head turned to him. When she finished he brushed his hand over her mouth, wiping away the crumbs. She kissed his thumb as he drew it back.
"What time does your shift end?"
She smiled bitterly.
"I still got an hour and some change. I'll meet you at your dorm so get outta here." Bakugou sighed, but he was tired. He stood up, and dusted himself off.
"Fine. I checked your schedule, you also got kitchen duty today, at three, so don't forget that, pistol. Hurry up so you can sleep." She smiled at the familiar nickname. This entire time, her eyes never left the distance.
"I won't baby. Get some sleep, I'll be there."
Bakugou trudged his way back to his private dorm, his body suddenly weighing twice it normally did. Which didn't say much since he could easily lift twice his body weight but he just wanted to get to bed, okay?
Sleeping in car seats or the back of a van these last couple of days, wary of zombies or stray packs of humans that could try to attack, it left him tired. He could've groaned at the softness of his bed, the clean, warm sheets and all the extra pillows that Pistol always hogged. In minutes, he was out.
He only woke up seemingly a few minutes later, by hands reaching around him, familiar and calloused. Blindly he reached, and pulled her to his side, and she latched on to him. He groaned at the warmth, but held tighter when she tried to move back.
"Oh sorry, are you in pain?"
"No, just get back here woman." She let him pull her back, but her hands skittered where his shirt had ridden up.
"You got a couple bruises. You can go to the nurses later."
"Hm."
"Get an ice pack or compress or something."
"Mmhm."
"...I was worried, y'know?" He rubs her shoulder, and she lets out this little sigh, one of those little sounds he won't stop thinking about for days afterwards. The kind of sounds he replays in his mind in every raid, every mission, every night you're not in his arms. It keeps him calm.
"I know. I'm always gonna come back though. Just gotta do what needs to be done, y'know?"
"I know."
Silence creeped back in, slow like molasses, but you've never been one for sweet.
"I'm kinda tired of just doing that though, you know. Just what needs to be done."
"The fuck you mean?" Katsuki cracked an eye open, and lifted his head a little to look down.
"No, no, it's just….is this all there's gonna be?"
"It's an apocalypse baby. Compared to the rest of the world, we're living in paradise right now. We got food, medicine, shelter, animals, clean water, weapons–"
"I know, I know!" You shoot up, till you're sitting up and staring down at him.
"I've just been….it just that, I'm …." You fumble with the words, stumbling over your tongue like two left feet on a dancefloor.
"....I'm just so tired Katsuki." Yeah, he's not having that. He pulls you up and over and sits up himself, leaning over till his forehead rests against yours.
"You've been taking too many shifts. You're burnt out."
"No, I'm–"
"Yes, you are. Or you're going to be. You've been taking the deadman shift, youre regular shift, and then breakfast duty every day since I left. On top of all the other jobs you got assigned too."
"It's easier to sleep that way. Too tired to worry."
"You do that anyway baby." He shakes his head against yours, and that makes you giggle. "I'm gonna walk you over to Granny Chiyo when we get up, get you checked up. Get you to stop asking for so many shifts."
"You're such a hypocrite Katsuki." But you bury your face in his shoulder, so he knows you're gonna give in.
"I'll get some patches too, alright? And some pain relief. Ugh. Nagging woman, is that good enough for you?"
"Yes, this will appease me for now," You chuckle. He feels the rumble through his skin.
"For now? Greedy little bugger." He mushes your face away while you laugh and try to press closer, straining your arms to reach him while he keeps you at bay. The smile on his face is delighted and sharp, and the corners twitch with every rise and snort of your laughter.
Finally, exhausted, you just grab his hand and fall back into the sheets, pressing the back of it against your cheek. You sigh again. Like a cat stretching, content and languid, like it came from somewhere deep in your chest. He feels something unwind in him.
"...I'm so glad you came back to me. Don't leave me, okay Katsuki?"
"I won't." He answers too fast, but you smile, press your mouth to his palm and mutter the words again.
"I don't know what I'd do if you left. Probably throw myself into a horde of undead or something."
