#WELL JUST SHOOT ME IN THE FOOT WHY DONTCHA??

[aquicksojourn]

once you're stripped clean, what's at your core?

fractured glass

no amount of orchestrated class is ever going to hide the fact that you’re doomed to be alone. you’re a puppet, you’re a weapon, but most importantly? you’re a fraud. your facade isn’t malicious, but that doesn’t change a thing. everything in your life is in your control now, and you chose to let yourself become stiff and distant. you’re guilty of everything you blame yourself for, and your misfortune is the fault of nobody but yourself. your selfish nature forges you into a man-made monster, so quick to blame and so desperate to escape consequence. i hope that you can become someone you’re proud of soon.

[buckyskorpion]

11 hours - part six

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: so i was gonna leave this on ANOTHER doozy cliff hanger but i genuinely thought i would get lynched so i decided to just leave it at a baby cliffhanger. a lot happened in this chapter and a lot of seeds have been planted for future chapters..... so lemme know what you think hehe. predictions?? angry letters?? pitchforks??? lemme know!! i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist | please donate to my ko-fi!

masterlist 

“You’re very calm for someone with a gun to their head.”

Honestly, you had been thinking the same thing. Sure, your stomach feels like a snake pit and your hands are sweating and you don’t think you’ve ever been more aware of your own heart beat, but other than that - you don’t understand why you aren’t panicking more. There are three men standing in front of you, one behind, all with guns. They’re wearing matching leather jackets with an octo-head patch on the sleeve, and they all look very scary. Briefly, you wonder if Bucky has a jacket like this, with a patch on to match his family. It’s an irrelevant detail you can’t help but fixate on right now.

Bucky. Hopefully listening on the other end of the phone you have tucked in your back pocket which your kidnappers haven’t been bothered to check yet, thankfully. You flex your wrists against the zip ties holding you to a chair and ask, “Where am I?”

“You should know,” your stalker turned kidnapper says with a condescending sneer. “You followed me here.”

“The Lerna?” you clarify, for the sake of hopefully someone on the other end of your mobile picking it up. You glance around at the old-style bar; chipped wood and beer stains, a rickety pool table one of your stalker’s friends is using as an arm rest. You curl your nose up at it - a little proudly, you note it has nothing on Sam’s bar.

“Do you recognise the place?” your stalker asks. That throws you. You want to ask what he means by that, why you would recognise this gross bar you’ve never stepped foot in, but you clench your teeth and school your face.

Once your dad sat you down in a chair much like this one, in his office at the house you grew up in. You were eleven, maybe, and you didn’t quite understand why he was tying your hands to the back with a necktie but you went along with it. He did this, sometimes - would orchestrate some strange lesson when his nightmares got really bad, his ghosts chasing him inside the house until he saw enemies in lampshades and kitchen cabinets. To keep you safe, he would say, and then he sat opposite you and asked what you would do if anyone ever put you in this position against your will.

“Kroshka, they will use anything against you,” he had said, and you see that now with the way these men are looking at you for any weakness. But you didn’t understand then, you were a kid thinking your dad was spiralling again, so he had cast around until he found a beer bottle on the coffee table. “See, like this. When the label is flat it’s fine, but as soon as one little corner lifts you can’t help it - you have to peel it all the way off. Don’t give them any corners, kroshka.”

You blink, once. The man in front of you scowls when you don’t answer, presses forward into your space in a show of intimidation. You try not to flinch, but that fear you were missing before is starting to set in real fast. What did he mean, do you recognise it? And why the hell are you so prepared for a situation like this, almost as if your dad has been training you for it since you could remember?

“Fine,” your stalker says, his breath fanning over you with how he’s leaning into your space. “Maybe you can answer something else, about your boyfriend.”

“Dunno who you’re talking about,” you say. It’s not a lie - technically, you hadn’t had the ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ chat with Bucky yet. This man is not appreciative of your loopholes. He grabs your hair and yanks your head back, pressing his glock into your neck. You shiver, both at the pain and the cold of the metal. Through gritted teeth and mild hyperventilation, you say, “As a matter of fact, I dunno who you are either. That’s kinda weird, dontcha think?”

You can practically hear Bucky in your head telling you to shut up, but he’s not here right now. No corners, just like your dad said. Doesn’t mean you can’t try and find some corners of your own.

What you meant as a question to buy some time, with a bit of attitude on the side, sends your stalker reeling back from you. He’s confused, eyebrows drawn down low and his friends behind him look to each other with the same expression. Now, you’re confused as well. Everyone in the room stands (or sits, in your particular predicament) in a pure state of what the fuck is going on. It would be funny, if there wasn’t still a gun to the back of your head.

“You don’t know the patch?” the man asks, gesturing to the sleeve of his jacket. When you don’t respond he continues, slowly, reiterating his question from before but as a statement, “You don’t recognise this place.”

You have zero idea what’s going on, but whatever you’ve said seems have thrown your kidnappers for a bit of a loop, so you decide to roll with it. You say, and hope to god the man standing behind you doesn’t shoot you for it, “I’m starting to think you’ve lost control of this situation, pal.”

From the corner of the room behind you, a familiar husky-toned red head says, “Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

Shots ring out, shattering the windows as one by one your stalker’s friends drop like dominos. Someone crouches behind you and cuts you lose with a knife, and you hear it clatter to the floor as they launch over the back of your chair feet first into your stalker. Natasha. The flash of her red hair over your shoulder as she sends him flying is unmistakable. You scramble from the chair, fumbling for the knife she dropped but your hand slides through something thick, wet. The man behind you with the gun lies dead, throat slit, his blood now all over your fingers. It mesmerises you in a sickening way, making your stomach turn and your vision go fuzzy.

You’d never seen a dead body before. Now they are all around you, the bar smelling like blood instead of beer and the sound of bullets pinging off glass the only noise other than Natasha grappling with your stalker. She’s so small compared to him but she has her thighs clenched around his throat and he gasps for breath, clawing at her legs. You watch, stunned, as he gets a grip on her and throws her off, sending her crashing into the wall with a groan.

She hits the floor and you see red - all you can think is that’s Bucky’s family and that man is walking towards her, his gun trained on her body as she tries to pull herself to her feet, so you stop thinking at all. You picture the back of your stalker's neck like the dartboard at Sam’s bar and you throw.  

Bullseye. Just like your dad taught you.

The man drops, knife buried in his neck and haemorrhaging blood. He gurgles this awful, awful sound as he clutches at his throat, trying and failing to push the blood back in. Natasha looks from your still outstretched hand, trembling in place, to meet your gaze. You can’t begin to decipher her expression, nor do you want to. You feel like you’re going to throw up, or choke, or scream, or all three. The man you just stabbed in the neck groans in pain, eyes rolling, coughing blood from his mouth in thick clumps. You can’t feel your hands anymore.

The door bangs open and you flinch, stumbling back until you trip on the chair you had been tied to and fall to the floor in a crumple of limbs. It’s Bucky, eyes wild and larger than life with a rage you’ve never seen before. He has a huge sniper-rifle slung over his back as he strides into the bar, stepping right over the writhing body of your stalker.

“I’ll deal with you in a second, Rumlow,” he practically growls, kicking aside the man’s hand that tries to grab for him. You scramble to your feet, practically tripping over yourself to get to Bucky. Doesn’t it say something about you that you run towards the man responsible for the death all around you?

You crash into Bucky hard, the force of the impact knocking the breath right out of you and once it’s gone you can’t get it back. It feels like his arms encompass the entirety of you as he holds you so tight your feet leave the ground. His chest rumbles with words but you can’t hear him, your ears are ringing and your chest is tight because panic attack, you dumbass. You press your face into Bucky’s neck and hope that’s enough to escape the scene unfolding around you.

“Get her out of here, I’ll deal with this,” you hear Natasha say somewhere behind Bucky but you refuse to lift your head to see.

Bucky attempts to pull away from you to look at Natasha, you can feel him try and twist his head but the inarticulate whine that rips from your throat stills the both of you. It’s mildly embarrassing, the sound you’ve just made, but it’s out there now. Bucky shifts his grip so one big palm rubs soothing strokes up and down your spine and you feel yourself becoming boneless with every pass of his hand.

“I’m not fucking lettin’ him get away with this,” Bucky says, low, threatening - if you were this Rumlow guy bleeding out on the ground, you would be afraid.

“And he won’t,” Natasha says, and then like she has to remind Bucky of his own thoughts, “but you have other priorities right now. Get her out of here.”

You feel Bucky nod, his scratchy chin moving against the top of your head. He kisses your temple and holds the back of your skull with one big palm, pressing your face further into his neck. It means you don’t see the carnage of the bar when he moves to place an arm around your shoulder and steer you out the door, stumbling under his guidance on shaky, cotton-fuzzy legs. He’s hurrying you, but as gently as he can. Once you feel the bright burn of sunlight on your skin you pull back from Bucky’s neck, blinking in the now empty street and Bucky’s piercing gaze as he looks down at you.

“Are you with me?” he asks, his hand dropping from your skull to squeeze the side of your neck. You still feel like you’re sipping each breath through a straw but you nod. You can see in his eyes he needs you to be with him right now, to get out of here, so you try and blink away the fuzzies in the corners of your vision and focus on his face.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and christ, now is not the time for that stinging pressure behind your eyes you hate so much. You hope Bucky understands - sorry for not listening to him, sorry for getting you both into this mess, sorry for not being strong when he needs you to be.

Bucky shakes his head vehemently, tugs you in harsh and strong by the grip he has on your neck to press a bruising kiss to your forehead. Your eyes flutter close at the fierce way he holds you, presses emotion into your skin like the tattoos littering his skin - a brand of your own, in the middle of this eerily empty street with the blood of strange men on both your hands. The thought makes you shake, so you twist your fingers in the hem of Bucky’s t-shirt and breathe him in deep.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he says, then pulls away from you. He grabs one of your hands from out under his shirt and links your fingers, beginning to drag you down the street. Looking back over his shoulder, he says with a grimace, “We gotta go.”

He leads you to his bike, squeezed between a brick wall and a dumpster in a side alley a block away from The Lerna. It roars to life before you’ve properly swung yourself on the back, and you aren’t bothering with helmets this time as Bucky eases the bike out from it’s tight spot with unsettling ease. All you can do is hold on tight and close your eyes as Bucky leads you away, weaving through the city in nonsensical loops before you feel the air open up around you and the familiar sounds of Brooklyn.

