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sweetwritertanya · 4 years

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Perfect Timing

Summary: Taehyung wakes up alone in bed but soon finds you roaming around in the kitchen… almost nude. And a particular remark on your part leads him to uncover a certain kink he wasn’t even aware he had.

Warnings: SMUT! With a hint of fluff, like it’s my usual, but it is 95% smut! Beware of: swearing, erotic body touching, dirty talk, fingering, oral (female receiving), handjobs, marking (just a tiny bit), size kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex (well, duh. But be safe IRL!!!), kitchen sex, doggy style, multiple orgasms (female receiving)

Word Count: 3894

Taehyung woke up slowly, barely opening the lids of his eyes before closing them again to protect from the low light coming in through the small breeches of the blinds. He felt his body hefty and tried to fall back asleep, but his mind was already too much active for that. Rolling over his body, his heavy hands searched around the bed for another figure, your fluffy warm physique that he particularly loved holding in the early mornings. But you were not there, the bed cold without you, even in the warm summer morning.

Frowning, he opens his round sharp eyes just a slit, noticing the moved empty sheets on your side of the bed. Stretching and yawning, Taehyung reaches for his phone and realizes it’s already past ten in the morning. After a few minutes checking his social media and answering a few text messages, he decides to get up.

Getting out of the bedroom, clad in only his boxers and an old red t-shirt, he moves silently down the hallway as he hears rummaging in the kitchen. Peeking his head in the doorway, he smiles and stays slightly hidden from your field of view. The unmistakable scent of freshly made pancakes filled the air and he was sure you had been preparing breakfast. Right now, you were bending down next to a tail-wagging Yeontan, filling his bawl with dry food for him to eat too.

Taehyung licks his lips and his throat grows dry as he notices you are just wearing small cotton panties and a white tank top, probably because you had the tendency to overheat at night during summer. Your fleshy thighs, with dimples of cellulite clinging in the back, and your round ample ass were on full display for him when you bent down and a burning stirring feeling shot straight to his groin.

You smile as you pat the little furry dog’s head, the feeling of being watched making you turn around to notice Taehyung leaning against the kitchen’s doorway. He still looked sleepy, dark hair messy and untamed from turning in the bed, barefoot, eyes with heavy monolids.

“Look who’s awake, Yeontannie! Your daddy is finally up. Do you think it was the food calling him?” You say in a typically high-pitched voice, the one you always used around cute animals.

You go back to the kitchen’s counter, gathering the things necessary to set the table for you both to have breakfast, smiling sweetly at Taehyung before focusing on your task. You didn’t find his silence unusual, sometimes he stayed silent for long moments in the mornings, just taking his time to get fully awake and ready for the day. This time, however, it was for a completely different reason.

You had no idea what you had just ignited in Taehyung. Never before had you referred to him as the ‘Daddy’ of his small dog, and now he had vivid images of young little versions of himself and you running around the house, playing with Yeontan, falling asleep in his arms or cuddled up in yours. Oh, the idea of your stomach rounding and protruding with his children added an uncomfortable stiffness inside his boxers that was beginning to cloud his judgement.

Two arms wrap around your already pillowy middle, long fingers brushing your hair to one side, exposing the back of your neck for hungry lips to attach to the skin there, sending goosebumps down your spine and making your body tense and shudder slightly.

“Sorry I didn’t stay in bed so we could cuddle, babe. I got hungry and didn’t want to wake you up, so I just got up” you explained, thinking Taehyung was just craving your usual morning embraces.

“That’s okay” his even deeper than usual, very coarse from the morning, voice murmurs against your left ear, under which he stamps another kiss.

Large hands start wandering around your body, one sliding up and down the almost naked curve of your hip, the other moving up until it was trapped on the underside of your soft boob, thumb tracing an invisible line at the side over the tank top. Your breathing becomes shallow now, heart flipping inside your chest and muscles paralyzing as you began to wonder if this was more than what you assumed.

“Babe?”

“Love you” that toe-curling masculine tone of his interrupts, mouth kissing down your shoulders now. If you had any doubts, the hand that moved to squeeze your breast and the semi-hard bulge that he was pressing against your ass, fingers clawing at your love handles to keep you in place, made it abundantly clear where this was going. And the fire under your skin that his administrations were gaslighting made you have nothing against it.

“Me too” you reciprocate in a sigh, giving in to him as you allow your body to fall back into his, one hand covering up the one he still had holding your chest and the other coming up to pull at the hairs behind his neck, moving your head to the side and pulling him in for a kiss.

He takes no reservations deepening the kiss, devouring your willing lips until his mischievous warm tongue of his found its way past your teeth, delving deeper and tasting you to the fullest he wanted to, a highway of sprinting electricity running up your spine and hazing your brain as he swirled around and coaxed your own to respond.

Taking hold of your wide waist, Taehyung turns you around and resumes the heavy smooches, pulling your fluffy body close to his lean one, greedy hands unable to chose a place to settle in, constantly running up and down the expanse of your body he could reach. As the tip of his tongue flicks against yours and roams the sensitive inside of your gums, your body shudders and you moan, the uncomfortable wetness between your legs becoming insufferable.

“Taehyung...” You whisper into his mouth, pulling at his hair and grasping his form close, hinting at your needs by the sway of your hips.

“My dear Y/N…” he mumbles back, eyes still closed before he cradles the side of your head and captures your lips once again. But this time, his wandering hand pulls down the side of the panties that were biting at your flesh and delicious fingers find their way to the shameless damage he had done.

A deep groan escapes him at the same time a soulful moan leaves you when his middle finger goes past your damp folds and slides directly against your sensitive slit. Taehyung keeps his mouth occupied on your skin, leaving your lips vacant so he can hear the beautiful sounds you made. Pulling the collar of your tank top down with his available hand, he finds your breasts covered by a simple bra that he too pulls the cups of it down, exposing your tits for him to play and tease as his other hand rubs between your legs, your own hips starting to move against his digits on their own accord.

When those expert fingers find the little hardening bud at the top of your lower lips, the fingertips press hard circles around it before flicking it mercilessly, enticing your raspy wail and the buckle of your knees, making you almost fall down as you lose your strengths for a moment at the sudden abuse.

“Counter” is all he says when he catches you, pulling you by the waist up.

You just nod and take a few steps until you reach the kitchen’s counter. Taehyung kneels down and you are confused for a moment before he pulls your panties all the way off your bulky legs, starting to kiss up your thighs, hands indulging on the malleable flesh of the back of your legs and moving up to your juicy rump.

“God, Tae!...” you stutter out, letting your head fall back and hands grasping the corner of the counter with iron strength as soon as he lifts one of your legs up to his shoulder and dives in.