"Don't fucking joke about shit like that." He grabs your face, gently of course, and turns your face to his. But you keep your eyes closed and keep smiling.
"You know Achilles and Patroclus? From the iliad? And the rewritten take? When Patroclus died Achilles gathered his ashes in an urn, which was usually the wife's job, and said to mix their ashes when he dies, so that they'll never be apart. Isn't that so romantic?"
Bakugou doesn't speak, he just watches you. You're slipping into sleep, and your breaths are slowing. You hold his wrist and rub small circles into his pulse point.
"....I'll wake you up in an hour." He'll actually wake you up in two; the mumbo jumbo coming out your mouth is proof you need it.
You don't reply, already gone. Bakugou picks you up so your head is on the right side of the bed, and follows you to sleep.
He doesn't think any urn would be enough to hold the both of you.
▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎
He's not surprised to see how many people are here.
The captains are here automatically. Captain Aizawa, Captain Sekijiro Kan, and Captain Nemuri Kayama. They're spread around the room but he doesn't fail to notice how close they are to the windows, to Commander Nedzu. Who, in question, is preparing tea with a blasé smile on his face. His dark hair doesn't even gleam under the lights, and his eyes are purposefully kind but blank. Creepy.
Todoroki is here, and so is Ochako. Jiro. Deku is here too. Including him, it's the main team leaders.
Todoroki nods at him when he walks in, and Ochako barely does the same, steel focused and rubbing her wrists raw. Jiro smacks her hands away. It's Deku who comes up to him and pats his shoulder.
"Hey, I heard you went further downtown on your raid. Met a couple of crawlers."
"Yeah, we killed most of them before we had to abandon the place."
"Got what you needed?"
"Do you even need to ask, stupid Deku?" And he smiles, wan.
"We could've bumped into each other sometime. My team and I were downtown too."
"Why would you need to go downtown?" Deku looked tired. He couldn't have been back that long because the standard soap and disinfectant scent still clung fresh unto him. His hair was as wild as ever and bandages disappeared beneath the sleeve of his shirt. His face was pale, freckles standing stark against the pallor.
"Oi? You got hurt?"
Deku smiles, tired but reassuring.
"Just a tumble down a hill. Gravel, and stuff." Bakugou smells bullshit, but he sees the way Izuku closes himself off. He backs off.
Coincidentally, that's when Captain Hizashi walks in, with their guests in tow. It's only one adult, a lady with a bandana and mint green hair, and three others, a girl and two guys around his age. Less people than what he was suspecting.
"Shouta, how ya been! Long time no see, huh?" Captain Aizawa narrows his one remaining eye at the woman.
"Fukukado. I didn't expect you to be here."
"I came to propose my hand in marriage! Aizawa Shouta, will you-"
"No."
"Aw, not even a chance?"
"No." She deflates, but brightens up not two seconds earlier. Bakugou stands where he is, and takes in the other 'guests'.
A blonde chick, with a too deep neckline. Another blonde guy, but like, sandy blonde, with shaggy hair and somber eyes. The other…..looks like he could be Deku's older brother, or him himself, if he was taller with no freckles, and black hair. Deku 2.0 catches his eye and grins at him.
He doesn't like him.
"We expected to be entertaining Shiketsu, but it seems Ketsubutsu decided to join us." The room turns to the Commander, whose fingers tap, one by one on the tea pot, tap tap tap tap.
"Well, the more the merrier I say. Please sit! Let's start this meeting." The table is soon filled, and Bakugou is sat next to Jiro and Todoroki.
"First off, thank you for trekking all the way here for this meeting. You've shown your cooperation."
"So it was a test?" Nedzu looks at Deku 2.0, eyes gleaming.
"Yes. Your name?"
"Yo Shindo from Ketsubutsu. Head ranger."
"Pleased to meet you. And you two?"
"Camie Utsushimi! Team leader and part of communications. Shiketsu." He doesn't know where she got it or how she smuggled it in, but she blows a bubble and pops it, bright pink like her mouth.