Bucky takes you to Steve’s tattoo in Red Hook, the first time you’re been back there since that fateful run-in with Natasha. You’ve checked out completely by the time Bucky parks - he has to lift you off the back of the bike because your legs won’t work, and he all but carries you inside. Steve is quick to rid the shop of the two customers looking at designs out front as Bucky settles you on the couch by the tattoo beds. You sink into the faded red leather without feeling a thing. Distantly, you notice the kid who usually mans the tills looking at you like you’ve grown a second head, and you suppose you deserve that.

“Stevie, I think she’s in shock,” you hear Bucky say, and the childhood nickname makes you smile. You watch Bucky’s face crease up deep concern at the dreamy look on your face, so you suppose you should stop smiling like a crazy person. A giant blonde head swims into your view, just as concerned, and he drapes a blanket around your shoulders.

“Bucky,” you say, your eyebrows drawing down as you fumble for his hand. He squeezes your fingers and mumbles something to Steve who leaves you again, his voice mingling with the kid’s somewhere over Bucky’s shoulder but you can’t focus on that. All you can do is swim in the back of Bucky’s too-deep stare and say, “I killed him.”

“No, no,” he says, shifting closer between your thighs as he kneels on the floor in front of you. This would be funny to you in any other moment, something to tease him for as he takes both your hands in his and squeezes them together, silently imploring you to stay looking at him. He says, “That’s not on you, sweetheart, it ain’t. You didn’t kill him.”

You’re crying now, properly, which you suppose is a good sign because you don’t think people in shock can cry. You watch as something cracks in Bucky’s eyes as he watches you break apart, but you can’t stop now you’ve started. You say, “I did, I killed him. How do you do it? How do you just- I feel like my throat’s gonna close up. How do you live past this?”

Bucky’s face darkens, smoothing out to something stone cold and frightening. You don’t feel scared, though, as he leans into your space so close you almost feel cross-eyed trying to stay glued to the blue of his eyes. He searches your face for something and says, no room for argument, “You did not kill that bastard, you hear me?”

“But-“

“No,” he says, simply, and that’s that. “The only reason you were in that position is because of me, doll, so no. You didn’t kill him. It’s on me, and I live with that so you don’t have to. You got that? You don’t ever have to live with that.”

You don’t know how he makes you feel like he’s physically reached into your chest and pulled out your guilt through your throat, but he does. You can see it clenched tight in his fist, his eyes shuttering down dark as he shoves it between his own teeth to hold. It’s too soon for the feelings clawing at your ribcage but you feel them just the same, that cigarette burn he left on your heart aching so bad you could scream from it. You extract a hand from his to run down his cheek, along his jaw, cupping his face in your palm. He closes his eyes, shudders as though swallowing down the guilt for the both of you.

I love you for that, you think to the soft flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks. I’ll love you forever for that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Natasha returns to the shop, and Sam bundles in not long after that, the four bikers sit around Steve’s prematurely closed tattoo shop and have a family meeting. You can’t help but feel like the kid who’s stayed up past their bedtime to try and hang with the adults, the words flying over their head and sleep pulling at their eyelids but they fight to stay awake anyway. Bucky pulls your head into his lap as he sits on the couch beside you, so you lie there and let him stroke your hair while they discuss what happened over the past two hours.

Two hours, and that’s all it’s taken for your whole world to spin on it’s axis. You’d learnt to throw knives at tree trunks with your dad as a fun, albeit unconventional after-school activity. And now you’ve buried a knife in someone’s neck, you’ve been kidnapped and tied to a chair and watched Bucky gun down men from a rooftop with his sniper rifle. He pulled the trigger with the same fingers he’s carding through your hair now, nails scratching at your scalp in a way that makes your toes tingle. How is that at all ok?

“We’ve started a turf war with Hydra, now,” Sam is saying, sitting backwards on a chair facing Bucky and spreading his hands out in a placating gesture as Bucky bristles. “It was unavoidable, alright, I’m just saying.”

“Not necessarily,” Natasha says. “Rumlow has had a vendetta against Bucky for years. He could’ve been acting alone.”

“It is strange we haven’t heard anything from Pierce,” Steve says thoughtfully. He is pressing an icepack to Natasha’s back, already bruising from where this Rumlow guy threw her into the wall. She’s lifting up her t-shirt and you can see a glimpse of a back piece standing out stark against her pale skin. Giant, feathered wings and a talon, a mosaic piece of what looks like a large hawk spanning the length of her spine.

“When Pierce finds out it was us that shot up his bar, though,” Sam says, making meaningful eyebrow movements to the group. They all nod thoughtfully and fall into silence.

None of these names make much sense to you - Hydra, Pierce, even Rumlow who you’ve gathered by now was your stalker. Was, because he’s dead now, and the thought turns your mouth dry and rusted. You shift in discomfort, drawing Bucky’s attention down to you as he gives you a concerned once over. He had done a thorough analysis for any injuries, even after you’d assured him you were fine, but you can tell he’s still unconvinced.

Unfortunately for you, all your wounds appear to be mental. They’re getting deeper by the second.

“I keep thinking,” you say to Bucky, “why was he so surprised I didn’t know where I was? Or who they were?”

“Hydra is our biggest rival,” Bucky says, and huffs a laugh at your crinkly brow so he clarifies, “They’re another gang, one we’ve had a lot of run-ins with. Rumlow especially. He wasn’t our biggest fan.”

“So he expected you to have told me about him, and Hydra,” you say, the name unfamiliar on your tongue. He nods, and you have to ask, “Why didn’t you?”

Bucky frowns at that. “I already told you - the more you know, the more dangerous it is.”

“And I already told you, no secrets,” you say, frowning just as deep. A beat passes and Bucky doesn’t budge, just glares down at you like he can physically bore his opinion into your brain and make it yours. Exasperated, you say, “Bucky, it didn’t matter anyway - the danger found me. Telling me things like that isn’t going to make a difference.”

“It would’ve if you’d listened to me and not done the stupid thing,” Bucky says, raising his eyebrows. He may have a point, but you aren’t going to back down that easily. Bucky knows you, he knows if you see a loose thread you’re going to pull it. The fact he thought you’d listen to him tell you what to do at all is laughable.

“This gang is your life,” you say, and you don’t bother to hide your frustration now, “They’re your family. I’m no safer not knowing what’s going on - I got stalked and kidnapped regardless. Clearly, it’s dangerous no matter what, so just tell me, Bucky. Whatever it is.”

Bucky stares at you for a long time. Steve, Natasha, Sam - they cease to exist in this room with you. Those first few weeks, when you refused to stay the night in Bucky’s bed and would only see him to fuck - you used to be scared of looking into those eyes for too long, for fear of getting lost. Now you dive head first, a part of you hoping you do get lost so you never have to find your way back out again.

Eventually, Bucky clenches his jaw tight and says, “You’re right.”

You blink, surprised. You hear Sam whisper to Steve, “did you record that?”, and honestly, you wanna ask the same thing. Except the way Bucky is look at you- dread curls thick and choking in your gut. You look up at Bucky and he seem so far away, out of reach even though you feel him all around you. He continues stroking your hair but it’s absentminded, his mind far away too.

You are drawn back to the tattoo shop by Sam saying, “I gotta say, Barnes, your girl is smart as hell. Keeping your phone on you and out-smarting Rumlow in a hostage situation? Pretty badass.”

Bucky smiles briefly down at you, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. You turn to Sam and say, “I got the impression out-smarting Rumlow isn’t really that hard.”

Everyone laughs at that, even Bucky, and it clears away some of the dread eating away at your stomach. But it’s still there, acidic and bubbling no matter what you do to smother it.

Eventually, they grow tired of talking in circles about Rumlow and Hydra and the possibility of the feds showing up (Bucky assures everyone the cops will find no rifling on the bullets and won’t be able to pin them to the crime scene, but Sam mutters heard that before and an argument erupts about some debacle in Bucharest so you tune out). Bucky takes you back to his apartment, tucked securely in his leather jacket in the best kind of shock blanket you could ever ask for.

For the first time, you noticed the tiny embroidered star on the sleeve of his jacket. You wonder if all Bucky’s friends have the same star on their jackets, because they’re not just friends, they’re a gang. One you feel suddenly, irrevocably intertwined with since they’re the only reason you aren’t sitting in a jail cell for murdering someone.

You feel jittery as you walk into Bucky’s apartment, almost nervous. It looks the same as this morning, the coffee cups you used for Steve and Bucky still in the sink and hoodie of his you’d worn last night draped over a chair. But everything is different, now. It’s all changed, there’s weird new shadows over everything long after Bucky turns on the light. You linger in the doorway to Bucky’s bedroom while he rummages around for sweats and jumpers, laying out a pair for you before he begins changing himself. He shucks off his t-shirt and you see his tattoo sleeve, the mottled scars hiding underneath, and your heart flies out of your throat before you can stop it.

“So do you guys have a fun, spooky name like Hydra or what?” you ask, closing your eyes with a grimace as soon as you ask the question. What are you, twelve? Bucky doesn’t answer and you’re too afraid to open your eyes too see the look on his face.

You’re startled when you feel him kiss your cheek, sensing his large frame towering over you and blocking out some of the soft bedroom light. You open your eyes to find him smiling down at you, laughing at you with his eyes as he says, “Not so spooky. Steve named us, he called us the Howling Commandos. The HC, for short.”

You crinkle your nose up at him and he flicks the tip with his ringed fingers. You say, “That’s very old-fashioned.”

“Nat teases him for it all the time,” he says, “She calls us her barbershop quartet.”

You smile, imagining Bucky in suspenders playing the accordion, and say, “Now that I like.”

The longer Bucky looks at you the more sober he becomes, mouth becoming pinched and jaw muscle ticking. He holds you soft by the biceps and walks you back until you hit the wall, still gentle, but bracketing you in now so all you can see is the weight of whatever complicated thing is running across Bucky’s face.

“You scared the fucking shit out of me today,” he says. He shifts, grips your jaw tight so his rings dig into your skin with none of the gentleness of before - he means this. “Never do that again.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, twisting in his tight grip to press a kiss to his fingertips. He softens, allows you to pull him in flush against you by his waist, his bare skin so warm under your hands. “And, thank you. I don’t- I guess I’ve never had someone come save me before, I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t thank me,” Bucky says, shaking his head. He kisses you, a rough press of chapped lips against yours and is gone again before you can react. Says, “I’m sorry, too.”