The use of both his tongue and fingers leave you absolutely disoriented and unsure of how avoid losing your stand again. He had his eyes closed as he laps on your pussy, lips settling around your clit and ravishing upon it, taste buds flicking the fleshy pearl and then sucking on it for long enough to drive you mad and not enough to send you over the edge. The introduction of his fingers changed that. He first slid the middle finger that had been teasing your entrance, wiggling and curling it inside before withdrawing it unkindly. Then he inserts three at once and you cry out, not from pain but from the absolute pleasure the fullness gave you. His digits drown in your fluids and start rocking back and forth, curling and massaging your inner walls every other time.

It doesn’t take long at all for this overload of stimulations having you pulsating around Taehyung’s fingers, body spasming as an orgasm rips through you suddenly, hoarse cries filling the air. The fact that you had one leg around Tae’s shoulder keeps you from giving out completely, doing your best to pull yourself up as you gripped the counter.

“So beautiful… My magnificent Y/N…” he praises as he brushes your leg off his shoulder and slowly raises back up, all the way kissing your available skin.

Taehyung pauses at your belly, hands pulling the tank top up so he can kiss the soft skin there and knead at the flesh for a moment.

“This round stomach would look so pretty fuller…” he whispers, although now in a more perceptible voice. You raise your eyebrows at that, unsure of what he meant by that.

Further up, he kisses the valley between your tits as his thumbs play with your puckered nipples, only to then lick and suck on both of them in turns, making you arch your back to him.

“These breasts… how much bigger would they get?” It’s a murmur against the sensitive skin of your left tit but you still heard it and the realization sends magnetizing shockwaves to your core.

Your hands claw at the underside of his arms as you try to pull him up, intending to talk about what he meant by all of this, but the look on his face shut you up before you could even formulate the first question in your mind. Eyes hooded and dark with desire, it was both an animalistic gaze as much as it was absolutely vulnerable.

“My cherub Y/N, bearing my seed inside for everyone to see how stunning you are.”

His words are held an inch away from your silenced lips, staring at your confused eyes with purpose, before merging mouths together with a bruising force, ferociously kissing you senseless. The truth is that Taehyung already envisioned you both together until the end of his days, growing up together, getting older together. The proof laid hidden at the bottom of one of his drawers, in a small velvet red box, waiting for the perfect timing.

“Y/N… I want… I need…” he struggles to say, biting at the sides of your neck when the words didn’t come out.

But you already knew perfectly well what he wanted. And you were a bit ashamed of how arousing the idea sounded to you, to partake in what could ultimately tie you and Taehyung together for a lifetime, to have him want to - with you. It was something that had come to you in dreams before, something you never voiced with fear of ruining it. But not now.

Hand brushing down his chest and strong abdominal area, your fingers insert themselves past the hem of his boxers and you take him fully in your hands. It didn’t go unnoticed to you how hard he already was, hot and heavy, how the tip was already staining the palm of your hand with pre-leakage. Your walls throbbed with longing.

“Do it” you determinately whispered back.

The eyes that had closed when you took him in hand shot right open again, finding yours with a cautionary hesitance.

“Are you sure?” He seriously asks, eyes searching yours.

In response, you start stroking his mouthwatering length, hand curled powerfully around his thickness but careful to not scrape the skin, thumb brushing the sensitive red tip every time it reached it. Taehyung almost chokes and his whole-body tenses up as he tries to not give in to the need to thrust his hips into your inviting hand.

“Fuck” he curses, something you tend to only hear from him in such moments.

Suddenly, he takes a strong hold of your hips and spins you around, pinning your front to the cold marble of the counter as he raises your hips up towards him, everything on full display for him. A moment for him to send his boxers to the other side of the room and he teases your hot center with his hard member, rubbing his cock between your folds and coating himself with your overflowing juices. You whimper before biting down on your lips, hands in fists so tight your knuckles turned the palest colour you had ever seen.

“Taehyung…!” you sigh on frustration, looking over your shoulder back at him.

“Want me to fill you up?” he smugly asks, even with the undertone of wistful thinking from himself too. “Flood this pretty pussy with my seed?”

A ravenous spasm goes through your body. He keeps rubbing his dick against your silky middle, the tip brushing against the engorged clitoris with maddening slow strokes.

“Y-Yes. Give me all you got. Put a baby in me, Tae” you talk back.

A growl from the depths of his throat comes up and he bends down to kiss at your shoulder blade before biting into it, surely leaving a purple bruise but you didn’t care. Your body was boiling with need and your senses overwhelmed with him, all of him, only him. You were sure he could even draw blood from your skin and you wouldn’t even feel it.

In an instant so quick that caught you by surprise, Tae stands back up and pulls his hips back from you only to subsequently impale you with his length in a swift thrust. You arch your back, raising your chest off the counter, moaning loud at the sudden but more than welcome intrusion. You never realized how much of a barrier the condom created until now, feeling him bare inside, every inch of his skin, every indentation, every vein pulsating hot against your overly sensitive walls. Taehyung was having similar thoughts, in disbelief of how good you felt around him, how wet and slick you were, how enhanced the pleasure was. He had no idea how he would ever go back.

“Shit, Y/N…! You’re so… fucking… wet.” He stressed the last words with slow but strong thrusts of his hips, the sound of skin slapping skin and the squelching of your bodies together joining your own embarrassing uncoherent pleas.

Taehyung was a big man, which was the reason he preferred to always start with warming you up with his fingers whenever sex was in the cards, usually using more than two fingers to do the job. And still there was always that stretch burn when it was time for the real thing, but always tolerable and more often than not actually welcomed. Any slight hint of pain was more than thumped over by the pleasure of him filling you up, especially when he bottomed out and the tip of his dick reached and perfectly matched the curve of your cervix.

This position in particular was perfect for that effect and he knew it was the quickest way to push you to the edge in record time. When you arched your back, Taehyung reached with his hands around your middle and squeezed your hanging tits, still spilling out of the cups of the bra he had pulled down. Tweaking and pinching your nipples, the lean hips of the man behind you set on a nice rhythm, sliding back until only the tip remained inside before pistoning back in with measured force, making your eyes roll back in your head since the action made him constantly brush the perfect spot at the depth of your tunnel.

“I want you filled with my cum to the bream. I want it to overflow from this tight pussy and see it spill on the ground. And then do it again without wasting a single drop” he said in labored breathes, fingers digging in to your protruding love handles tighter, hips rocking quicker against yours. “Wanna see your stomach swell up with our babies. Play with these tits when they get heavier with milk. Eat you out when you’re pregnant just to know if it’ll taste different.”

You squeal as the dirty talk contributes to your ever-approaching end, this unbearable tight knot in your womb constricting the muscles of your body so severely you feel a vein might pop off. You are sweating profusely, the warm weather not helping for such endeavors, eyesight getting blurred, breathing strenuous and brain shutting down.

“You are taking my cock so well, love” he claims, taking his eyes off your form to witness the way his dick disappears inside you, over and over again, glistening with your juices. Your insides squeeze him at that, making him hiss and close his eyes again. “You like that? You like knowing how good you take care of my bare cock? Do you wanna milk me dry? Want to suck my cum with your pussy, hum?”