"Nagamasa Mora. Team leader and assistant director. Shiketsu."
"And me! Captain Emi Fukukado, and Shouta's future wifey~From Ketsubutsu of course." She winks at Aizawa, who doesn't even roll his eyes, like when he catches any one of them acting stupid. It's clear they share history.
"The trek here wasn't anything arduous."
"Well, of course it wasn't." Utsushimi cuts Nagamasa off, elbows on the table.
"You didn't catch them trekking us from when we passed central?" The room quiets, and Nagamasa clears his throat.
"Yes, but I was being polite, Camie."
"But there's no need to be so stiff now, yeah?"
"It's called having tact, Camie…"
"I'd prefer if we simply got to the point of this meeting." Fukukado cuts in, spreading her hands on top of the table. Her body language was open, but less playful.
"Of course, but we were supposed to discuss an alliance with Shiketsu, and not Ketsubutsu," Captain Sekijiro grumbles. "Frankly, this meeting doesn't concern you as you shouldn't be here."
"But it does, which I'd like to bring up. But first, a proposal." This kid must've tried going for a business major, because Deku 2.0 reeks of cockiness and self importance. He even adjusts his collar for fucks sake.
"Which is?"
"Ketsubutsu and Shiketsu have decided to join together. We've decided to extend the offer to Yuuei, proposing an alliance, as well as a sort of joint mission between us three." He smiles, swarmy.
"Just to see how well we work together. A trial run, if you will."
Yuuei is stunned into silence and exchanges looks amongst one another.
Yuuei, Shiketsu, and Ketsubutsu were the top three schools in the country. Heavily endorsed, large grounds and campuses and funding for extracurriculars. Always rivaling one another, but Yuuei was always at the top. It's why so many people fled here when the virus spread.
First, the students and staff and their families. People in the immediate vicinity. Pets. Then Yuuei needed to strategize. They were just accepting everyone even if they have a limited food source. So they needed a plan. Yuuei was backed by water, and they built filters so they had a reliable water source.
They turned the sports fields into farms and accepted priority people; people with useful skills like plumbing or gardening or mechanics. Deku had protested. Bakugou had protested louder. "The idea of priority puts people on the scale of worth and value. All people deserved to be saved," Deku had said. "All people are worth the same. All people bring value."
What Bakugou never told him was that he saw the logic. It was an apocalypse. They needed to be smart. "All people are valued at the same worth." No, they weren't. But all people are worthy and are owed the chance to be saved. That's what he believed. Some people just saved more people than others, that's all.
Eventually, after a couple months, they were able to import a couple cows and pigs and goats, from a family who lived in the open countryside. A team had gotten lost, stranded on a scouting mission out of the city, checking radio towers, and found the family. There were only two families left there, the others were infected and they had killed them and they couldn't take care of the rest of the animals by themselves. It was a lucky break and now, nearly three years later, they have a good sized amount of cattle.
People needed a balanced diet, and vitamins could only go so far. Milk, cheese, eggs, meat–compared to other shelters having these items made them a sanctuary.
Literally. Japan's government, when they got over their collective pants shitting, started sending out the military. They declared the three schools sanctuaries. They provided weapons, and some training, and tasked them all with expanding their territory, and taking back the city and open land. A task far easier said than done, especially when the crawlers started appearing. Regular zombies could die with enough blood loss or a severed brainstem.
Crawlers needed a couple bullets to the brain, at second best. They could still come back. Only a completely severed head could make a crawler stay dead. Hard as fuck for one or two, but more than that? Essentially impossible without insane luck, skill and aim.
'I bet Pistol could do it.' Bakugou thought.
"Ketsubutsu and Shiketsu are allied? When did this happen?"
"Around a month ago." Fukukado smiled at Captain Nemuri.
"Guess your intelligence isn't up to speed." Hizashi's mouth twitched in a grimace but he smothered it. Jiro's grimace however was not as well hidden.