“Come back,” you say with a pout, and you have just enough time to see Bucky smirk down at you before he’s kissing you again. It’s just as fierce, almost painful, but the rough slide of it distracts from the burn in your chest and your racing thoughts like razorblades. You lick into his mouth, chasing away the ghosts nipping at your heels, and he presses you back into the wall with a thunk hard enough to leave a bruise on your tailbone tomorrow. You don’t care. It feels good to hurt in a way that’s physical.

The ease with which Bucky picks you up makes your head spin. It’s all you can do but pepper kisses along his stubbled jaw as he carries you to the bed, lips suddenly ripped from his skin as he dumps you on the covers. He is quick to follow, squashing you down with his tongue in your mouth before you can take another breath. This, you know. All the messy feelings and heartache and fearfearfear that beats in time with your heart, that maybe you’ll lose him or he’ll lose you and you came so close today, is unfamiliar to the both of you. But arching your back off the bed so he can take your shirt off, scrubbing your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck as he peppers kisses across your tits with a trail of goosebumps left behind - this is how you know Bucky best.

He makes quick work of your clothes and you fumble with his jeans, laughing into his mouth as he bats your hand away to do it for you. Bucky bites your bottom lip in playful admonishment and you chase his mouth as he tries to pull away. He places one big palm on your clavicle and pushes down, holding you against the bed. He shakes his head at you with a smile.

“Stay,” he says like he would to a dog, grinning wide as you glare at him. But you do as you’re told as he leans over you to grab a condom with his left arm. Maybe you bend the rules a little to trail kisses up the bits of his outstretched forearm you can reach. Over a shadowy skull, the stem of a rose, what looks like military windings near the crook of his elbow and tiny handwritten letters that spell S N S. Sam Nat Steve, because Bucky might be a tough guy to most but he’s a giant sap deep down.

Bucky shudders at your touch, and it makes you wonder if the scarring under his tattoos is extra sensitive. Or maybe he is just sensitive to anyone touching him in such a vulnerable place. You flick your eyes up to watch him watch you, lip drawn between his teeth and a dent between his eyebrows you ache to soothe if he wasn’t still holding you down. You don’t stop, even though he looks physically pained with every brush of your lips against his skin. You trace the edges of another small wolf with your tongue, like the ones on his chestpiece, and watch as his eyes flutter closed when you get close to the paper-thin skin of his inner wrist.

That hits Bucky’s limit. Suddenly his hand on your chest slides up to your neck and he’s leaning over you, left arm braced by your head and his mouth swallowing yours. You groan against his lips at the rough drag of his hands down your sides, gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. He makes your brain go fuzzy, the only coherent thoughts being Bucky and touch me more. He seems to understand. His fingers find your clit, smoothing slow circles which spark embers in the pit of your stomach. Bucky’s mouth falls open as yours does, as if to breath in the whine he draws from you.

“Fuck, you always sound so good,” Bucky groans. He buries his face into the side of your neck, taking advantage of your thigh trapped between his legs to rut against you while he continues playing with your clit. Every time Bucky gets filthy with you it’s like the first time, shocking and almost embarrassing in the sexiest way possible. Heat floods your cheeks and makes you lightheaded, unable to stop the moan he draws from you. You’re rewarded by Bucky’s teeth in your neck, the sensitive spot just over your pulse point, and if you’re being honest you could come just from this.

Bucky’s cock growing harder against your thigh, as his hips shift in rhythm with the circles he draws on your clit, becomes too difficult to ignore. To gain his attention you twist and nip at the closest piece of skin you can find, Bucky’s ear, and he engulfs you in a kiss which steals the breath right out of you. You buck your hips, hoping to nonverbally convey the demand get in me right now, and Bucky doesn't need any more hints than that.

He fumbles with the condom for a second and you take the time to sit up on your elbows and look at him. Bucky is so beautiful, drawn in harsh lines and stark contrasts. Tan skin turned paler against the opaque black of his tattoos, colour swirling in-between and it should be jarring, but you think he just looks like art. Bitten red lips, startling blue eyes pinning you to the mattress as he catches you staring - such bright, primary colours because he is a statement piece, and one you could look at forever.

Bucky grins almost bashfully as you stare at him, leaning back over you to kiss you soft and sweet in a sharp juxtaposition to the rough tumble which got you here. Again, he sends your head spinning when the tender kiss is punctuated by the unexpected push of Bucky’s cock in your cunt. He bottoms out before you can blink, throwing your head back out of the kiss with an untamed groan - both pleasure and pain, in the good way. Bucky drags his teeth from your lips down your chin and neck, biting a mark into your collarbone to set the tone for the bruising pace he creates as he pounds into you.

He doesn’t do anything in halves, you think. You gaze up at him with an almost dopey smile while Bucky fucks the literal breath out of you. You lift your hips to meet him as he bottoms out with every thrust, watching in awe as his face creases up in ecstasy - it’s you who brings him there. He palms your tits like he can’t help himself, loses control in your pussy because you make him feel that good, and the thought makes you giddy. Drunk, almost, as you drag your nails down his chest and nearly come once again just from the moan you draw out of this brilliant, dangerous, gorgeous man.

“You take it so well, baby, fuck,” Bucky pants, eyebrows creasing as the pleasure gets almost painful in its build. You know the feeling. Bucky’s mouth is always your undoing, rolling your eyes back into your head and the sounds you’re making turning positively feral. He kisses you again, more a slam of mouths than anything finessed, and says, “Never gonna get over this, never gonna get over how good you feel.”

“Bucky, you gotta-“

“I gotta what, huh?” Bucky grins at the pleasure-addled panic he brings you too, not wanting to come too fast but also needing to let go before you actually explode. He knows exactly what he’s doing, balancing on one hand to thumb harshly at your clit as he says, “You want me to stop? I don’t think so, sweetheart, I think you wanna come on my cock just like this, wanna hear me tell you how good you are, how sweet you are for me all laid out like this-“

Everything whites out as you come, hard, all your muscles spasming like crazy with the orgasm that rips through you. Bucky’s voice is drowned out, but it doesn’t matter what he’s saying anymore, he’s made you feel like you’ll never catch your breath again. Bucky thunks his forehead against yours, collapsing on top of you as the fluttering clench of your cunt around his cock becomes too much. His thrusts turn sloppy, his breath hot and ragged across your face as you press lazy, barely-there kisses to his cheeks - all you can muster in your fucked-out haze.

Bucky comes with his eyes closed, eyelashes tangling with yours, and you cling to him with all four limbs as he shakes through his orgasm. The release was so needed for the both of you, the events of the last twenty-four hours frying your nerves to the point where it was either fight, cry, or fuck. It feels so good to have Bucky on top of you, inside you, all around you in every single sense and it warms your heart in a way you didn’t know was possible until now. Until Bucky.

Maybe that’s the afterglow talking, and you should stop. But you can’t help but press another kiss to Bucky’s cheek, and another, over his nose and across his still-closed eyelids until you reach his mouth and he can kiss you back just as soft. You hope he gets it. You hope he feels it too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You go to see your dad, eventually. The chaos of yesterday kept you attached to Bucky’s hip - you showered together in the morning, and he allowed you to pretend it was just the water and not tears soaking your face. But he made you cuddle with him on the couch and fed you an omelette like you were incapable of feeding yourself, and maybe you were, because the reality of what happened in that shitty Manhattan bar was starting to eat away at your executive functions. It took all of your strength to convince Bucky you would be ok and that you’d come back to him as soon as you were done, but it was time to pull on a thread you’ve been ignoring for far too long.

It turns out, that paranoid over-questioning part of your brain doesn’t turn off even during a traumatic event. Your dad lets you in without a word, tugging you into a side hug as you both walk to the kitchen to make tea.

The house you grew up in has taken on a different light since the Lerna. The kitchen chairs aren’t the same, reminding you too much of ziptied wrists and a gun in your face. Why can you superimpose the memory of Rumlow holding you hostage to one you have of being eleven and tied to a chair by your father? You shouldn’t be able to do that.

He nudges your hip, jerking you out of your staring contest with the dining chairs, and offers you a mug of tea. You both sit at the table, either end, the fruit bowl a mediator between you. He looks tired, old, like he always has somehow in your memories from childhood. He’s still your dad, the same man who always been there because he’s all you’ve ever had. He loves you, you know does. Ya lyublyu tebya, luna. But he has always been the first to say your paranoid streak runs a mile deep, and once you find a thread-

Well. Everyone knows how that ends.

“Do you want to talk about it?” your dad asks, and it’s like he knows you aren’t here to ask for boy advice or moan about a case or your skyrocketing rent.

There’s a lot you want to talk about. Why did I learn to throw knives instead of joining the soccer team, like normal kids? Why did I learn how to survive an interrogation instead of going to sleepovers, like normal kids? Why did you train me to question everyone and everything in this world, but I’ve always blindly believed you? Like a normal kid would, you suppose, the only normal you’ve ever really gotten. Always believing your dad is the superhero of six-year-old dreams, someone who would never keep you in the dark.

“No,” you say, taking a sip of tea. It burns your tongue to numbness, but you can’t bring yourself to care. We had the secret language for only us - why did I never think you might have secrets from me as well? You grimace into your tea and say, “Not right now, I’m sorry.”

“Tayny budut presledovat tebya vechno, malysh,” he says. Secrets will haunt you forever, little one.

You don’t dare look up from your tea as you say, “Ya dumayu, ty by znal vse ob etom.” I guess you’d know all about that.

He gives you leftover curry in a carry bag when you leave. Kisses you on the cheek and lets you go, but you can feel him watching you the entire time it takes you to walk down the street and out of sight. As soon as you round the corner you retch into the nearest bush, a well-manicured rose which you silently apologise to as it gets covered in your bile.

This guilt isn’t something Bucky can save you from - it feels like it’s eating you alive. You had never, ever thought you would get to the point where you’d be leaving a bug stuck to the underside of your dad’s kitchen table, but you suppose you never thought you’d be stalked and kidnapped either. You wipe the your mouth with the back of your hand as your stomach finishes emptying itself of tea and betrayal, and try to tell yourself you won’t find anything, you're just being paranoid. But you know you will.

Maybe you always have, and that’s why you’ve been too scared to pull on the thread you’ve known has been dangling in the back of your mind since you were a kid. Just one secret you wanted to leave, one dark corner you didn’t want to shine a light into. That’s never been in your nature. You spit the foul, acidic taste from your mouth onto a poor, innocent rose bud and think with just as much bitterness as the bile coating your throat, that’s not who my dad raised me to be.