“Ta-Taehyung!” you scream out as the first waves of orgasm crash over you, knot unfolding abruptly and a molten pleasure erupts throughout your system, scourging every inch of you, forcing you cry out in delight.

The boy slows down to an almost stop, both to prolong your pleasure but also to restrain himself from following you just yet, when he had other plans. As soon as you come back down from your high, his hips start moving again as he pulls your back flush against his chest, lips attaching to the skin up and down your neck. You are holding yourself up with the palm of your hands pressed against the cooler counter, whimpering once he starts picking up the pace, last orgasm still very much fresh. And yet you can’t help the way your hips move back to meet his, the chase of a new climax claiming your body fast, your head tilting back to rest on Taehyung’s shoulder.

“That’s it, my love. Do it once more for me, yeah?” he whispers almost sweetly into your ear, one hand still fondling your exposed breasts and the other going down to your lush belly, skin sinking to his touch as he rubbed circles there. “Let me knock you up and show off my pregnant wife for everyone to see! We’ll make the most beautiful children.” You never doubted that. With him as their father, how could they turn out anything but perfect.

The hand at your chest drops to dig the bulges of your waist, Taehyung pouncing harder now. You are already more than half-way there and the fact that you can feel the spillage from the tip of his cock when he fastens up, a tell-tale of his own approaching undoing, leaves you at the edge of the precipice.

“Fu… Cum with me, Y/N…! Let’s… let’s cum together” he pleas in your ear.

His digits dart away from your stomach to make way to your mound, where he quickly finds your cluster of nerves and presses harshly and violently against it, at the same time his thrusts hit the spot deep that he reaches so well with debauched speed. The fierce assault of your senses has you mewling in a pitchy voice as the climax spills, so intense and sharp that white noise blacks out your vision and disorienting pleasure claims your turned-to-mush brain.

Taehyung feels with relief your inner walls collapsing on him and he finally allows himself to reach his own end, drilling into you a few more times until he is buried as deep as he can go, spilling his essence into your womb, balls tightening and tingling as warm spurts filled you up, his perspiring body shuddering before stiffening with blissed out relief.

You fall on your elbows forward, barely able to hold yourself on the counter. It takes both of you a good few moments to collect yourselves. When Taehyung pulls out of you, the feeling of fluid stickiness starts to run down your legs and you hear the boy tsk.

“What a waste” he says.

You turn around at that, rearranging your almost nude state and about to question him about something when he pulls you by the waist across the room.

“Wait, Tae, what are you doing?” you wonder, looking confused up at his now fully awake face.

“Taking you to the bedroom. You should have been laid down for this” he explains, seemingly a bit angry with himself as he frowned.

“What are you talking about?”

“The probability of pregnancy is best when the female is laying horizontally. That was not the best position to get you pregnant.”

You halt your step and take him by the hands, forcing him to look at you.

“Hey, Tae, that’s okay. If this didn’t work, we’ll just do it better next time, okay?”

He does seem to perk up at that, eyes enlarging and lighting up like a kid only to revert back to a smug knowing look, accompanied with a cocky grin.

“So… Already thinking of doing this again, are we?” His arms sneak around your waist and he rocks you both in place, leaning down to level his eyes with you.

“As if you weren’t thinking about it as soon as you pulled out” you rebut, to which he just smiles and shrugs his shoulders. “You… You are really serious about this, Taehyung? About me? Us?” You can’t help but make sure this whole thing wasn’t just a spur of the moment, a very dangerous erotic fantasy that would disappoint him if ever actually coming true in reality.

Taehyung kissed your cheek and pulls you in for one of the tightest hugs you ever got. You smile against his shoulder and hug him back, hands meeting at his back.

“I was never so sure of anything in my life as much as I’m sure of this” he guaranteed.

Later, after a much-needed shower, both fully dressed for the day, siting at the table eating the now cold pancakes for what was now more of a lunch than breakfast, something occurred to you and you tilted your head to the side as you chewed.

“Taehyung?” you call, the man in question not even raising his eyes to you as he devoured the plate in front of him.

“Humm?”

“This morning… did you call me ‘wife’ during sex?”

Taehyung choked until his cheeks turned bright red and it took him several minutes and countless glasses of milk to regain his normal breathing. Maybe there was no such thing as a perfect timing when it came to these things, he realized as he went to get the red box hidden in his drawer.

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

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PFFFF The newest Witcher trailes LITERALLY throws shade! They have the 'Geralt, but you've been such lone wofl so long, what change' and deadass show JASKIER before later shoving Geralt saying 'Yennefer' like a cheap 'no homo!' excuse. I can't. xD Whoever edited it knows what's on. xD

I feel so conflicted about the Jaskier-Geralt relationship in the show because on the one hand, yeah, they're definitely leaning into this non-romance in a way that can get uncomfortable for some, how shall I put this... jaded viewers lol. We know they'll never be canon. No matter what else we might say about Netflix's inability to accurately adapt the books, Geralt/Yennefer has always and will always be endgame, so getting intimacy between Geralt and Jaskier in these particular ways (flirty jokes, bath scene, argument staged like a breakup), while not explicitly queerbaiting, can make viewers feel... icky about it all. Especially for any show-only fans who might not know that Geralt/Yennefer is endgame. Many viewers, particularly American viewers, approach shows as malleable forms of entertainment that can provide them with the representation they crave, provided the fanbase is vocal enough about wanting it. And the more talk that surfaces about major, crucial changes to the plot that reinterpret huge swaths of the books' purpose and intent, the more it can feel like they might just change Geralt's love life too! Even though they (obviously) won't. And frankly shouldn't given that this is supposed to be a faithful adaptation.

Yet on the flipside, the Netflix versions of Jaskier and Geralt don't feel intimate to me at all. Their hostile introduction, Geralt outright punching him, the continued performance of 'I'm a big strong manly man who can't admit that he cares about others,' reducing decades of their bonding to a surprising, throwaway line, that argument when Geralt blames Jaskier for all his problems... it's terrible and I've never liked this dynamic for them (even as I, somewhat hypocritically, play with it in fic). So I'm like, you're intimate enough that fans are starting to side-eye the creators' intentions and yet simultaneously not intimate in any of the ways you should be if you were actually faithful adaptations of the book. And these problems, I believe, go hand-in-hand. By ignoring the actual friendship of the books, Netflix has been forced to "prove" that they care for one another by falling back on tired buddy tropes that, historically, fans have used as evidence for a potential romantic relationship. By not writing Geralt and Jaskier as having the open, witty, philosophical, caring-but-also-taking-no-shit relationship they had in the books, Netflix has fallen back on a dynamic that isn't doing their show any favors. Fans either hate it, or love it to the point where they expect something of the show that the show can never deliver.

