This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge. May God be with you all.
Summary: On Purge Night, the most dreaded night of the year, you find yourself among the unfortunate majority stuck facing the night alone, with the task of survival.
Pairing: BO + Matt Dierkes x f!reader (referred to as bunny)
THIS IS A FIC CONTAINS DARK THEMES PLEASE CHECK TRIGGER WARNINGS.
cw: 18 + 𝖒𝖉𝖓𝖎. heavy trigger warnings for stalking, harassment, assault, violence, blood, use of knife, use of gun, main character and reader injured, bleeding wounds, infliction of pain, forceful restraint, alcohol and drug mention, fear play, noncon/dubcon, manhandling, acts of violence (on reader + band members), biting, torture, boot on hand (to reader), hair pulling, face slapping, forced kissing, kidnapping. DEAD DOVE.
WC: 3.9k.
AN: usual taglist has not been applied due to trigger warnings, only those who have explicitly expressed being tagged have been.
masterlist
Driving through the streets on Purge Night, you hadn’t quite known what to expect. They’re alive with people, but not in a good way. Gangs roam freely, vandalising local businesses despite their attempts to barricade storefronts. You pass between two speeding cars, each with bodies tied to the hood and roof, and another being dragged mercilessly behind.
Somehow, it makes you feel safer being inside here, squished between Folio and Noah. The younger of the two lifts his rabid dog mask just enough to lean in, sniffing you like he’s trying to catch the scent of your fear. There’s plenty of it still clinging to you, especially after they dragged you out and into the car, but now, even with Folio teasing the blade of his hunting knife along the denim of your thigh, there’s something else curling beneath the fear. A twisted form of excitement. Like this is a game, and you want to play.
That is, until the car jerks to a rough stop.
Folio’s blade grazes you, just barely, before he kicks the back of the driver’s seat. “What the fuck, man?!” he growls, feral, at Matt sitting up front, and then all your eyes are pulled forward to the display unfolding ahead of you.
You’ve heard the stories from Purge Night, but never witnessed the horrors yourself—not until tonight.
The sound of engines revving to life sends a chill through your blood. Your breath catches when you spot what’s between the two cars parked back to back in the centre of the crossroads: a man strung up between them, bound by chains, and if the way he thrashes is any indication, begging for his life.
Matt idles, waiting patiently for the inevitable, and the moment the cars lurch off in opposite directions, you whip your head away, burying it instinctively against Noah’s side, eyes squeezed shut. For all you’ve seen tonight, for all you’ve been subjected to, you couldn’t imagine a worse fate than being torn in half.
When the car begins to move again, you feel the heavy weight of a large hand settle on the back of your head. It’s strangely soothing.
For a brief moment, you freeze, startled by the idea that Noah might be offering you comfort, now, of all times, when they have plans for you. When wherever they’re dragging you to still lies ahead, but as your body trembles from the rush of fear and adrenaline, you find yourself leaning into him—just slightly. Just enough to calm the riot inside your chest, just enough to pretend this nightmare isn’t real. To pretend you’re home, that you’re safe. Even if it’s only for a moment.
The next thing you know, you’re being ushered out of the back of the car and through the rear doors of a building tucked away in a darkened alley. It feels like a trade off. You hear Matt’s hushed voice speaking to someone before you’re handed over to a random man, dressed head to toe in black and wearing one of the many signature Purge masks.
“Nice doing business with you,” he remarks to Matt.
Before you can open your mouth to respond, you’re shoved down a hallway and passed off to someone else.
You hit the cold, wet tile floor with a harsh slam. Hands strip you down, and as you begin to protest, a blast of icy water hits you square in the face. You gasp, sputtering as it cascades down your body, the sheer cold forcing a violent shiver through you.
“What the fuck is going on here?” you finally manage to choke out.
No one answers.
Instead, they grab you again, dragging you down another hallway before hauling you onto a stage. The blinding lights sear your vision as your arms are yanked above your head and cuffed in place, hoisting you up until you’re balanced on the tips of your toes.
Your head turns sharply, scanning for some clue, only to catch sight of a man pulling a bloodstained, clear apron over his clothes. He moves to a table lined with weapons, methodically selecting a hacksaw before crossing the stage toward someone else already in the spotlight.