Part 7

[theultimatefanficwriter]

Kiyotaka Ishimaru x Mondo Oowada-Dead Boy Walking

Slight NSFW Content

Kiyotaka Ishimaru was happy. He was the star pupil of Class 78 and the designated Hall Monitor. He was set to go very far after graduating from Hope's Peak Academy. What more could he ask for?

"Ow!"

The Ultimate Moral Compass turned at the quiet exclamation. He noticed his close friend Chihiro Fujisaki rubbing the back of his head. Taka noticed a balled up piece of paper come to a stop next to Makoto Naegi's feet. The strict rule follower narrowed his eyes as he looked behind the Ultimate Programmer. He noticed Junko Enoshima covering her mouth, a hint of a smirk peaking over her hand. Makoto looked down as the ball hit his foot. He raised a brow and picked the object up.

Kiyotaka reached across the aisle and held his hand out. "Makoto Neagi, would you please hand that over to me so I could dispose of it?" He commanded in his normal booming voice.

Maokoto jumped a bit and nodded, handing it over. "Y-yeah! Of course, Taka." Taka all but snatched it out of the Ultimate Lucky Student's hand and immediately unfolded it, giving it a read.

Chihiro Fujisaki, the Ultimate Programmer, makes a very pretty girl, doesn't he? Maybe he should stop lying to his classmates and reveal what he really is.

Taka stiffened, his eyes shooting over to Chihiro, his friend continuing on his work with a downtrodden look on his face. Kiyotaka was the only one Chihiro ever told his secret to. How could Junko have known?

The boy in white looked over to the Ultimate Fashionista, who was staring at him with a smug grin. She gave him a finger wave before turning away from him. Taka narrowed his eyes before standing up quickly, causing the desk and chair to screech across the floor.

"Teacher!" He called. "It has come to my attention the Junko Enoshima was bullying Chihiro Fujisaki by throwing this at her!" Taka held the ball between his fingers. His small friend looked up at him, a grateful smile on his face.

"I was just trying to get "her" to stop lying, Teacher!" Junko said innocently as she stood, placing a hand over her heart. Taka glanced back and gave her a look of warning. He noticed that the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader, Mondo Oowada, did as well. Junko ignored both of them as she made her way to Chihiro's seat. "Chihiro here has a dirty little secret." She said in a sing songy voice. She pat the boy on the head, causing him to stiffen up. "Dontcha, Fujisaki?" She gave the programmer a knowing smile.

"Junko that is enough!" Kiyotaka exclaimed, point his finger at her. "Leave Chihiro alone!"

Junko smirked, turning to Taka. "Aw, you're only stopping me 'cause you already know the secret, tattletale." The fashionista pouted. "Why don't you share with the rest of the class?" She held her hand out to everyone, who look extremely uncomfortable.

Kiyotaka glanced over at the teacher, who stood with crossed arms. "Miss Enoshima, that is quite enough." He said with narrowed eyes. "Apologize to Miss Fujisaki and sit down or I must send you to the Headmaster."

The pigtailed girl smirked. "'Miss' Fujisaki? Don't you mean-"

Taka's eyes widened and he dashed over to try to stop Junko somehow. But someone was faster.

Before he could even blink, Kiyotaka saw Mondo standing beside Junko, his hand over her mouth as he glared down at her. "I don't like laying my hands on chicks." He growled. "But if ya would kindly shut the fuck up and sit down?"

Junko looked up at Mondo, her eyebrows narrowed angrily. She moved away from him and went back to her desk. The biker huffed and popped his collar before sitting back down as well. The hall monitor blinked, still stunned, before he shook his head. He pocketed the paper ball, not wanting someone to fish it out of the trash, and sat back down as well.

The class eventually ended, and like usual Kiyotaka sat patiently at his desk for everyone else to leave. And like usual, Chihiro waited with him. Also like usual, Junko stuck her tongue out at him and called him some rude name. But unlike usual, Mondo was still in the classroom, leaning against the back wall.

When it was just the three of them, Chihiro ran over to Taka excitedly. "Thank you so much, Taka!" He chirped. "I was way too scared to stand up to Junko."

The star pupil smiled down at his friend brightly. "But you're getting more confident!" He pointed out. "Don't think I haven't noticed!" He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I am very proud."

Chihiro smiled and looked over his shoulder to Mondo. He gestured for him to come over, so the biker leader pushed off the wall and made his way there. "That's actually thanks to Mondo!" Chihiro informed the Ultimate Moral Compass. "He's been training me!"

Taka's gaze went from Chihiro to the muscular man approaching the two. He crossed his arms and looked him up and down. "Why did you ask this...rule breaker to train you and not me, Chihiro?" Kiyotaka asked, giving the man before him an unimpressed look.

The man with the pompadour scowled. "Maybe because he wanted help with getting stronger, not learning how to be a kiss ass." Mondo retorted.

Chihiro looked between the two nervously. "I...I thought the two of you would be friends..." He said quietly.

The men looked down at him, before returning to glaring at each other.

"I'm sorry, Chihiro, but I've seen Mondo Oowada's record." Taka said bluntly. "He is only trouble and has no regard for safety."

"Yeah, sorry buddy. No way I can be friends with a guy who has an entire pole stuck up his ass." Mondo spat.

Kiyotaka's eyes narrowed angrily at that insult, much to Mondo's amusement. "Why on Earth did you tell this...this delinquent your secret?!" The rule abider exclaimed, turning his head to Chihiro.

The Ultimate Programmer swallowed, clearly uncomfortable. "W-we saw each ot-other at the-" He tried to explain.

Seeing his friend was having difficulties, Mondo placed a gentle hand on his head and gave him a smile. "Calm down. I got this." He soothed. The young boy nodded, taking a breath. Mondo turned back to Taka. "We ran into each other at the gym. I noticed he was having trouble, so I offered to spot him. He mentioned he was trying to get stronger, I offered to train him, and after a few training sessions he felt close enough to me to tell me the truth." He grinned at his friend. "And I'm honored." Chihiro giggled softly.

Kiyotaka analyzed their interaction. Mondo seemed to genuinely care about Chihiro, and vise versa. He did stop Junko from spilling his secret. But how could sweet, kind Chihiro ever become friends with such a thug? He's the type of person Taka would want to protect his close friend from. So it makes no sense.

"I'm still not sure if you should be hanging around him." The role model thought aloud, putting a finger to his chin.

Mondo narrowed his eyes and took a step towards him. "I don't think that's your decision to make, asshole." He growled, shoving a finger into Taka's chest.

The man stumbled backwards slightly. He glowered at the biker and brushed his uniform off. "It was merely a suggestion, but if your way of becoming stronger is to always resort to violence, than perhaps I should try to enforce it."

Mondo's face turned red and he reeled his fist back.

"Stop! Please!"

The man stopped and turned, seeing his small friend with an outstretched hand looking terrified.

"Please don't hurt each other!" Chihiro begged. "I'm sorry I made you two meet. I thought you'd be friends but I was wrong!" He looked to be on the verge of tears.

Mondo looked at him for a moment before turning back to Kiyotaka, who was looking past him at the programmer. Mondo scoffed and backed away. He spat on the ground in front of Taka before heading out the door. "See you at training, Chihiro." He called as he left.

"Are you alright, Taka?" The small highschooler questioned, running up to him.

The hall monitor nodded, glaring at the puddle of spit on the ground and stepping around it. "Excuse me for saying this, but your new friend is a brute." Taka said bluntly, looking to his friend.

Chihiro sighed. "He can be like that, yeah."

The man in uniform smiled and rolled his shoulders. "No matter. You should go to your dorm. I have to clean up the mess he left behind. I'll see you later!" The two waved, and Chihiro left the room.

Taka grabbed the cleaning supplies and cleaned up the spit Mondo had left on the floor. His thoughts kept going back to him. He obviously knew of him before this. He'd heard his name during role call, he'd seen and heard him during class, but most prominently, he'd seen his record when helping the headmaster. It was a sight. So many rules broken, both small and large. Graffiti, littering, fighting. He was dangerous. However, his actions still fit his Ultimate title so...he stayed. Kiyotaka sighed in annoyance. Why did there have to be an Ultimate Biker Gang Leader anyway? Or any other criminal Ultimate? Why is the school encouraging crime? He didn't understand it.

Taka stood, finally finished cleaning. He dusted off his uniform again as he made his way out of the classroom, making sure to turn the lights off and lock the door. He made his way down the hall, keeping an eye out for any rule breakers on his way to his room. He didn't see any, but he did see a particular rule break leaning against his door. He came to a stop in front of him with crossed arms. "Waiting for me in front of my door?" Kiyotaka said, shaking his head. "Do you really want to fight me so badly?"

Mondo sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I...actually wanted to apologize." He muttered.

This caught the man in white off guard. "Wait...what?"

"Yeah..." The biker muttered. "I thought about it on the way to my room. Since we're both Chihiro's friends, we should at least attempt to get along, right? Instead of instantly going at each others throats."

Kiyotaka looked to the side as he gave it a thought. He nodded slowly. "I suppose that makes sense." He agreed.

Mondo nodded as well. "Good, good. We're in agreement then." There was an awkward silence for a moment. "So...what should we do to...get to know each other?"

Taka thought for a moment. "The best way would probably to do what we both enjoy. Participate in each other's interests."

Mondo groaned. "Ugh. I don't want to grade papers or stand in the hall yelling at people." He muttered.

Taka laughed. "Is that what you think I do for fun?" He laughed with a smirk.

Mondo returned it and shrugged. "I don't fucking know, man. Probably."

The hall monitor shook his head with a smile. "Well I can assure you, I have an activity in mind the both of us will enjoy."

"Dude, you fucking box?" Mondo gaped at the gloves Kiyotaka was currently putting on.

The man in white chuckled and nodded. "You aren't the only one that likes to stay in shape." He replied as he tightened the strap of the glove and went on to the next. "The other pair is over there." He gestured with his head.

The Ultimate Biker Gang Leader still looked surprised, but he made his way over to Kiyotaka's dresser and grabbed his second pair of gloves. "I usually prefer to just use wrappings." He told his sparring partner. "But since we're being all buddy buddy and shit, sure. I'll use these."

Taka spat out the strap after finishing tightening the second glove. "You spar with only bandaged hands?" He asked, moving into the area they had cleared out for their sparring match.

Mondo nodded as he hit his now gloved fists together. "Usually, yeah. I like the feeling of fist to face." He chuckled. "But I guess I don't want to actually hurt ya, so this makes sense."