So it's a mess! And that mess hasn't done Yennefer any favors either. I'm really not in a position to be defending that pairing - I've never hid that I'm not a Geralt/Yen fan - but whatever the books did that made others love their relationship... I don't think Netflix is capitalizing on that either. In that other ask I brought up how in the games their relationship seems to revolve entirely around Ciri and sex. If they're not talking about their daughter (or if Yen isn't being cruel) their relationship is just about how horny they are for each other, which... isn't really a relationship to me. Or at least, not the deep, "We belong together forever, we're basically soulmates" relationship that the franchise is going for. Same with Netflix. I never liked the foundation of their relationship being an ambiguous wish that tethered them irrevocably and a quickie in the rubble as a replacement for actually getting to know one another... but Netflix takes those aspects and emphasizes them to a disappointing degree.

"You spent a lifetime alone. What changed?"

"Yennefer of Vengerberg."

Yet when it comes time for the trailer to show us what this deep, insightful relationship is that changed a man after an entire lifetime of wandering alone... it's just sex. That's literally all Netflix is able to show us because that's the only meaningful interactions Geralt and Yen have had together. Here's a clip of them falling into bed together and Geralt, without any of that emotional work shown to the viewer, professes that he loves Yennefer the way she's always wanted to be loved.

Here's a clip of the joke we got where Jaskier is gaping over them having sex on the floor post-Yen nearly killing the lot of them.

I'm like... what out of any of this is meant to be appealing to me? Besides the fact that they're both hot as hell? (The casting does make my little bi heart happy lol.) For me, Geralt and Yen are a classic case of a story insisting they're meant for each other because That's Just How Stories Work, without doing any of the actual, you know, work to show us why they like each other, or how they got there, or why these superficial things (the sex is great!) trump the huge hurdles they should be working through. The games might have their flaws, but god bless 'em for letting the characters point out, "Hey... how do we even know this love is real and not just a byproduct of the djinn's wish?"

Geralt and Jaskier, as established, absolutely have their problems in the show, but I can understand why so many fans ship them over Geralt/Yen. And no, though bigotry can play a part, we also can't demonize the entirety of its popularity with, "You just hate women/are racist/creepily obsessed with queer men/whatever the latest accusation is." Rather, the popularity exists because, whatever their faults, it feels like they actually have a relationship in the show. We see them developing together in a way we simply don't get with Yennefer/Geralt and because that development isn't largely reduced to sex scenes—the narrative trying to pass every bonding moment off as True Love, with True Love equaling physical attraction—it comes across (at least to me) as more realistic and believable, especially given Geralt's character, someone who is emotionally closed off. If Vesemir (I think it's Vesemir) asked what changed and we deliberately cut to that moment of Jaskier leaving after Geralt drove him away... I'd more easily believe that yeah, this relationship is causing Geralt to rethink things in a way he hasn't for an entire lifetime. We've seen them travel together, become (begrudging) comrades, defend one another, do favors for each other, tease each other, have a major fight that they'll inevitably make up from, Jaskier is presented as Geralt's first friend, and none of this is tied to a questionable wish, or passed off as the totality of Geralt's development.

The fact that Netflix would include those lines, cut to a legitimately heart-wrenching moment between Geralt and Jaskier, but when it comes times to show his relationship with Yennefer, the most powerful moments are her without him (smashing the mirror, undergoing her transformation, stepping out in her new body for the first time, etc.) and their moments together are just sex—one of which is used partially for comedy—well... that just illustrates the problem for me. What relationship? The one that supposedly exists simply because the story says it's there? I don't think I'll ever be a Geralt/Yen shipper, but I'm perfectly capable of separating my personal preferences from subpar writing choices. Netflix is far into the latter. The way that they're adapting the story is, imo, hurting both fans of the book material and fans who are on the fence about book material. Because so few of these changes are working well, we've lost all the good the books contained and are now stuck with so much new bad. Basically, "No one liked that."

Except, of course, for the Geralt/Jaskier shippers riding the coattails of those tropes... though many will likely be disappointed and hurt by the series' end when they're not made canonical, with others growing frustrated with how the fandom has turned on them simply for liking what they were given. It's really turning into a lose-lose for everyone involved.

#witcher #twn #twn critical

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the-silentium · 4 years

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A story of having each others back

Masterlist - A story of shirts

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader, Bad Batch x Reader

Words: 2754 words

Warnings: None.

A/N: There is some teeny tiny spoiler without context of the next Murphy day saga: Good Night, Good Luck. You guys can speculate on the meanings!

Taglist: @haloangel391

The fog was so thick he couldn't see where the ramp of the ship finished and where the grass started, even from his vantage point from the top of said ramp. He lingered in the entrance of the ship, shoulder leaning on the frame, a leg crossed over the other. The humidity was refreshing on his face, calming his overworking mind, washing away the worries of the war, the dread of the loss, and the uncertainty of tomorrow.

It was calm for once, there was no one around to push him playfully hard into a wall or assault his ears with some unneeded tsunami of information or make him feel like a kid under the careful eye of an adult. He was finally able to release the tension building in his muscles and relax, enjoy some me-time while it lasted.

Or so he thought.

"Cross, I'm cold." Your melodious whine alerted him of your presence, mere seconds before delicate fingers slipped under the hem of his blacks to toy with the fabric, your knuckles creating a trail of fire where it grazed the skin.

The fire of your touch burned his insecurities, hushed the whispers of his demons, and most of all, melted the thick walls shielding his heart. He made them indestructible. You made them malleable.

He chuckled at your antics, the time when he was surprised that a strong warrior like you could become such a cuddly and adorable woman whenever the ambient temperature was not hotter than your body was long gone. He'd noticed pretty quickly that you had a really low tolerance to lower temperature.

He'd done nothing at first, merely watched you shiver from time to time, enduring your predicament without saying a word. He saw you pass your hands over yours arms more than once, but all he could do was weigh the pros and cons of helping you out of your misery.

Because if he did, he'd let it know that he cared. And Crosshair didn't care. Not for anyone other than his brothers. They were family. They were loyal. They were everything.

But you were special. Caring. True. Sassy. Loyal. You were the newest member of this freak family and you deserved to be helped if only to pay you back from everything you did for them. For him.

So he'd decided that he would cover you in all the warmth he could offer.

More fingers slipped under the hem, tentatively lifting the fabric over his abdomen, intensifying the fire with the full-on skin contact. He could almost feel your body inches away from his back, close but not enough in his books.

"Think you can have this?" He chuckled as he got back on his two feet to turn around and meet your sheepish gaze. He had to suppress a shiver at the softness of your fingers moving over his middle and lower back as he turned over.

"Please Crosshair." You begged with a dangerous fake pout, bottom lip poking out slightly.

He wouldn't admit it, but he liked it when you begged. Not that you did that often. In fact, he only heard you beg once in the year you passed at their side. Needless to say that the situation was far from the one at hand, but it wrapped up his heart with the very same warmth.

"Your wish is my command." His finger reached for the wood stick from between his lips, threw it away into the depth of the fog to swiftly remove his top, exposing his skin to the chilly air. At the sudden change, goosebumps appeared on his arms, but he didn't care. He didn't feel them.