You turn away quickly the moment the blade bites into their torso. A bloodcurdling scream splits the air, the sound of flesh tearing following soon after. The only thing you can hear is their desperate begging—pleas that fall on deaf ears, while beyond the blinding lights, an unseen audience revels in the sadistic pleasure of their torment.
Turning your head, you catch a brief glimpse of the group who brought you here, lingering as though to witness what would become of you tonight. From where you’re strung up on the stage, you spot Noah leaning down to whisper something into Nicholas’s ear.
“We’ll start the bidding at… ten thousand.”
Your eyes widen instantly, head snapping toward the well dressed man in a suit standing behind a podium at the edge of the stage, holding what appears to be an auction over you. Panic surges in your chest, and twisting your head back, you catch sight of another tray lined with even more weapons, everything from small, mundane household items to a full fledged chainsaw.
“Do I hear ten—twelve, twelve thousand, how about—”
The numbers climb higher and higher. The faceless strangers in the audience are blurred out by the harsh stage lights, locked in a bidding war for the chance to put you through their own personalised torment and suffering.
Heart pounding in your ears, you strain against the restraints biting into your wrists, trying desperately to free yourself—though you already know it’s useless. Your gaze sweeps the room in search of anyone who might help, only to return to the group who delivered you here. When you catch Folio’s eye, that familiar, sickening smile spreads across his face, and his earlier words echo in your head: You’ll get used to having an audience.You scream, loud and raw, thrashing against the bindings. The sound earns nothing but roaring laughter from the crowd and a smug remark from the auctioneer, “Looks like we have a feisty one here, folks.”
The bidding continues for a moment longer before coming to an abrupt pause. Matt approaches someone, the exchange between them silencing the auctioneer. Whatever passes between the two ends with you being released—albeit reluctantly. The sour set of Matt’s jaw suggests he isn’t thrilled with the decision either.
The moment your arms are free, you wrap them around yourself, trying to cover your soaked underwear. Goosebumps ripple across your skin as you shiver, being wordlessly guided back toward the group.
“What did I tell you about naming them?” Matt snaps at Noah when you arrive, his tone sharp before he turns away, but your eyes are drawn to Noah, and somehow, the unease in your chest grows sharper. His gaze is alight, but there’s a sheepishness in his expression—something that suggests whatever ‘mercy’ you’ve just been shown shouldn’t be trusted.
“I guess this isn’t the end of the road after all, bunny,” Folio says, stepping up beside you. His arm drapes around your shoulders, and the way he punctuates bunny makes your stomach twist—less like a term of endearment, and more like the name of a pet that’s been claimed.
The cool night air hits you, a chill you feel deep in your bones, made worse by the clothes they’ve given you. All you have is a jacket offered by Noah. It hangs long on your arms but short on your body, which is surprising given his towering height, yet even on him it barely reached his waist.
You pull the jacket tighter around yourself. Your bare feet are shoved into a pair of trainers they scavenged from a pile of clothes left behind by the other ‘pieces’ up for bidding. Your blood runs cold at the thought of what became of half of them tonight—of what could have become of you, but as you glance at the group of men crowding around you now, you’re not sure where your chances would have been better.
Heart pounding in your chest, you study them one by one, weighing your fate—go with them, or—
On instinct, you lunge forward, slamming your foot down on the nearest of your captors. He curses and staggers back, and the moment the circle breaks, you seize it. You shove past him and sprint, lungs burning with the first gasp of cold air.
Your ears ring and someone yells behind you in the distance. You don’t look back—you can’t. If you look back, you’ll slow down. If you slow down, you’re dead, or worse. You just run, knowing without a doubt they’re already chasing you, fuelled by the thrill of the hunt.
“FOLIO! AFTER HER!” one of them shouts, and seconds later you hear the car engine roar to life. You turn off down another alley, weaving your way through the streets. You keep running, unsure where you’re actually going, your chest heaving, your legs already aching with the effort of dragging yourself away from danger.
As you go, you pass more people—purge participants roaming the streets. The same ones you saw earlier from the safety of the car. You don’t dare stop, not even when they jeer as you run by. You’ll run until your lungs give out, until your legs go numb. You’ll keep going until you find some form of safety.