"...Midoriya." The man startled when Commander Nedzu spoke in that warm, calm voice. His hands were steepled over his cup, tea which he hadn't offered the guests.
"Yes, Commander?"
"You've only just returned from your mission. I'd like to hear your report now."
"Yes sir." Deku stood, and placed his hands behind his back, shoulders straight.
"Five days ago, my team, Mineta, Hagakure, Shoji, Aoyama, Tsuyu, and I were sent on a mission to update the markers and communication wires further downtown. It was a delicate mission, checking the wires and shelters along the way, avoiding undead hotspots." The captains nodded along as he spoke. They probably already heard all this.
"We reached the wires and spent the next few days checking and repairing the ones that were damaged. Which ones exactly are in the written report. Two days ago we upset a previously unknown undead Hotspot. Most of them were crawlers." The room tensed, and the guests who were lax and listening, tensed and straightened.
"Mineta and Aoyama are some of the best marksmen we have. They held them back while Shoji cut the ones that got past. Tsuyu and I rushed to replace the wire we were on, and then we joined the others and brought down the pack. Hagakure held down the van."
"Hah? Really? You guys took down a pack of crawlers?" Yo Shindo laughed, staring down Deku like a kid telling a tall tale. Bakugou sneered.
"It takes our captains a hard time with a couple of crawlers, and I bet yours too. But a group of dropout college students somehow took down a pack? Stop the bullshit," He laughed.
Deku stared at him, and yeah, the resemblance was fucking creepy. Without a word or preamble, he took off his shirt, and the muscle tee underneath.
He had plenty of scars, they all did, but what caught Bakugou's attention was the bruise patches all along his back and ribs, the bandages wrapped around his waist, blood peeking through. He unwrapped the one on his left bicep, and a gasp hissed through his teeth.
"A crawler bit me. Tsuyu cut the flesh away and disinfected it as fast as she could. I got proper treatment when we got back."
The wound was closed, the stitches were precise and uniform, but red and deep and angry, it would leave a deep dark scar. The kind with ridges and bumps and dips and edges that looked shiny in the light. It looked vicious.
Tsuyu didn't have to just cut the flesh away. She had to dig, and carve below the infected flesh just to make sure she got it all. He could've died from crawler, or regular infection, shock, bloodloss. Or even hitting his head wring tumbling down a hill.
Deku's green eyes, bright and uncanny, met Shindo's.
"Of course, we all wore our body cams too so we have footage, though that's confidential. You'll need to be a part of support and communications, or fill out a form to see them." Shindo kept eye contact, but his jaw ticked when he swallowed. Ochako stood and helped rebandage the wound with a soft glare, and Deku met his eyes when he redressed.
"I did fall down a hill. I just forgot to tell you it was with a crawler biting into me."
"If an undead doesn't kill you Izuku I fucking will." He seethed, soft under his breath. Deku's face folds into that wan smile again. He looks like Auntie Inko.
"Yeah, I know."
"Bakugou's team also ran into some crawlers at a downtown pharmacy, so Aizawa told me," Commander Nedzu says.
"The front was already raided, so they moved further to the back, where they were. Crawlers prefer places long abandoned. Old apartment buildings, department stores and the like. The rise of crawlers in these recently raided, inhabited, or otherwise open spaces is odd. I'm sure you both have your concerns as well.
"Does this joint mission address these concerns?" Before Fukukado went on he asked,
"Does anyone in your alliance have the skills to take down a crawler? A pack of crawlers, if the situation should ever arise, again? Can any one of you deal with a crawler bite immediately? Intelligence tells me that neither of you have been going out on raids often." The Commander cut a look towards Fukukado.
"We've been finalizing the terms and conditions of our alliance," Nagamasa supplied.
"Yeah. And we thought we could set up a communicative wire in between Shiketsu and Yuuei actually. We're building one between Shiketsu and Ketsubutsu now." Utsushimi lolls her head.
"Even if we don't align, communication would still be ideal."
"Eradicating a couple known undead hotspots would also do some good, we could see how well we'd all work together." Fukukado waved her hands. What a clown.