All he could do was admire the joy in your eyes and the excitement as you pulled the oversized shirt on, the extra length hiding not only your black shirt but the hem of your exquisitely short shorts too.

"Thanks." You smiled brightly, eyes solely focussed on him.

Even upside down, dangling meters in the air and prey to a carnivorous plant, Crosshair knew that you were a beautiful woman and that your beauty wouldn't lessen even covered in mud from head to toe. That smile was too damn captivating. It was too damn bright.

In the same chain of thought, nothing could be added to you and make you more beautiful. You were already perfection. But seeing you in his shirt turned everything upside down.

He'd been wrong for so long and on so many things.

All of his dark thoughts and low expectations caused him to repress his feelings, leaving you to think that he saw you as distracting and insignificant.

Leaving you to give him space because you thought he wanted it when all he really wanted was for you to be part of his bubble. Leaving the path open for his brother to get involved with you without saying anything. It was slow, a pace that suited the both of you, but was way too fast for him to come to terms with his own feelings.

"But Hunter's not here." Your cool hands found his naked waist, thumbs discovering the scars there with an utterly careful touch. He dropped the fact that you seemed to read his mind, focussing on the only thing he could think of.

"You look like a goddess in that." He groaned, head lowering to the perfect column of your throat.

He inhaled your enrapturing smell, his eyes closing to lose himself in the moment.

"And you're so handsome without it." You whispered as shakily as your fingers on his sides.

He decided to allow himself this one time of carelessness. Before everything came crashing down.

Your hands gripped his sides tighter as he nibbled at the skin, triggering a memory of your arms tightly enveloping him in their secure embrace. Of a time when he could feel the warmth of your own soul through the cage, calling out to his, but this time there was no fear. Only care.

"I've got you Cross." Your voice echoed through his mind, distant, words from a distant memory. "I've got you."

"I've got you." He whispered against your sensitive skin, repeating the words that rang through his mind every time his gaze found yours.

His lips moved up your jaw to meet yours and as always, the contact was tasteless, devoid of any spark that he couldn't possibly create in the abyss of his mind. But he would take it if it meant that he could maintain the dream going. If for once he wasn't second. If he wasn't the one who took too long into accepting his feelings.

But he was. And the truth slapped him hard in the face when you bit his bottom lip, jolting his mind out of his dream and into the harsh world where the first rays of the sun illuminated your empty makeshift bed.

Immediately, Crosshair shot up, eyes scanning around until he noticed your body pressed to Hunter's, one of your hands gripping tightly around his shirt as if we would disappear.

Betrayal flooded his veins and he hated the feeling as much as he hated himself at this moment. He didn't have any reason to hold this against you. You never led him on, only complying to his silence when he'd ignore you and not force your company on him.

He wasn't even sure you were aware of his feelings until the night prior when the realization hit you like a speeder after his jealousy finally pierced his walls and controlled his judgment, forcing you in a bad position between him and his brother. He felt bad for tricking you of the sort, but he could never regret it. Finally, he saw you wearing something of his. It was one of his biggest achievement if he was honest. And most satisfying one for sure.

He got up, unable to watch any longer. As he passed, a whisper escaped your lips, your eyes were still closed, hand clutching tighter around the fabric prisoner of your grip.

"I've got you Cross." Your face scrunched up in discomfort pulling at his heartstrings.

He walked away despite his body aching to wake you up, to comfort you that he was still there and assure you that they were not.

________________

He was childish, he knew it, but his heart squeezed every time his eyes met yours. He avoided you as much as possible, not that it was difficult since you were stuck in your pilot seat, deeply concentrated on landing in a warzone deep into enemy territory and he was with the others, verifying their equipment one last time before the action began.

"Don't act like a kicked puppy. You made this." Crosshair rolled his eyes beneath his helmet, not moving an inch at Hunter's remark in the private line. "She likes you too, idiot. For a sniper you're unbelievably blind."

"Get your head in the game." He grumbled under his breath as you started your countdown until your quick landing.

He didn't want to acknowledge his sergeant's comment, but he deeply hoped that he was right. After all, the grey-haired clone had been wrong about you before. One last time wouldn't hurt.

_______________

While offering cover fire to his brothers, Crosshair decided that he'd stop being an ass and talk to you. His life didn't allow him the luxury to be dithering. He had to clear up everything and to do so, he needed to corner you alone. He thought it would have been easy, you tried to talk to him all day so all he had to do was wait for you to come to him. But it didn't happen.

After sending the ship into hyperspace, you fussed over the injuries on Wrecker's arms all the while berating him for being so reckless, forced Tech to drop his work on the new prototype that needed adjustments to force him to get some rest, and finally, you cleaned up after the mess they created at the back of the ship.

He watched you move around, picking up abandoned backpacks, open medkits, and bloody gauzes, his determination deflating with each passing second.

Before he knew it, you returned hastily to the cockpit to jump out of hyperspace and make your way to the republican planet.

You'd learned so quickly how to maneuver the ship, he sometimes forgot that you joined their team only a year ago. Although he did remember clearly the time when you weren't around; when the same routine would play over and over again without failing like a very boring record. You'd broken that record without a problem, adding your touch here and there, keeping them organized, making sure that they got their well-needed rest, reducing the tension with your harmless pranks and stupid jokes. He always loved his silence, but he'd never return to a time where you weren't there.

"You should go sleep." You mumbled, stretching until your bones popped. It was only then that he noticed how tired you seemed.

His hand shot out to your wrist when you made your way to the fresher.

"You're having nightmares again."

"No." You frowned on the defensive, pulling your hand out of his wrist, hurting his feelings by doing so.

As his teeth gnashed together, he was glad he didn't have a toothpick between them as usual. It would definitely have broken under the pressure.

"Bad liar." He turned around, knowing that if you weren't able to trust him with your nightmares, then there was no way what Hunter told him was true.

He himself wasn't the one so blinded with love that he started seeing it everywhere. He wasn't the one with whom you'd share your secrets or the one who knew the taste of your lips or the one to get to see you parade in his shirts before bed or the one to get to sleep next-

Too engrossed in his spiraling thoughts, Crosshair didn't think when his shirt got pulled. His hand moved on its own, too used to deal with Wrecker's annoying habit of trying to lift him by the back of his blacks. With a sharp slap, Crosshair successfully removed the hand gripping his shirt.

Before he even heard your yelp of pain, his brain made the connection. He turned around, eyes wide in surprise at his own attack, remorse flooding his chest.

He saw the pain in your eyes as well as the tears gathering in them. With your hands to your chest, you backed away in the fresher and locked the door before he even found his voice to apologize.

A lump formed in his throat, still not entirely comprehending what had happened, how he could have possibly let his jealousy blind him.

Again.

With tight fists at his sides, Crosshair made his way to the only place he could go. To bed. He made a quick job of climbing to the bunk over his sergeant's, making sure to repress his urges to accidently kick him in the sides and laid there over the covers, eying the ceiling, fists opening and closing around nothing.