Taka smirked and took an offensive stance. "Well if that's the case then we are getting somewhere." He stated. "However, I don't know if you even could hurt me."

The gang leader barked out a laugh, copying the role model's stance. "You serious? Dude, I would've pulverized you if Chihiro hadn't stopped me."

The Ultimate Moral Compass threw a punch, which Mondo blocked with his fist. "I had plenty of space to avoid you. I was simply giving you the illusion of control." Kiyotaka said cockily, moving around his opponent.

The taller of the two raised a brow, clearly amused. "Uh huh. I'm sure." He shot his left fist out at the man in front of him, which was easily blocked. "You know, when you aren't busting me for walking too quickly down the hall, you're pretty alright." Another blow was thrown.

This struck Taka in the arm, causing him to stumble backwards. He powered through it and shot the one who had hit him a grin. "Nice hit. And yeah. When you aren't littering the halls, you're pretty fun." As he finished speaking, he lunged to the side before throwing a punch.

This caught Mondo off guard enough for the hit to land on his shoulder. The biker chuckled and rubbed the spot. "Fuck. That actually hurt a bit. You're stronger than I thought."

The two continued exchanging blows for nearly an hour, until the two were tired and sweaty. They threw the gloves to the side, and Kiyotaka went into his bathroom to grab them both towels. He returned and threw one to Mondo. "I think this was a success." He said with a smile. "I can safely call you...a friend."

Mondo chuckled and wiped the sweat off of himself. "Yeah. At the very least we ain't tryin' to kill each other."

Taka nodded in agreement and threw his towel into his bathroom, intending to send both the one he and Mondo used to the laundry soon. "I wouldn't mind spending more time with you in the future." He told the biker. He approached him with a wide grin and held out his hand.

Mondo looked down at him with a strange look. He looked...conflicted? Confused? He seemed to snap out of it and smile at Taka, shaking his hand. "Yeah, same here." He tossed his towel into the bathroom as well. "This was actually fun, Taka. I'll be seein' you around." He made his way to the door, the two waving goodbye.

The next day in class was uneventful. Junko was quiet the entire time, which admittedly worried Kiyotaka more than her causing trouble. Regardless, class came and went, and everyone left as usual. Taka and Chihiro stayed, Junko called the hall monitor a slur, the ropes. But like the day before, Mondo had stayed behind. When the young programmer noticed this, he got worried. He put himself between the two as Mondo approached.

The biker smiled down at him and pat his head. "Hey, don't worry buddy." He assured his friend. "Taka and I worked everything out, right, dude?" He looked up at the rule follower with a warm smile.

The man in question nodded and smiled down to Chihiro as well, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, don't worry, Chihiro. Mondo and I are friends now!" He said in his usual booming tone.

The young boy looked up, surprised. "Wait, really?" He asked. When the two nodded, he smiled happily and jumped in place. "That's great! So we can hang out together?!" He looked between the two men excitedly. They both chuckled and nodded at him. The programmer clapped happily, before letting out a gasp. "Oh! We could train together!" He exclaimed. He looked up to Mondo. "Is that alright?"

The biker looked up to Taka, who nodded at him, a grin on his face. The man with the pompadour ruffled Chihiro's hair. "'Course it is, kiddo." He chuckled. The small boy looked ecstatic and grabbed the newly befriended men's hands, rushing out the door to the gym.

"So we're going to go on to twenty pounds, alright, buddy?" Mondo said to Chihiro as the programmer set his gym bag next to the bench press he had chosen to use. He had already gone into the changing room and put on his blue tracksuit.

The determined young man nodded as he took his place on the press. "Yeah! That sounds good!" He took a deep breath and looked between his friends with a smile. "You'll both spot me, right?"

The two nodded. "Of course, Chihiro." Taka replied, giving him a thumbs up. The prize pupil was wearing a red tracksuit and had a towel draped over his arm. Chihiro giggled carefully lifted the weight from where it rested, beginning his reps.

Mondo looked over at Taka, the rebel in a black tracksuit. He smirked at the towel. "You got one this early? You haven't even worked out yet." He teased.

The black haired boy rolled his eyes. "Funny." He replied, giving his new friend a grin. "I got it for Chihiro." As he spoke his friend's name he glanced down at him, making sure he wasn't having trouble. Seeing as he was doing fine, he glanced back up to Mondo. The biker was looking him up and down.

"You really are surprisingly fit for someone so...stuck up." The man in black mumbled.

Taka looked at him surprised. "That was...a bit insulting." He said quietly, rubbing his arm and looking down. "I thought we were getting along."

Mondo's eyes widened and he placed a hand on Taka's shoulder. "Oh, no, dude! Fuck, I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that I always saw you as a teacher's pet. I didn't know you were so...tough." He punched the other man's arm, a grin on his face.

A smile returned to the hall monitor's face. "Ah! That's what you meant." He shrugged. "As I told you, I enjoy keeping in shape."

Mondo laughed softly, carefully leaning on the bench press. "You are much cooler than I thought, bro." He held his fist out for Taka.

The man stared at Mondo. "Did you just call me...bro?" He asked.

The biker's face fell slightly, and his fist dropped. "Well, yeah. I thought since we were getting closer..."

Taka held his hands up and shook his head. "No, no, no! You misunderstood me this time." He chuckled. "I'm...honored. I don't have a lot of friends." He smiled brightly and held his fist out for Mondo.

The gang leader returned the grin and bumped his fist against the Ultimate Moral Compass'.

The two laughed as they smiled at each other, bringing their arms down to their sides.

"O-ok. I think I'm done for now." Chihiro panted bringing the weights back up. Both Taka and Mondo rushed forward to grab it, and their hands touched as they did so. They glanced at each other and laughed it off as they helped their small friend. Chihiro threw his legs over the side of the bench as Kiyotaka handed him the towel. He wiped his face and took a long sip of the water bottle he had brought with him.

"You did really good today, Chihiro!" Mondo congratulated him. "You're getting better every day."

"Only because of you, Mondo." The programmer beamed up at his muscular friend.

Taka watched this with a smile on his face. He can't believe he had thought so poorly about Mondo. He's been helping Chihiro so much. The once self conscious boy has become so much more confident. He's become stronger, mentally and psychically. All thanks to Mondo. He's really sweet to him as well. He's actually a really kind guy after all and-

Kiyotaka stood up straight. He glanced over at Mondo and saw him carrying Chihiro on his bicep, the two of them laughing. He gulped and rubbed the back of his neck. Mondo glanced over at him and raised a brow. He placed the young boy down and went over to his newly acquired friend. "Hey, you good, bro?" He asked, placing a hand on Taka's shoulder.

The star student smiled at him and gave him a thumbs up. "O-of course bro! Just fantastic!" He exclaimed.

Mondo chuckled. "Cool. Well, Chihiro wanted to go back to his room and work on his little project. We could go back to my dorm and hang out if you wanted?"

Taka nodded. "Sure, of course. We could do something to get to know each other even more."

"You read my mind, bro." The biker chuckled as the trip left the gym.

Mondo and Kiyotaka said their goodbyes to Chihiro as he went into his room. The two then went into Mondo's. Taka sat on the gang leader's bed as said man locked the door. "So, what are we going to do?" The role model asked as Mondo sat beside him.

The rebel rubbed his neck and looked to the side. "Well...I know this is gonna sound dumb 'n cheesy but...I thought we could just...talk."

Kiyotaka blinked at him.

Mondo sighed. "Goddamn it." He ran his hand over his face. "Look, boxing and shit is fun and all, but if we really wanna be 'bros' and all, which I actually do, we should get to know each other for real. For instance." Mondo cleared his throat. "I had a pet dog named Chuck." The Ultimate Biker Gang Leader coughed into his hand and turned away, shielding his face from Taka. "He...he died...a while ago. I miss him."

Kiyotaka nodded slowly. "I am very sorry to hear that." He comforted his friend, patting him on the back.

Mondo just shrugged and rolled his shoulders before turning to the star pupil. "So what about you?" He asked. "I noticed Junko always gives you a hard time. She keeps calling you curses and shit. What's that about?"

Taka frowned and rubbed his arm. "I don't actually know." He admitted. "She seems to have some extreme hatred for me, but I haven't the slightest why." He sighed as he looked up to Mondo. "I think she's angry at me for always getting her in trouble for constantly bullying other students."

The biker narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "Well I can get being pissed at you for gettin' them in trouble." He began. "But not if it was for bullying someone. That shit's not cool at all, especially if the person isn't strong enough to defend themselves." The man growled and gripped at his jacket.

Kiyotaka looked at him, a soft smile forming on his lips. "You...have a caring heart for someone that comes off so tough." He said quietly.

Mondo smirked at him and chuckled. "Don't fucking tell anybody." He warned teasingly. "I have a reputation to keep." The two shared a laughed for a moment. As it died down, Mondo looked back to his friend. "So she's just being really petty?" He questioned, bringing his original question back up.

The hall monitor looked down at the floor. "It's more than just that." He muttered. "I...I think she's trying to sabotage me."

The gang leader raised an eyebrow. "And why do you say that?" He asked.

Taka sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "She's been doing things that would hurt me." He explained. His eyes looked away. "I...think what happened with Chihiro yesterday was because of me."

Mondo furrowed his brow. "And how the hell is that the case?" The Ultimate Biker Gang Leader asked, grabbing the black haired boy's shoulder and turning him to face him.

The boy in white looked looked at the taller man sadly. "I don't know how she learned of Chihiro's secret, but she knows I'm close to him. By revealing it to everyone it would not only hurt Chihiro, it would hurt me, because she knows I care about my friends dearly."

Mondo nodded along. "Yeah, I've noticed that." He smiled at the ruler aibider warmly. "You looked about ready to tear into her just for getting close to Chihiro."

"Well, he's my closest friend." The hall monitor admitted. "One of...my only friends."

The rebel watched the man in white as he scratched his arm sadly. He felt a sharp pain in his chest he couldn't explain as the shorter boy looked so dejected. Mondo watched the other closely.

"Junko has also been...spreading rumors around about me." Kiyotaka continued, scratching his head. "In an attempt to ruin my reputation, I believe."

Mondo narrowed his eyes as he tried to remember any rumors he had heard about the boy. Junko spread rumors all the times, but Taka was such a teacher's pet with such a clean record that any rumors were sure to stick out. And sure enough, one popped to the front of his memory. "Oh yeah, I remember." He began, turning to Kiyotaka. "She started tellin' everyone you were gay."