You refuse to give in, even when your steps start to falter, your body stumbling and rolling across a wet patch of grass. You push yourself back up, staggering, chest burning as you set your sights on a dark, abandoned building ahead. You sprint toward it, rounding one side and shoving past the thick bushes surrounding it, branches scraping your legs. You search frantically for any way inside—a window, a door, anything.
Then you see it, a crack of space, a small window—just enough to push up, and as you hear the car engine cut out, you haul yourself upward.
“I think she went in here!” Folio’s voice calls. He doesn’t even sound as winded as you, while your left side aches with a vicious stitch. He followed you here. Tracked you down like a dog with a scent.
You drop down inside, landing hard with a huff and an audible thud, loud enough for one of them to yell, “She’s over here!”
Scrambling away from the open window, you force yourself to your feet and stumble deeper into the building, navigating through the darkness, but you already catch it—heavy boots thudding against the floor as, one by one, they climb inside to join you.
“Oh, bunny… come out, come out and play.”
It’s faint, but you hear it in the distance—the singsong taunt echoing through the dark as they scout for you like a pack of wolves on the hunt.
Folio’s signature, hyena like cackle shatters the silence, and you slap a hand over your mouth, desperate to stifle your breathing, their footsteps drawing closer. You’d taken the chance to escape during their moment of distraction, only now you’re trapped all over again.
As their footsteps pass you, you begin inching toward a nearby door, slowly turning the handle and holding your breath as you wait for the faint click of the mechanism. When it comes, you open the door just enough to slip inside.
The moment you do, you’re met with shelves and boxes labeled ‘lost property’. Just your luck—you’ve stumbled into some type of storage cupboard.
You start sifting through the boxes, hoping to find anything to change into. You pull out a pair of elastic shorts and an oversized T-shirt. Shrugging off the jacket, you slip the items on before searching for anything you could use to arm yourself. The closest thing you find to a weapon is a softball bat. You almost toss it aside, but decide that anything is better than nothing.
With a deep breath, an attempt to steady your nerves, you reach for the door handle, slowly turning it and opening the door a crack, listening for any sign of them.
Nothing.
You step out and take the opportunity to run—only to slam directly into a hard wall. Only, it’s not a wall, and looking up you find Noah standing over you.
“There you are. We’ve been looking for you.”
You try to make another break for it, but the attempt dies the moment the others emerge, their shadows spilling out of the darkness and surrounding you.
For a second there’s a scuffle, your elbow colliding with something hard, and you swear there’s a cracking sound. Then you feel it, a hand slapping over your mouth, the grip tugging you firmly back against a hard chest. In the moment, you bite down hard, your teeth breaking skin and the second you taste copper, hear a hissing yelp.
“Ah!!! You fucking bitch.”
You’re released, but immediately met with a harsh slap across the face, hard enough to disorient you before another hit sends you crashing to the floor. You hit your head with a loud bang, pain erupting on impact and white blooming behind your eyes. It stings and aches, a low thumping making it feel as though there’s a heartbeat in your skull.
When you dare to open your eyes, after screwing them shut on impact, your vision doubles and blurs. You grunt as you try to move, dragging yourself across the floor, reaching for a new weapon in your line of sight, a gun.
Your fingers wrap around it just as you feel another weight crashing down on you, followed by a sudden stabbing pain in your leg. You cry out, warmth spreading, and when you dare to look down, you see a knife embedded in the side of your leg, and Folio looming over you, blood dripping from his nose where you’d elbowed him, teeth bared and cackling.
“Got you.”
Any fear is burned away by pure adrenaline as you turn and raise the gun, aiming it at him.
“Got you,” you spit back.
He still just cackles, even as the click of the gun being cocked echoes off the walls.
“Don’t worry, guys. She hasn’t got it in her.” Matt just chuckles.
You shift your aim, this time toward Noah, who’s still fussing over the hand you just bit, before snapping it back to Matt. Without hesitation, you squeeze the trigger, aiming for his shoulder.
The gunshot erupts, a loud bang cracking through the air, enough to make your ears ring, echoing the one from earlier tonight.