He wanted to yell, kick, punch, shoot, get it out of his system, but all he could do was staying still, muscles stiff enough to hurt.

It took a while, but you walked out of the fresher, your light footsteps making their way to the barracks. He almost assumed you'd push Hunter over and cuddle close to him for security and comfort. He didn't anticipate at all the pull on his sheets.

Just to be sure that he wasn't hallucinating, he waited until you did it again before leaning over the edge. He couldn't see your eyes in the almost complete darkness, but he knew you could see him clearly.

"I hear them in my dreams." You paused, head moving towards the door. "And sometimes I can still see the Algax around the corners." He couldn't see you shiver, but the wave in your voice was clear enough. You were scared.

"Jump up." He didn't lose a second to move aside to make you some room.

He pulled the covers aside before you fully laid down on the mattress, enveloping your body in its safe embrace as soon as you stayed still on your side.

He hated the fact that he couldn't see your face and read your emotions. Or that he couldn't erase their memory of your mind. The silence grew longer and longer until finally, he had enough.

"I'm sorry for hurting you. It wasn't- I never-" He grunted in exasperation when words failed him.

"I'll forgive you if you hold me." He didn't lose a second at your weak voice, slipping under the cover to pull you close into his chest.

"I've got you." He kissed the top of your head as your body started shivering, from fear or cold, he wasn't sure. Probably both.

He gripped your waist and carefully flipped you around to switch places, putting your back to the wall instead of the black void, hoping that it would give you some reassurance. Instead, you merely hid in his chest.

His fingers combed through your hair, waiting patiently for you to either fall asleep or say something.

"Thank you." He almost missed it, the words muffled by his clothed chest.

"No need to."

"I do. You didn't have to." Your face separated from his torso, to peer at his eyes.

He felt your hand moving from around his waist to make its way up, towards your face. His breath caught in his throat at the contact of your fingers barely touching his cheek, the very first loving contact you blessed him with.

"I wanted to." He whispered back, hopeful that you'd get his intention so he didn't have to voice them.

"I'm glad." Your chilly palm rested fully on his cheek, relaxing his muscles despite accelerating his heartbeat. "On our next leave maybe we can go hang out together? Just the two of us?" You silently offered.

"I'd like that."

Biggest understatement of the millennia. He was delighted that you'd caught on his unsaid feelings and offered him some time alone with you.

As soon as your hand left his cheek he felt cold, already missing your touch.

"Goodnight Cross." Your hot breath passed through his blacks to tickle the skin beneath. You moved your arms back to your chest, forehead on his sternum.

He waited for a second, savoring the feeling of your real body cuddled against him. It felt even better than he imagined.

"Night."

He made sure to fall asleep after you, waiting until your breathing evened out before even thinking of drifting off. One last time he stroked your cheek, his movement as delicate as he could to not wake you up.

He let himself relax, a hit of a smile stretching his lips at the thought of going on a date with you sooner rather than later.

Maybe being second wasn't all that bad.

#bad batch x reader #crosshair x reader #hunter x reader #sergeant hunter #clone force 99 #clone wars #star wars #jealousy is in the air #but with a happy ending

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Text

Title: Progression.

Pairing: Yandere!Best-Jeanist/Reader.

Commission for the lovely @99shadowcat99.

Word Count: 1.6k.

Synopsis: You’re sure Hakamada only has your best interests in mind. You came to him in a time of need, after all, and as a hero, it’s only natural that he’d want to see you improve. You’re sure he does, you only wish he didn’t have such a cold way of showing it.

TW: Toxic Relationships, Financial Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, and Slight Stockholm Syndrome.

It probably didn’t help that you’d been at such a low point, when Hakamada first found you.

It was something you couldn’t deny, something you didn’t try to deny, not when it had such a lasting impact on your relationship. He’d pitied you, back then, met you when you were broke and desperate and willing to do just about anything for a recommendation, a place to stay, a steady wage and all the stability he and his agency could provide, if you just managed to worm your way in. You could only be thankful he’d decided to interview you personally, despite his position. You never would’ve gotten the job, otherwise.

You’d never admitted that to him, not out loud, but that was something you liked about Hakamada - he picked up on little details, no matter how subtle. He noticed up on your willingness to work overtime, your erratic apologies whenever he called you into his office, regardless of the reason why. Your chronic lateness, your reliance on the charity of your coworkers whenever the staff went out for after-hour drinks. You’d never told him, but you never needed to. He was more than willing to help you, whether or not you let him know how much you appreciated it. He was a Hero, after all. It only made sense that he'd do whatever he could for someone in need.

The job hadn’t lasted, you weren’t really cut out for it, but Hakamada had.

Some days, you could even convince yourself he’d done it out of love.

Tonight, the task was easier than it usually was. In his penthouse, standing in front of the full-body mirror he’d had brought in and installed just for you, it was easy to fall into the idea that you were the object of his affections, the apple of his eye, someone he cared about and someone he cared about genuinely, especially when you were already dressed in clothes he’d bought, wearing the jewelry he’d been generous enough to pay for. You knew it wasn’t much, for him. Even if everything he gave you was designer, expensive enough to make your heart speed up and your throat go dry, it wouldn’t make a dent in his salary, and he seemed to like providing for you more than you liked being provided for, honestly. But, you couldn’t refuse. Hakamada had done so much for you, he was still doing so much for you. If he wanted someone to spoil, you couldn’t refuse. And, while you were on the topic…

“Are you ready, beautiful?”

You couldn’t let him know you were so reluctant, either.

You hadn’t heard him come in, but that didn’t stop you from leaning into his touch as you felt his hand cup your cheek, its twin coming to rest on your hip. He was gentle, if nothing else, his chest barely touching your back as he leaned forward, eyes scanning over your reflection, searching patiently for something to correct. You didn’t mind, submitting yourself to his scrutiny with minimal resistance. He was a perfectionist. He looked at everyone like a project, and you weren’t an exception.

Still, you tried to sound confident when you answered. Even if that meant lying through your teeth. “I think so,” You said, smoothing over your outfit one last time. “It’s a Hero’s gala, right? It’s not like anyone’s going to bother paying attention to me.”

“If you’re on my arm, they will.” He always sounded so stern. This wasn’t your first event, you’d gone plenty of times as his assistant and as his partner, but Hakamada liked to be thorough. Before, he’d dug the heel of his palm into the base of your spine, pinched your cheek whenever your attention started to drift, and even after his valet had already arrived, he’d still spend the better half of the drive searching for loose threads and stray hairs to aggressively correct. Now, to fix your posture, he was kind enough to stop at squeezing your hip, his free hand nudging gently at your shoulder. It was merciful, in comparison, but it was still difficult not to feel like a prized mutt, locked into a muzzle and dragged onto a pedestal. “Keep your back straight. You remember everything we went over, don’t you?”

Of course. He’d only spent the past three hours drilling it into you. “I do, Hakamada.”

There was a pause, just the slightest bit of hesitation. “Hakamada?”