The star pupil stiffened and nodded. "Yes. She did." He confirmed quietly.

Mondo rubbed the back of his neck. "I know it's none of my business, but...are ya?" He questioned, glancing slightly over at his friend. "'Cause there's nothin' wrong with it if you are."

Taka sighed loudly and stood up. "I should get going." He said, heading towards the door. "It was...really good to get to know you some more, Mondo."

The biker frowned and stood up, following him. "Bro, did I upset you?" He asked worriedly.

Taka shook his head as he continued towards the door. "No, of course not. I just noticed how late it had gotten. I will see you in class tomorrow."

Mondo watched as the black haired man placed his hand on the door handle. He bit his lip as he argued with himself on what to do. Finally giving in, he sighed. "It's fine if you're gay, Taka. 'Cause I am."

The man at the door froze.

He slowly turned around and stared at Mondo with wide eyes. "...What?" He whispered.

The gang leader shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "Since we're getting to know each other and shit, thought you should know." He mumbled under his breath.

Kiyotaka looked Mondo up and down. "You...you are..." He blinked. "How are you so open about it?"

Mondo shrugged again. "I just learned not to give a shit about what other people think." He informed the other. "I know it throws a lot of people off. They think someone like me would be off fucking chicks, but nah. I get a lot of shit about it, but it doesn't bother me at this point."

Taka looked up at him in awe. "You just...throw everyone's expectations away without a thought?"

The biker nodded. "Yeah. Fuck what other people think. It only matters what I think about myself, right? And I think I'm pretty fucking cool." He looked down at the moral compass. "So...yeah. Just thought you should know."

Kiyotaka felt a smile form on his lips. "I...thank you for telling me." He said sincerely. "I can see how you've helped Chihiro so much."

Mondo shrugged. "S'no big deal." He muttered, turning his face away from the boy. He was attempting to hide a blush that had appeared on his face.

Taka took a deep breath. "In lieu of this information." He bit his lip and nodded. "I do believe I am gay, yes."

Mondo looked over at this, a smile on his face. "That's awesome, bro!"

His friend shook his head. "But it isn't. Not everyone is accepting of people like us, Mondo. And if I want to become Prime Minister one day..." He trailed off, though fear was beginning to take hold on his face.

Mondo walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. When the shorter man looked up, he saw Mondo had a comforting smile on his face. "Hey. I know that there are some fucking dicks out there. But you're amazing, Taka. You can get anywhere you want in life, and being who you are won't stop you." He smirked. "And if anyone tries anything," He hit his fists together. "I'll fuck 'em up."

Kiyotaka chuckled softly and smiled up at the taller man, the fear in him disappearing. "I...appreciate that, Mondo." He replied quietly. "I'm very glad we became friends."

Mondo nodded in agreement, the comforting smile back on his face. "Me too, bro." The two stood like that for a while, just a few feet apart. Mondo bit his lip and rubbed the back of his neck. "I...fucking hell." He cursed.

Taka looked up at him, confused. "Is everything alright?" He asked.

Mondo ran his hand through his hair. "I...shit. I kinda wanna kiss you." He rushed out.

The man in white looked up in surprise. "Y-you want to kiss me?!" He exclaimed.

Mondo nodded, the blush returning to his face in full force. "I mean I've always thought you were kinda cute. And you look good in that uniform. And this time we've spent together...I think I've grown a fucking crush on you." He looked away and shook his head. "But you're still battling your feelings and trying to understand everything. So just forget it." He turned to walk away, but was stopped by a hand on his bicep.

When he looked back, he noticed Taka's face was completely red. The boy let go of the other's arm and folded his hands together, fiddling with his fingers. "No, it's alright." He stammered. "You...you can kiss me."

Mondo turned back completely to the boy in white and swallowed. "You sure?"

Kiyotaka nodded shyly. "I may still be coming to terms with accepting who I am but...you are the first person to show me it is alright to be...myself. That I shouldn't be afraid of another's opinions. And I can't lie and say that I haven't felt myself become...attracted to you recently."

Mondo's face brightened a bit as he took as step closer to the man in front of him. He slowly leaned down to Taka's height and tilted his head to the side as he ghosted over the black haired boy's lips. The shorter man's eyes flickered between the biker's own lavender eyes and his lips. He swallowed nervously as Mondo smiled softly and finally pressed their lips together.

Kiyotaka's eyes fluttered shut as his hands gripped at the gang leader's undershirt. Mondo placed his hands gently on both of Taka's hips, pulling him closer to his chest. He rubbed the red eyed boy's sides comfortingly as he deepened the kiss.

It was all a lot gentler than Taka was expecting from Mondo. It was a very pleasant surprise. The star pupil smiled into the kiss as Mondo slowly pulled away. "How was that?" The biker asked quietly. He brought a hand up to Kiyotaka's face and cupped it.

The moral compass gave a small smile, a tinge of blush on his cheeks. "I enjoyed that." He replied. "A lot."

Mondo nodded in agreement, running his other hand through Taka's hair. "I did, too."

Taka bit his lip as his face grew even redder, a very school inappropriate thought crossing his mind. "I...would kind of like to do more...with you...?" He said meekly, glancing up at the violet eyed boy.

Mondo looked surprised. "Are...are you sure?"

The boy in white nodded. "Yes. I...really like you." He held tightly onto the muscular man's jacket. "You make me feel...safe."

A smile formed on Mondo's lips. He placed his thumb under the shorter boy's chin and tilted his head up as he planted another kiss on his lips. Kiyotaka placed his arms around the gang leader's shoulders as his eyes closed once more. The brown haired boy slowly walked forward until his partner's back was pressed against the wall near the door. His hands went back on Taka's hips as Mondo's mouth left the red eyed boy's lips and traveled down to his neck. He kissed it softly before giving it a gentle bite. Taka let out a quiet gasp as he grasped the back of Mondo's jacket. The biker chuckled and kissed his neck again. "Did you like that?" He whispered into the black haired boy's ear.

Taka nodded. "Yes." He murmured back. "...Do it again."

Mondo smirked and obliged, biting down on the moral compass' neck once more with a little more force this time. He let out another gasp, which turned into a whimper as Mondo sucked on his skin. The biker gave Taka's hips a small jerk, pulling the boy in front of him flush against him. He pulled away from Kiyotaka's neck to look into his eyes. He couldn't help but smile when he noticed they innocent boy's eyes were shut, a happy smile on his face. Mondo cupped Taka's face, causing him to open his eyes. The gang leader gave him a serious look. "I need to know." He said in a low tone. "Are you serious about this?"

Kiyotaka swallowed and nodded. "I-I am." He stammered. "Unless you don't want to-"

"Oh fuck no!" Mondo interrupted him, grabbing both of the boy's sleeves and yanking them behind himself, causing the black haired boy to stumble into him. Mondo placed one hand on Taka's back and another on his hip. "I wanna fuck you so bad." He growled. Taka shivered, causing the man in front of him to chuckle. "I just wanted to make sure you really wanted this. I'm guessing this is your first time."

Kiyotaka nodded. "It...it is." He confirmed. "I'm a bit concerned, if I'm being honest." He smiled lovingly at Mondo. "But I trust you. And I want this."

Mondo said nothing else. He had heard all he needed. With a smirk he grabbed Taka by the wrist and led him to the bed, once they had reached it, he gave the smaller man a light push, making him fall backwards onto it. He began to strip his clothes eagerly. Looking over, he noticed Kiyotaka unbuttoning his uniform hastily. The two locked eyes and gave each other a loving smile as Mondo made his way over to help his partner out of his clothes.

"You sure you have to go?" Mondo asked, the covers lazily covering his bottom half.

Kiyotaka nodded as he slipped on his uniform pants. "Unfortunately I have to walk the halls later." He sighed, putting on his shoes now.

Mondo rolled his eyes. "Can't you just skip that? Stay with me." He laid his hand out on the bed.

Taka looked at it and smiled. He placed his own in it and gave it a squeeze. "You know I can't do that." He told his lover sadly. "I promise when I'm finished I'll come back."

Mondo brightened up. "I'll fucking hold you to that. That's a promise between men." He said, tugging on Taka's hand. The smaller boy was pulled forward, landing awkwardly in Mondo's naked but blanket covered lap.

Kiyotaka chuckled and nodded. He leaned up and gave Mondo a kiss. The biker placed a hand on the back of the black haired man's head and pulled him in, deepening the kiss. After finally pulling apart, Taka finished getting dressed and turned to go. "I really enjoyed everything tonight, Mondo." He said sincerely. "Thank you."

Mondo smiled and nodded. "So did I, Taka. I'll see you later."

Taka left the biker's room with a love stricken smile on his face.

Kiyotaka was still buttoning and straightening his uniform as he closed Mondo's door behind him.

"Well, well, well! What do we have here!"

Taka froze at the all too familiar voice. He whirled around and felt his stomach drop at the sight of Junko. The fashionista was smirking and making her approach to the boy in white. "Disheveled appearance, unbuttoned uniform." She gave Taka a sniff as she stopped in front of him. "Smell of sweat." Her smirk widened as she chuckled evilly. "You're fucking that psycho gang leader kid? Seriously, Ishimaru?" She barked out a laugh and shook her head, the evil grin still present. "You are finished now. Wait until the entire school finds out that perfect record Kiyotaka Ishimaru is actually a filthy little slut." As she finished speaking, Junko was mere feet from the frightened boy, her smug face not far from his own.

Taka clenched his fists as he felt tears form in his eyes. "Why...why are you so determined to ruin my life?!" He screamed, clenching his still not completely buttoned jacket.

Junko didn't answer. She just gave him a finger wave before she turned on her heel and walked away. Taka watched for a moment before he turned around and reentered Mondo's room.

The Ultimate Biker Gang Leader was beginning to get redressed when his door suddenly opened and closed. He spun around and saw Kiyotaka, tears pouring down his face. Mondo's eyes widened and rushed over to him, not caring that he only had pants on. He pulled his lover into a protective embrace. "What happened, Taka?" He asked, stroking his back comfortingly.

"That fucking bitch." Mondo growled as Kiyotaka finished explaining the situation to him. The two had moved to the bed, where Mondo was still rubbing Taka's back.

"I don't regret doing it." The moral compass said quietly, looking up at Mondo. "But my reputation is ruined now."

Mondo sighed in annoyance. "I don't see why it's anyone's fucking business." He said. "You're gay. So what? We fucked. So what? It doesn't change a God damn thing. Anyone who isn't a complete fucking asshole will agree."