Matt lets out an enraged cry, hissing through his teeth as his hand flies up to clutch his shoulder. “That fucking little—” His voice trails off as Folio jumps up and rushes to him, fussing. “Yeah, I’m fucking fine,” Matt grunts, snatching the shirt Folio offers and pressing it over the wound.
You start shuffling backward, trying to drag yourself away, trying to find the strength to even stand, but between the stabbing pain in your leg from the knife wound and the throbbing in your head, your body feels like dead weight.
Suddenly, there’s a heavy weight crushing your hand, the groove of a boot digging into your fingers. The pain steals the breath from your lungs, forcing out a pathetic, almost silent whine as your fingers are ground beneath the pressure.
When you look up, you see Jolly standing over you, his expression unreadable. Then the heavy footsteps of Nicholas draw your attention, each measured step echoing in your chest before he slowly lowers into a crouch in front of you.
“Bunny, bunny, bunny.” His tongue clicks following his repetition of the word. “We rescue you, we let you go, we lost money by getting you out of there… and this is how you repay us?” he says, tilting his head slightly, voice unnervingly soft. “We just wanted to have a little fun with you.”
“Oh, fuck you.” You spit the words out, your body trembling as you struggle to hold yourself together. “You’re just sick fucks who get off on making money and prey out of innocent people on Purge night.”
Jolly chuckles, shifting his weight, and the movement makes you let out a faint squeak as your fingers start to go numb beneath his boot.
“Is that what you think of us? That we’re just savages?”
“A pack of wild dogs, more like.”
Reaching down, Nicholas wraps his hand around the knife still lodged in your leg. Without hesitation, he grips it, and drags it out, slowly, deliberately, making you feel every jagged scrape of metal against flesh, as you let out a trembling scream of pure agony.
Between his fingers, Nicholas twirls the knife, your blood trailing down its blade, dripping from the tip before he points it at you. “And what? You think you’re so much better because you don’t partake in Purge Night?”
You don’t dignify him with an answer, even as he nudges you with the knife, feeling the tip bite into the skin of your collarbone.
“Didn’t think so,” he scoffs.
“If you’re gonna kill me, why don’t you just get on with it?” you grit through your teeth, taking a shaky breath as you try to ignore the sting of the knife wound and the throbbing in your head.
“Didn’t you notice? We like to play with our food.”
Nicholas reaches his free hand toward your leg, pressing his thumb into the wound. Pain explodes through you, forcing a cry from your lips as you writhe, trapped between him and Jolly.
The agony is overwhelming. Darkness creeps at the edges of your vision, licking at your consciousness until your body finally collapses, and then, everything goes black.
When you come to, you almost hope it’s just a nightmare, that everything was some twisted, vivid dream, but there’s no such luck, the familiar throb in your head begins again.
At a distance, you hear hushed voices, the group standing around, deliberating what to do with you.
“It’s not like she’s gonna track us down after this,” a voice says, though you struggle to make out who it is.
“I still think we should deal with her for giving me this.” Matt gestures toward his shoulder, hand still pressed to it. A few murmurs of agreement follow, until Jolly’s thick accent cuts through.
“Since when did you become such a pussy?”
It’s almost amusing, imagining them descending into chaos and turning on one another, but as you dare to open your eyes, the room spins. In the corner, where one of the windows is partially uncovered, you catch a flicker of daybreak.
The siren hasn’t sounded yet, but the telltale signs of morning creeping in signal that it’s close, and all you have to do is survive. You know you’re counting far too much on the hope that they’re purgers, not outright murderers. What are the odds? You almost laugh, but instead, it comes out as a choked scoff, a sound that draws their attention.
Heavy footsteps approach as Folio bounces on his feet, practically skipping. “Bunny! You’re awake!” He says it’s like his favorite pet has returned to play.
You almost scoff at him, itching to push him away when he crouches and comes close. You catch the scent of alcohol on his breath—something strong, and the stench of weed. He was probably mixing the two while you were passed out.
He moves behind you, lifting you to a sitting position and using himself as a leaning post, while Noah and the others crowd around, closing in.
Jolly looks down at his watch, deliberating for a moment before he speaks. “Ten minutes until the end of the Purge.”