To your credit, you caught your mistake a second after he did. “I mean, I do, Tsunagu--”

“You’re really going to address me like that in front of journalists?”

Your eyes dropped below the mirror. For whatever reason, you didn’t want to look at him, anymore. “I’m sorry, Tsun’.”

Luckily, that seemed to satisfy him. Hakamada let out a heavy sigh, and you could feel him shaking his head, more out of disappointment than genuine annoyance. The gesture was familiar, as was the anger-tinged guilt that accompanied it, but he still took his time, letting the feeling brew before he bothered to speak. Sometimes, you had to wonder if he did that on purpose, if he knew he was only making you feel worse by trying to act so forgiving. Most of the time, though, you pushed the thought out before you could dwell on it. You’d only be making things worse for yourself, if you started thinking about things like that. “I’m just trying to help,” He started, the mantra already engraved into your mind. “You’ve come so far since I first found you. All that progress shouldn’t go to waste.”

It wasn’t a question. He didn’t need you to agree. It shouldn’t, and as far as Hakamada was concerned, you didn’t get a choice in the matter. “I know. I’ve come too far to backtrack.”

“You’ve come too far to throw it away.” That was something you didn’t like, when you’d worked for him. It was all or nothing, with Hakamada. A mission was either a success or a disaster. His newest sidekick was either a prodigy or a wash-out waiting to happen. Failure wasn’t an option, not when the slightest mistake meant disrepair. “Things have gotten better for you, haven’t they? You’ve enjoyed your time with me?” It was a question, this time, but he didn’t want an answer, even if he paused as gloved fingers trailed over your side, only leaving your skin for a moment before he cupped your jaw, tilting your head back just far enough for the change to be noticeable. Just far enough to force you to look at your reflection, whether or not you wanted to. “It’d be such a shame if all of this had to come to an end just because of a few insignificant, avoidable mistakes.”

Suddenly, your throat went dry, your heart drawing a little too tight in your chest. It'd been happening more than it should, lately, considering how careful Hakamada encouraged you to be with your health. “You’re… This is going to end?”

He always seemed to enjoy it, when you said things like that. Maybe it was your tone, the softened desperation you didn’t try to hide, or maybe he took it as a confession, a sign that you cared for him, or that you cared for what he could provide, at least. You hoped it was the latter. He liked it when you were desperate, and you liked to pretend that he didn’t. “Of course not, dear,” He soothed, his disappointment suddenly gone and replaced with something more assuring, something more sentimental. As sentimental as Hakamada was capable of being, anyway. “I’d sooner lock you up completely than ever let my little muse run off. Besides...” He trailed off, a light chuckle fading into a scoff. “Even if I did lose you, I wouldn’t be able to let you go, not entirely. It wouldn’t be fitting for my partner, past or present, to go back to living in some tiny apartment, struggling to make ends meet. It’d be embarrassing, for both of us, and I don’t know if I’d be able to stand the distance.”

You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t have to. Hakamada was distracted, now, pressing a light kiss into the dip of your shoulder before he pulled away, fiddling with the cuffs of his suit. “We’re already running late. When you’re ready, come find me. I’ll be waiting.”

You didn’t turn around. You heard the door to his bedroom close, his footsteps growing more distant as the seconds ticked by, but you didn’t feel the need to watch him, you didn’t want to see him, his face, how unaffected he was by the doubts that plagued you like some ever-lasting, unshakable waking nightmare. You knew it wasn’t healthy, objectively. You shouldn’t have to wonder if your boyfriend really likes you. You shouldn’t have to practice your smile, lower your voice, contort yourself to fit his standards of perfection, your needs be damned. It wasn’t healthy, it wasn’t even pleasant, but…

He was right. You didn’t go back to the way things used to be. Starving, working yourself to the bone to make rent, letting any Pro-Hero who showed an interest turn you into something soft and toothless and malleable. It was easier to be with Hakamada. It was easier to let him have his way.

It was easier to tell yourself that you’d still be allowed to leave, if you wanted to.

With that in mind, you turned on your heel, starting in the direction he’d gone off in. You would stay. You had to stay.

You wouldn’t know how to be yourself without him, anymore.

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bettsfic · 4 years

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Hi betts, how do you separate yourself from your fanfiction works? As in having the mindset that ‘you are not your work’? I feel like I’ve fallen into the myth that positive feedback equates to readers liking me for me, when in most cases I imagine they’re solely interested in my content. I guess I’m expecting too much from fandom members? I just don’t feel like I belong to the fandom if it weren’t for my fanfiction. Thanks for your time.

this is a really great and really big question that for me anyway had far deeper roots in my mental health than i initially recognized.

even before i found fandom, i strongly conflated love with being of use to someone, and then i would get upset that people used me. all of my relationships were either distant or volatile. i knew that i was the only thing all my relationships had in common, but i couldn’t figure out what i was doing wrong.

what i was doing wrong was that i didn’t know how to love or be loved. i only knew how to need and be needed. i was defined wholly by my relationships with others; without them, i was no one. i changed everything about myself to fit with the people i was surrounded by. i had no ability whatsoever to see or assess myself. my worth was measured in others’ perception of me. if they hated me, i hated me. if they loved me...actually, i still hated me, because i believed that love was temporary, and it was only a matter of time they saw the “real” me and they would take their love away. it was much easier to mold myself into someone they could love.

i once told a guy i was dating, i just want to be who you want me to be. and he looked at me like i was crazy, and asked, then how can i love you?

when i found writing, i didn’t know what love really felt like. i only knew obsession and codependency. i didn’t know how to feel emotions in order to process them, so everything that had ever happened to me was still just sitting inside me, waiting. writing offered me a tool to begin working through the pile. it offered me a means to observe and validate myself, and feel my feelings.

but when i was first developing a relationship with writing, i put so much of myself into it that i couldn’t help but use feedback as a measure of self-worth.

i think to some degree, every artist needs a witness. almost everything we write exists to be made public to some degree, and it’s a totally normal thing to want to seek reception. but conflating other people liking you, and by extension your work, with your worthiness to exist, creates a lot of self-suffering.

i remember realizing that i had boxed myself into a corner, and i knew i had to reassess my perspective of myself and my work. i had found myself in the same position you describe, feeling bad because readers didn’t love me, they loved my writing (see: being of use and wondering why people always used me). especially with fanfic, which has so much to do with quantity, 90% of readers don’t even look at the fic writer’s name, let alone kudos or comment. reading is a self-fulfilling endeavor the same way eating is. all of us need stories to live. as writers, we’re just the chefs. when you eat a good meal, you don’t fall in love with the chef. most of the time you don’t even know their name. the food isn’t the chef and the story isn’t you.

but also, i was, and always had been, disgusted and baffled by people who *did* love me, especially if i felt i had nothing useful to offer them. once, a friend of mine drove like 3 hours to come visit me for dinner, and then drove 3 hours back. for some reason i assumed he was on a road trip somewhere and just passing through. when he told me he had come just to hang out with me, my brain short-circuited. i couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to hang out with me like, for fun.