Taka shook his head. "But I'm not supposed to do such...activities." The Ultimate Moral Compass pointed out. "I'm supposed to encourage and show case school appropriate behavior."

The biker narrowed his eyes. "Even in your free time? Even when you aren't at school?" He took the distressed boy's head in his hands and gave him a warm smile. "Taka, you need to stop worrying about other people's bullshit. What they think about you doesn't matter. Even if your reputation does get ruined, you can rebuild it easily." He placed a kiss on Taka's lips. "And I'll be here to protect you from anything, you got that?"

The red eyed man smiled despite himself. He felt his worries disappear, and he nodded. "Alright, Mondo. I'll try." He placed his arms around Mondo's strong shoulders. "Thank you so much."

The gang leader smirked and grabbed Taka's hips. He placed the shorter boy so that he's straddling the brown haired man. He leaned down and kissed Kiyotaka, placing a hand on his back and pressing him close to his chest. "I'll always be here for you, Taka." He assured him. "Always."  

There was silence for a moment before Taka spoke. "So...are we boyfriends, now?"

Mondo laughed loudly and nodded. "I'd sure fucking hope so after earlier." He gave the boy a smirk. "You're an amazing fuck."

Taka's face became beet red as he buried it in Mondo's chest. The biker chuckled and ran his fingers through the boy's hair. "Of course it's not just that. You're amazing at everything. You're kind and smart. I'm lucky you want someone like me as your boyfriend."

Taka looked up, the red in his face dying down. "You're amazing as well." He told the purpled eyed boy. "You're really strong, and you've got a very kind heart. You care about others a lot."

Mondo smiled softly and kissed his boyfriend's forehead. "Guess we make a pretty good match, huh?"

Taka nodded, laying his head on the other's chest.

The next day in class, the two walked in together. They were holding hands at the behest of Mondo. He thought it would be best for them to oust their relationship before Junko could.

But it seemed they might have been too late.

For when they entered the classroom, everyone's eyes shot to them. Or more specifically, them holding hands. Junko crossed her arms smugly. "I told you all it was true." She said, pointing at the couple. "I saw Kiyotaka coming out of Mondo's room right after they fucked!"

Taka's grip on Mondo's hand tightened, and the biker gave his boyfriend's hand a gentle squeeze. "It'll be fine." He whispered.

"Is this true, Taka?" Chihiro asked, looking between the two. "Are the two of you really...dating?"

Kiyotaka took a deep breath before answering. He glanced at Mondo, who smiled, encouraging him. The moral compass nodded. "Yes, we are!" He said enthusiastically, attempting to keep up his usual booming tone.

The whole class was silent for a while. Taka was beginning to get nervous until a chorus of "congratulations'" and "I'm so happy for the both of you" and "you two look adorable together" rang out. Both Taka and Junko looked surprised at this reaction, though the former quickly smiled brightly as he looked up at Mondo, who flashed his boyfriend an "I told you so" smirk. The latter, meanwhile, grit her teeth in annoyance and flopped down in her seat.

The chatter quickly died down as everyone went back to their work. Taka and Mondo smiled at each other lovingly as they gave one another a kiss before heading to their seats.  

Kiyotaka Ishimaru was very happy. He was the star pupil of Class 78 and the designated Hall Monitor. He was set to go very far after graduating from Hope's Peak Academy, and he had a strong, loving and protective boyfriend who accepted him for him.

What more could he ask for?

[grimwatch]

Grimwatch Kinktober - Day 8 - Hex

Blood/Gore | Junkrat x GN Reader

Warning should be self evident but if wounds and blood make you squick please avoid this! Putting this under a read more for those who are squeamish. If you can’t access this due to Tumblr mobile being a dingus please send us an anon and I will find another way to get this to you!

also i know i’m behind pls bear with me i’m trying to catch up

It's rare enough to come across a proper house in the Outback. Rarer still to find one that hasn't yet been picked clean by other scavengers. You haven't looked in the windows yet - but the powerbox is intact, which means no one's stripped it for the copper, even though you can clearly make out the footprints coming and going. Two sets - or, one and a half, rather. One set bigger, deep marks in the dirt from heavy duty boots worn by a heavy duty man. The other one scrawny, small holes in place of a right foot.

Junkers, likely. Strange that they'd have a cache this far out from Junkertown - even stranger that they'd keep it well maintained like this. It's practically an invitation for scavengers.

Still, you're careful as you creep around the lot, circling, getting tighter and tighter with each round you make, scanning the dirt for anything suspect - traps or triggers, bombs waiting just under the surface. But you find nothing.

The sun beats down on your brow, sweat beading on your forehead and crawling down the side of your nose.

You check again.

----

The door has nothing rigged to it that you can figure out, but your heart still skips a beat when it creaks open. One breath. Two. There's no sound of a hidden spring. You slip past it gingerly.

On the inside, it definitely looks like a junker home - there's an odd mismatch of things scattered about the place like makeshift furnishings - one part of the living room oddly tidy, small teacups set down in a circle. The rest of it looks like something out of the omnic crisis; gears and grease and parts littering every available surface. It's not pretty, but there's an opportunity here that you can smell over the stale scent of oil and unwashed sweat.

If you can find their stash.

It's the only reason you can think of for them to be so far out here.

----

There's only one room left to check, and it's not the one you'd hoped for. You've spent a good part of the last twenty minutes combing carefully through each and every square foot of the small shack, but outside a disturbingly large collection of stuffed animals, you'd found nothing even remotely of value.

Which is why you find yourself staring down into the black void that awaits you - a cellar of some sort enshrouded by dark. You have to squint just to see the damn steps, but after a quick test for any tripwires, you descend. You spent a good while checking this place, and you'll be damned if you're leaving empty handed.

Unfortunately, it takes a few seconds too long for your eyes to adjust to the dark.

As your foot lands on the bottom step you hear a click and then a snap, and it's the sound of it that resonates with you when you fall, screaming. The distinct crunch of bone going up against metal, the victor decidedly not your shin. You swear. You curse and cry and shout while you writhe, fingers prodding gingerly, trying to work out how to get your leg loose while your brain sabotages you with panic, flooding your body with adrenaline that makes your fingers shake.

"Fuck!"

You suck in a breath, trembling from the effort of holding it in, trying to keep it together long enough to free yourself from the fucking metal monstrosity. You're so tense you can hear your teeth click against your jaw.

Tick tick tick.

Wait.

A bell goes off.

The detonation isn't big - more of a small, controlled explosion - but it's not the heat that gets you. Metal rips through your chest; small fragments that bury into your flesh and tear another scream from you, wetter this time. The ones that miss ping against objects in the dark - glass breaking where you can't see.

Your vision blurs with tears, your fists clenching and unclenching by your sides, breath wet hisses between teeth gritting so hard you feel like your jaw might snap. When you try to move, pain shoots through your body, your clothes sticking to you. Everything hurts - a struggle just to breathe when each shaky gasp seems to shift the metal inside you.

I'm going to die here.

The thought grips you with sudden clarity. You're in the middle of fuck-all nowhere with no way to get out. Your leg caught and shattered. Your body losing blood.

I'm going to die alone.

The sobbing doesn't help, but maybe at least this way, you'll bleed out faster.

----

"I told ya it'd work." Sharp. The voice pierces through your skull about as bad as the shrapnel had. Something scuffles by close to you - the scrape of a boot on wood and a quick 'thump, thump' to follow. "Didn't I tell ya Hog? I told ya, didn't I?"

There's a long-suffering sigh, echoey and muted, like someone talking from behind their hands. Your eyes crack open, unfocused, a dull ache littering points in your skin. Beady eyes peer down at you, sickly yellow, and for a moment you're certain you're face to face with a demon. But then he grins, backs up into the light and what you thought was a head shrouded in flames is just wild hair lit up by the sun.

"Had a nice kip?"

He licks his teeth and you're struck with the image of a hungry dingo; the irradiated ones in the far south, missing patches of fur and growing far too many teeth. You try to speak, but it just comes out as a wet rasp, the taste of metal filling your mouth, sending you into a fit of coughs that wracks your body with pain. He laughs, high and delirious.

"Iiiii wouldn't do that if I were you." He says it sing-song, bouncing up onto his toes, looming over where you lay. There's soot and grease smeared over his face, and an odd smell. Almost sweet. "Took ol' Hog long enough to get ya wrapped up, but you're still fulla holes."

You don't need a demonstration, but he gives you one anyway, pressing down on the dirty bandages now wrapped across your chest - red blooming alongside the hot burn that feels like it's searing you from the inside. Your scream comes out as a broken gargle, and he giggles in response, easing off the wound. There's a snort from your other side, but you're too busy trying not to aggravate the pain to look, your fists clenched right. It's only now that you realize they're bound - unable even to find some comfort in your own touch.

"Make sure you clean up."

That muffled voice again, then heavy footsteps, and your scrawny captor gets a look in his eye that makes your gut churn.

He springs up again when the door shuts, scrambling onto the edge of the worn mattress and jostling your mangled leg, and you grit your cry behind your teeth, the vein in your neck straining with the effort of holding back.

"Please..." you manage to rasp, at last, but he's far too busy inspecting the bandages wrapped around you, picking at the edges with metal fingers. You hiss as he brushes against another wound, and his head shoots up, wild eyed and grinning.

"Y'make some pretty sounds dontcha?"

It's strange - the steadiness of those hands when he peels back the sticky cloth, carefully unraveling the layers until he gets to bare skin. He stares at the small, pink wounds like he's fascinated. Then, eyes on you, brushes a thumb over the biggest one.

Your jaw clenches and you nearly break your teeth with how hard you grit them, the rough, low shout grating up your throat filling your mouth with more metal, your hands jerking against their binds. That look in his eye clouds, and the manic grin curls into something more contemplative.

"I like it."

He licks his teeth again. You watch the front of his shorts tent with a growing horror. It takes him just one movement to land himself in your lap - and you forget the pain in favour of thrashing, panic overriding self preservation. But with one leg useless and your hands struggling against the rough rope, you don't have much in the way of leverage.

He might look lanky - but there's dense muscle there that ripples when he curls over you, and he weighs enough to keep your hips from bucking him off. That cold seeping dread has your breath coming in short, shallow huffs, your eyes flicking about the room, instinct looking for a way out. He skims his hands up your sides. You close your eyes and wonder how long it'll take for you to die.

"Gotta get the scrap out." Your eyes shoot open. He's grinning, a finger poised over one of the bloody holes in your skin. "Get ya fixed up."