"Nagamasa, yes? That folder you brought, what is it?" Captain Nemuri smiles encouragingly.
"Potential teams we could make, highlighting certain strengths and attributes."
"Hand it over, please?" He did, and Captain Hizashi moved to read over her shoulder.
"...How did you know Yaoyorozu and Jiro were in Communications?" Heads snapped up, and they shrugged.
"I was a traveling Substitute teacher, remember Shouta? I can guess how you utilized your kids." For the first time Shouta's face fell into irritation, and his eyes burned into Fukukado, who just smiled. Her eyes were sharp like knives, which Bakugou was sure she had hidden on her. Knives don't always have to be metal. They just had to be sharp.
"It's not like the kids are all complete strangers. Before the bullshit people would go places and meet people, like the central mall, or the parks, internships, regular ol' jobs, that sort of stuff. It's easy enough to guess."
It was a plausible enough excuse. Even he knew a couple people from the two schools. Bakugou turned his head, and caught Jiro, sitting stock still.
She was staring holes into the Utsushimi girl's skull, hands fisted under the table. The girl met her eyes, mildly confused, and they were in a sort of stare off.
Suddenly her eyes widened, and she smiled, slow. She blew a bubble, big and slow, and popped it, swiping her tongue out to collect it back into her mouth. It set off his anger meter, petty bubblegum cheerleader chicks like this one always did, and he scowled as she just smiled at Jiro. He had a guess to who she was.
"Yeah, you, we met before. You remember me. You were the one caught stealing from our van."
"Well, I am a team leader. I had to take an initiative and go for it. Make an example of myself, you know?" She didn't even try to deny it.
"Couldn't get your own shit? Had to be a thief and steal?"
"Aren't you technically stealing from everyone by taking from all these stores and pharmacies?" The girl huffed, her pout fading and something more genuine crossing her face. Irritation.
"I know you allow shelters in your territory for the people who don't want to align, but how much do you really give them? You raid and hog everything so people are forced to depend on you. I was just tipping the scales a little." That bubblegum fake smile was put back in place, and she waved her painted fingers at jiro.
"Be grateful your friend only got a black eye. And you, you only got a little bruise on your cheek! My team could have shot you, thinking you were undead."
"But that's not true, right?" Todoroki spoke for the first time, dual eyes zeroed in on the chick.
"You probably scouted them for a while and waited for them to run surveillance. Otherwise you all would have approached cautiously with weapons on hand.
"If you weren't sure if the van had undead, then that's what you would have done. If you did suspect and still went alone, that's just plain idiocy. Your team could have lost their leader." Todoroki looked her over, evaluating.
"And I don't think you're that dumb. You don't look stupid."
"Like you can tell." Bakugou muttered under his breath.
"I can. And she's not it." He still was staring her down with his two colored eyes.
"She saw the emblem on the van. She tracked them and waited to attack. She chose her steps carefully. It was all premeditated."
Utsushimi whistled and clasped her hands together, eyes lighting up.
"Wow, you're so smart! And you're like, super duper gorgeous, like, super model gorgeous. Wanna go on a date?"
"No."
"You're sure? I can make it worth your while…"
"Anyways," Captain Aizawa cut her off, the resemblance to another woman in the room probably made him antsy.
"Ketsubutsu and Shiketsu have made an alliance, and wish to extend the offer to Yuuei. Is that right?"
"Exactly." The four spoke at once, like it was rehearsed. Bakugou couldn't keep the sneer off his face, he was sure he looked like an asshole, but fuck that.
"You worry about our skill, but of course we have members that are skilled enough to deal with crawlers. Shiketsu and Ketsubutsu were not that far apart in terms of prestige." Nagamasa supplied.
"All three schools after all had elite students and faculty, so it's to be expected."
"Expected, but not assured. But that was before the apocalypse." Commander Nedzu spoke as he leaned forward, smile and clasped hands and all.