“Well then, it’s been a fun night, Bunny, but I think it’s time we brought this party to an end, don’t you?” Matt steps forward, pulling out the gun from earlier and offering it to Nicholas—a gesture to finish the job.
Behind you, Folio is already pouting, leaning in to press his cheek against yours. “Can’t we keep her?” He says it like a child begging to keep a pet, and it sends an unexpected tremble through you, something heated.
Nicholas lowers the gun and slides it toward you with his foot.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” Matt hisses, slapping his accomplice.
“She’s not gonna do anything,” Nicholas says, matter of factly.
Matt just gestures to his shoulder. “Like she didn’t before?”
Your eyes dart to the gun, then back to Nicholas, as though he’s daring you to take it again. On the other side, Noah kneels, fingers combing back through your hair. From your periphery, you can see where he’s fashioned a makeshift bandage for his hand out of a strip of shirt.
“We could’ve had so much more fun,” he whispers, almost lovingly, almost sadistically, and you want to hate the way it makes you quiver, the way fear and adrenaline twist into something else, something you don’t dare name.
Long fingers grip your chin and turn your head, forcing your eyes to meet Noah’s before he moves in, kissing you—heated and forceful. Instinctively, you raise a hand and strike him, breaking away, but his reflex is fast, smacking you with the back of his hand and snapping your head sideways. The motion reopens the cut on your lip from earlier, and before you can react, he grips you again, pulling you back, tongue sliding over the cut with a throaty, deep chuckle.
“Oh, I’m going to miss your feistiness, Bunny.”
You want to bite him. You try, but his hand moves, gripping your cheeks with a sudden, harsh squeeze that makes your jaw ache.
“Don’t make me have to hurt you.” He says it as though that hasn’t been exactly what they’ve done all night. Yet, as your eyes briefly meet his, you swear you see a flicker of something—fondness, maybe, but as quickly as it appears, it vanishes beneath the true, sadistic nature you’ve witnessed tonight.
Just as he lets you go, the purge siren blares to life, signaling the end of the annual Purge.
Matt shouts, “You fucking wasted your chance!”
“Get over it, Matt,” Folio calls back, and you feel his grip on you begin to ease. “Besides, there’s always next year.” He says it as though they plan to watch you, or track you down, again. When he moves away, he blows a big kiss at you before walking to join the others.
Noah is the last to leave, reluctant to part with you. When he finally turns, he glances back, almost fondly, as if leaving you behind is the last thing he wants to do.
Once their backs are turned, you drag yourself toward the gun and reach for it, fiddling with it before raising it and calling out, “Hey!”
They stop in their tracks, turning to look at you. Folio begins his maniacal laughter again.
“You asked me what my thing was… well, let’s take a guess,” despite trembling, you pull the trigger, a shot reverberates, but you don’t realize it misses, and they all break into laughter.
“Is that so?” Nicholas asks as he approaches you once again, but then a large hand suddenly grabs a handful of your hair, yanking you off guard. You scream as the burning pain spreads through your scalp, and they drag you along the floor, their laughter echoing in your ears.
They pull you out into the light of day. The building you’re in, the old, abandoned school, finally comes fully into view. Gravel scratches against your skin as you’re dragged along the path until they reach the car. When they lift you up, you’re thrown into the trunk, darkness swallowing you, and their final words linger in your mind:
“I guess you’re coming home with us after all, Bunny.”
I put together how I draw the two of them in my style. I guess no one will read the text carefully anyway, so I didn’t bother translating it because I’m too lazy:/
Unfortunately I'm not nonchalant, I'll slit my wrists in front of you and force you to watch how the blood squirts from my body if you even think about someone else.
a stalker that is so obsessed with your happiness, well-being, and pleasure, that when they kidnap you everything just seems so perfect. of course they learned everything about you when you were the cutest pet they had ever seen. let them drag every aching moan out of your body and cry until you only cry from pleasure anymore, ensnared in a heaven that only exists for you, and who would leave a true paradise? of course they want you to be happy no matter the cost just let them take care of you.
vaporwave
tangentwithtanner
theartofmadeline
areudirty
pixelskylines
snowghoul