He presses his finger down and in, and for a moment your vision goes black. When you come to, you're already screaming, the feeling in your hands lost to the way the rope cuts into your wrists as you pull - nothing compared to the excruciating pain of him scratching his way down to the shard of metal buried in your gut. When he finally pulls it out, blood pools over the surface of your belly, forming thin rivulets that run down and drip over your side.

"Got one."

You're lightheaded, face wet with tears, and teeth stained red from the screaming - but he just continues with that thin, reedy laughter, flicking the metal off to the side. His palms smear the blood across your belly and up over your chest, and he drinks in the sight of his work like a painter inspecting his life's work. There's a noise in his throat, and he leans forward - putting his weight on your injuries, the jut of his cock clear as your blood soaks through his clothes - and he swipes his bloody finger across your nose.

"Y'know mate..." The sound of his voice is growing muted as your brain struggles to process through the constant pendulum of agony. Your wounds throb when he rubs his hands over them, but you can't even manage a whimper at this point. His breath is hot and sour over your face. "I really think red's your colour."

[sneaky-mermaid-renegade]

Claire-voyant Chapter 1

So here is my first youtuber ego story thing. I think its bad but my friend says its good \_(’_’)_/. Either way I sincerely hope you enjoy!

I would like to thank @retro-remix for being my editor since im horrible with words and @markiplier-egos for a very specific insult near the end of the story XD.

@itsdanimotherfreakingglitter @markiplier-egos @moonysmayhem @sunstar121  @ferociousfangirlofmanyfandoms I believe you guys wanted to be tagged for this? Sorry if im wrong! 

              I really messed this up.  Im sitting on a high ledge trying to evade a pink haired lunatic, a man with bandages over his eyes, some sort of 3-D filter demon, among others.  I must be nuts because the only thing that crosses my mind is ‘why do they all look alike?’ Oh, where are my manners! My name is Claire, and im currently stuck in some sort of large house belonging to some very crazy people.  You're probably asking what the heck is going on? Well, it's a long story, so I hope you have some time on your hands.

I guess it all started a while ago ...

        I hated today.  Today was the first day of the new school year.  All I had to do was make it through the day without catching the attention of bullies, and what did I do? Now i’m running down the streets being chased by kids two grades above me.  Sometimes being the odd one really bites me in the butt.  I look behind me, only to find that they’re still on my tail! I see the park up ahead and skid onto the path.  Surely i’d lose them in the thick woods that lined the park! Right? I rush into the woods, dodging trees and shrubbery.  I can hear them tearing through the undergrowth as I start to get stitches in my side from running, my knee high socks snagging on thorns.  I come upon a cliff and realize I can't get down without harming myself.  When I turn around there they are, Staring at me.  

        “Where you gonna run now, Claire-voyant? Dontcha got something in your “magic satchel?” one of them called.  I grit my teeth at the nickname, and hug my satchel closer.  It had all the things I thought would come in handy, which included, a flashlight, a multi-tool, some twine, and other trinkets I thought would be useful.  Although right now I didn't have much to fend them off with.  I had a pocket knife, but even deep in the woods they would find a way to get me in trouble if I pulled it out on them.  “What's the matter? Didn't see this coming?”  I don't reply as I edge closer to the cliff.  I don't need to engage them when they have me between a rock and a hard place.  “If you dont wanna play our game, you can always play with the bottom of the cliff instead!” the other shouted rushing forward.  I panicked and dove off the cliff.  Not the best idea, I admit, but I wasn't thinking.  The last thing I remember is a bright flash before I hit the hard ground, and everything going black.

        I'm sleeping.  I must be.  My eyes are closed, and I don't feel like getting up so it must be monday.  Except my bed feels like a rock, and my blankets must have fallen of in the night because im super cold.  I open my eyes only to close them tightly again.  It's too bright, and im getting a headache from it.  I bolt up at that.  I am not a morning person so my room always, always has the blinds shut.  This is not my room.  I look around to find im in some sort of studio.  ‘How did I get here?’ I think to myself.  I have vague memories about hitting my head, but I don't remember how.  I think back to the day.  I can remember everything up until school ended, then it gets hazy.  I hear ringing in the distance, no not in the distance.  My ears are ringing.  Wait .  .  .  headache, Light sensitivity, memory loss, ear ringing.  I think for a minute.  Aren't those the symptoms of a concussion? I'm not too sure, but whatever it is it can't be good.  I decide to try and find help immediately.  After all one thing I know for sure is that if not treated, concussions bring pain.  Unfortunately for me, this is the exact time someone walked through the door.         It was a man, wearing pink suspenders, and shock of pink hair.  He also had a silver gun in hand.  That made me worried.  The instant he saw me I bolted up and looked around for a place to hide.  There was two chairs in front of a fake brick wall.  I ducked behind the brick wall and climbed up a ladder that led to a catwalk.  Looking down, I see the bewildered pink man shoot his gun at me while running towards the ladder.  At the end of the catwalk I spied a door and ran to it, while hearing bullets ricochet off nearby metal objects.  I pull open the door and lock it behind me.  I then pull a pair of pliers out of my satchel and break the door handle.  I hear him yelling as he pounds on the door, but I dont stick around to hear what he’s saying.  I skid around the next corner and stop to catch my breath.  As the adrenaline ebbs away I feel a sharp pain through my skull.  My headache is getting worse.  Concussion or not I definitely need help, but is there anyone else here? If so, are they all as crazy as that cotton candy lunatic?         I decide it will do no good if I stay here and do nothing, so I set off down the hallway.  I open a door and slip through into a library.  Its really dark so I pull out a flashlight from my satchel, and I wander through the maze of bookshelves.  Some of them seemed like good books, but the jabbing in my forehead pushed me forward.  Suddenly I came upon a desk with someone in it.  I immediately hid.  I could hear the noise of a pen on paper and muttering, as I slowly inch away towards an elevator I see at one end of the room.  Through the books I can see he has bandages over his eyes.  This should be easy, all I have to do is make no noise and he wont be able to tell im there! I slowly walk across the floor.  Im a foot away from the elevator when I hear him talk.  “The Host believes you are hurt.  The Host will forgive you for sneaking around his library without his permission if you go get treatment. ” I stood planted where I was in shock.  How did he even know I was there? Then the cotton candy lunatic walks in, and we lock eyes.  This gets me moving.  I sprint to the elevator and press a random floor.  The elevator slams shut just as he runs up to the door.         The elevator door opens to a dark room.  It looks like some sort of office, with a desk in the middle of the room.  I walk over to the desk only to find papers strewn about it.  I pick up a newspaper clipping.  “Three people killed at Markiplier Manor. ” it read.  Before I had a chance to read the article the door opened to reveal a man.  I think anyway.  He was completely monochromatic with overlapping images of himself in blue and red.  Like as if someone had drained all the saturation from a photograph and added a 3-D filter.  Panicking, I ducked behind the door as he opened it.  He closed the door and walked to the desk.  He sat down and began to work on whatever papers that were there.  He hadn't  seen me.  He hadn't seen me! This was my chance! I carefully crept to the doorknob, keeping a watchful eye on the man.  At one point he looks up and sees me.  We both stare at each other until I break the silence by throwing the door open and bolting down the hallway.  I look behind him to see him speed walking towards me.  Why he wasn't running? I don't know, and I don't care because it gave me a big enough headstart.  I frantically look for a place he won't find me.  I look around and find a high shelf with potted plants next to a window.  I clamber up and pull up my feet just as the monochromatic man walks up.  I hear him dial someone on his phone.  “Tell everyone to be on high alert for a young girl. ” I hear him say.  He ends the phone call and walks away.  I lean my head against the window.  After all that the adrenaline has worn away again, and i'm left with a blinding headache.  The coolness of the glass takes away the edge of the pain, so I stare out the window.           Outside I see a beautiful garden, filled with trees, flowers and a pond.  On the other side there seems to be another place.  It's a lime green manor of sorts, with blue window shutters and a blue door.  Many people walk by, putting me on edge, but they always seem to pass.  I must be crazy because instead of being scared all I can think about is why they all look similar.  Like, they all wear the same face.  Are they twins? No there are at least 12 of them, maybe more Is there a word for 12 twins? Is it possible? If not what are these guys? Looking down at the passing people.  I spot the black and white guy, the bandage guy, and the pink carnival guy, but also new people.  There is a normal guy in a tux, a guy wearing robes and has a peanut butter beard, a doctor, four news cast guys, four robots, and a guy with a skateboard and a tank top.  

*time skip brought to you by doritos*

        I don't remember when I fell asleep, but I woke up to someone trying to grab my foot.  “What the-!”I screamed and pulled it up from where it was hanging over the edge.  Looking around I found that all of them were gathered around my hiding place.  I could barely think with my headache, but one clear thought I had was ‘I am so massively screwed!’ The monochromatic man cleared his throat.  “We would greatly appreciate it if you could get down from there. ” he said flatly.  “Why? So you can attack me, you desaturated demon?” I called down.  He didn't seem very pleased at my remark but said nothing.  “My diagnostics indicate you are already damaged” the robot in the blue shirt muttered.  I pulled out my pocket knife.  “Yeah, and I don't feel like getting ‘damaged’ even further!” I said slowly, clenching my fist in pain.  The regular guy in the tux spoke up “I hope you didn't ruin any of my plants up there!” The demonic 3D man knocked him upside the head.  “Thats not whats important right now!” he sneered.  That got me mad.  I wasn't thinking very straight with my headache, but this guy seemed nice.  Trust me when I say I can tell these things.  So I chucked my pair of pliers at him.  “Leave him alone you hot topic wannabe!” I shouted.  He lunged for me, but the man with bandages held him back yelling “The Host holds Dark back with all his might, just as Claire passes out from her concussion!”

And then everything goes black.

        I’m asleep again.  I’m sure of it this time.  I'm on a soft bed with the blankets pulled up, and i’m hugging my pillow.  Except it's still very bright.  I sit up fast.  The one in the doctors coat is at the end of the bed.  I inch back in the cot.  He hold up his hands.  “Its okay! Jeez, I won't hurt you! In fact im very glad you woke up! We were all very worried. ” he spoke softly.  I stare at him.  “Worried? You guys were chasing me! I was shot at!” I yelled.  He flinches.  “That was probably Wilford.  Look I only want to patch you up and send you home.  Dark isn't very fond of you after you called him a ‘hot topic wannabe’!” I mess with my blanket for a bit before saying “I don't really have a home. ”