"Of course, we all had our fair share of exceptional students and teachers in our facilities. Our little rivalry was going strong, and for good reason. But this is the apocalypse and we are not students and teachers anymore." His eyes flashed, dangerous, soft.
"We are Captains. Lieutenants. Leaders. Rangers, scouts, foragers, doctors and cooks and nurses and stable hands and Commanders." Finally he unclasped his hands and raised his cup to his mouth. He frowned a hint, before dropping two sugar cubes in the tea.
"And I'm sure you both have your fair share of those, especially after merging together, so I'll leave you two to figure those sorts of things out on your own. To get yourselves situated." He shrugged. He was a small man, but there was nothing small about the way his smile stayed, but the warm (and fake) geniality faded with each word from his lips.
"After all, this meeting was for a discussion between my captains and team leaders and Shiketsu, and not a jokester and a couple of college dropouts and a thief. So if you may, I'd prefer someone more competent in the next meeting, which I will send a date for. I'll let Ketsubutsu attend next time if I'm feeling gracious. This meeting is adjourned."
Yuuei, Captains and leaders, immediately sprung up into salute, and Captain Hizashi immediately walked around the table to escort the four guests out.
Only the Utsushimi girl looked unaffected, poping her bubble with her arms above her head. Fukukado just pouted, while the guys grumbled and glared, with their hurt pride. Utsushimi shot a wink at Todoroki before she left, and there was an obvious release of tension once they left the room.
Captain Kan scoffed.
"What kind of power play was that? If they were going to try something so stupid they should have sent their Captains instead of children." He huffed.
"You seem to know that woman, Fukukado, right Aizawa?" Captain Aizawa sighed and rubbed his temples.
"We went to the same community college before we transferred to separate universities."
"She seems to have a crush on you huh-"
"Don't start Nemuri." Todoroki came up to his elbow. He didn't speak but he had that blank, expectant look on his face like he expected Bakugou to just read his mind.
"The fuck is it icyhot?" He tilts his head for him to follow, and he does, but not without grumbling.
Icyhot turns to him when they reach a private corner of the room.
"If this is about the blonde chick I don't want to hear it."
"What? No, I'm not talking about her. It's about the raids you and Midoriya went on. The crawlers."
"What about them?"
"My team and Ochako's noticed a few weeks back that people have been going missing from the unaffiliated camps around the borders. We couldn't check Shiketsu much less Ketsubutsu, but they looked dwindled too. I think…I think the disappearance of these people, and the hotspots has something to do with the crawlers."
"...Well fuck Icyhot, that's a crazy conclusion to come up to. You told the captains?"
"Told them, but they said that it's just a far-fetched theory. Hatsume in research and development said that it makes sense though." He sighs. "But she's been crazy since before the break."
"Why the hell are you telling me this?"
"Because most likely you're the one who'll be sent when Yuuei reaches out to Shiketsu and Ketsubutsu again," Todoroki grit his teeth.
"Deku is injured and Ochako and Jiro are on mandatory leave. And you know my Father doesn't want to send me out with all this...activity." he grit out.
Enji Todoroki, a long lasting politician. A ruthless man who was pushing his children to join the military and rise the ranks. His wife was institutionalized before the break, and her hospital was overrun by zombies. The eldest son, Touya, rushed in to try and save her, but his body was never recovered. Neither of them were.
"He thinks he's protecting me. Now," he scoffed,"now after all these years…"
"At least he's trying. Making shitty amends for how he raised you lot growing up, yeah? Better now then never. Late paternal instincts I guess."
"How is what he's doing to us any different than what he did to my mother?" His voice was so stone cold Bakugou almost expected mist to come from his breath. Bakugou shrugged. He didn't know. He was just sick of this meeting already. He still had work to do.
"Hell if I know icyhot. But if you go along with his shit, at least for now, he might ease up or somethin'. He's one of our main benefactors so we can't lose his support." He pats his shoulder, kind of awkward, but Todoroki showed no sign of acknowledgement. He started to walk away.
"I'll fight to be put on the roster, but there's no guarantee. Enji has been trying to transfer me permanently to support and management."