after a few years of posting fic, a weird thing happened where a few people did seem to like *me* because of my writing, insofar as they would follow my blog and interact with me and eventually we became friends. there may even be people out there who like me and don’t interact with me. but that idea also kind of weirded me out for a long time, because i kept thinking, who am i? no one. i’m nothing. i’m boring. go read my writing, that’s what matters.

and then i realized, i could not have it both ways. either i wanted to be seen, or i wanted to go unseen. i was schrödinger’s validation.

so i think the very simple answer is “learn to love yourself,” but i was so far behind when it came to love, i didn’t know what loving yourself even meant. so i think a better adage is “learn love.” learn what love is, what it feels like, what it looks like. and then turn that definition on yourself and your work.

i love myself, even when i mess up, even when i’m not meeting my expectations. i love my work, even when it’s bad. when other people love me and my work, that makes me happy. when they don’t, that’s fine, because i still have plenty of my own love left.

in practicality, for a few years i basically had to constantly chant to myself “what other people think of me is not my business.” a reader’s relationship with your writing is not your obligation to know or control. it’s only your obligation to create the stories you want to tell, and maybe you share them so you can share the love you put into them, or maybe you don’t. maybe you eat the meal you cook, or maybe you share it with someone else. whether they like it or not has no bearing on who you are. it’s all just personal taste.

more importantly, you can’t generate self-beliefs externally. someone’s opinion of you or your work cannot define you, because no one has a wider view of you than you. you are the expert of yourself. it took me a long time to change all of my self-beliefs, or what i’ve come to call “life sentences,” into statements of temporality and priority. “i’m brave” turned into “i value courage.” “i’m bad at directions” turned into “sometimes i get turned around.” every time i’m about to make a sweeping judgment of myself, i try to recast it into something more malleable, because every state of the self is temporary, and i always want to give myself the opportunity to grow.

i won’t lie and say i have a totally healthy relationship with my writing. i still get jealous sometimes, although it’s much briefer and more bearable than it used to be. i still get deeply annoyed by tactless or rude feedback, but i rarely get upset. i *do* get upset when someone sends me a link to a forum or thread of people making fun of me; i think it’s hard to unlearn that. sometimes i still feel the need to defend or justify or apologize for my work. and i definitely still compulsively refresh my comment inbox whenever i post something i’m proud of. but for the most part, i’m in a much better place than i used to be.

currently i’m working on making peace with the idea of publication, that my original work treads a morally risky line that is easily misunderstood, and i’m publishing into a world of mob mentality and cancel culture. and moreover, once a work is published, once it’s out there, it can never go back in. i’m trying to figure out whether i’m confident enough now in my work to still stand by it in ten years or fifty. i’m also freaked out about how anything i publish will outlive me. as someone who has always lived with existential dread, it’s terrifying to think i may write something that could be read in a hundred years, that my voice might live longer than my body. there is a very slim chance of it, but as i’ve mentioned before, i think it’s better to plan more for success than failure.

i’m not sure if any of this is helpful, but it’s the path i took to get where i am. i wish you the best of luck navigating your relationship with your work.

my carrd | writing advice masterdoc

#writing advice #Anonymous

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chocosvt · 5 years

Text

⚬ pairing: mingyu x fem!reader | purge!au ⚬ word count: 15,728. ⚬ warnings: weapons, death, drugs, blood. ⚬ genres: ANGST, spicy/nsfw scenes, fluff to mend the heart, romance, action, and whatever else you could fathom lol.

✧✎ synopsis: the annual purge was a system of purification, alleviation, a supposedly psychological device in which people found a moment to unleash their indignation. you never purged until you met mingyu, a boy whose warmth was just as palpable as his darkness. you begin to fall for him, which means involvement with the evil he’s managed to attract.

✧✎ a/n: longer note at the end of the fic! sorry i’ve kept this in the vault for AGES bc i couldn’t figure out how to write in the ‘twist’ or whatever the fuck. you’ll know when you get there. anyways this is for @mihgyu (sorry it freakin took so long!) and @solgyus as they are my Resident Mingyu Stans. i also changed the title bc i thought... yknow... it fits better!

You had always wondered what life was like for the previous generation, the generation who grew up without acquaintance to the annual purge. It was an alien concept if any concept at all, one so foreign and inexplicably bizarre that the cogs in your mind would start jamming against each other in a struggle of comprehension. The education system had groomed its pupils into believing it was the only plausible way to recover from an economic collapse, feeding into gullible and malleable minds the possibility of clearing rage through bloodshed.

When your parents disappeared at dawn, leaving nothing behind but the sound of a lock clicking shut and a note advising you to stay away from the windows and doors, it could be assumed they’d return at morning with crimson-stained clothing, crusted lacerations, and heavy weaponry sealed taunt to their hands; or maybe they wouldn’t return at all. Yet you were taught to believe that was okay. At least if you didn’t have your family, you had your friends.

At least if you didn’t have your family, you had Mingyu.

As much as you despised admitting to yourself, Mingyu meant to you what the moon meant to the tides, what the sun meant to the meadows. He kept you in perpetual motion, allowed you room to recuperate and blossom into a much stronger version of yourself after your father never came home. When he lost his job your family lost its momentum. The last you ever saw of the man was his backside as he slipped through the door frame, a chortling in the evening air, a black revolver clasped to his hand.

He seemed to disappear alongside your mother’s sanity. She isolated herself and pushed everyone away, even you, the only person capable of nurturing her. In school you’d learned that the purge was supposed to bring purification, it was responsible for cleansing humans of the everyday stresses that slowly crushed them flat. Purging allowed them happiness; a twelve hour capsule to unleash what the law prohibited three-hundred-sixty-four days a year.

Yet when you looked to your mother, you didn’t see any traces of happiness or fulfillment, just an empty shell that sat with sunken eyes in her rocking chair, mumbling to herself like a toddler. Before you even had time to find closure after your father’s disappearance, your mother suffered a similar fate, abducted through the windowsill by a maniac who sought vengeance for the crimes committed beneath your father’s hand. He was a stingy businessman who often scammed to make his money, therefore collecting a myriad of enemies.

Notably, you didn’t start purging until you met Mingyu. The first time you’d ever used a gun with malicious intent was when you ran into the man responsible for abducting your mother. The kick-back from the trigger had you stumbling across the watered asphalt, the silver slick rain that caved down from the clouds washing away the minuscule spatters of his blood that blew onto your face. As he slumped down against the red bricks, the animation draining slowly from his eyes, he spluttered,

“S-She’s dead, she payed for your father’s incompetence, his greed.”

In complete lifelessness you lowered the weapon, not realizing how close the distant gunfire sounded until Mingyu had to drag you away by the wrist. He murmured his condolences to you when the air was tinged with less bloodshed, carefully nuzzling you into his chest when the reality of what you’d just done had come spiraling forth, leaving a slap so brutal across your face the burn seemed more realistic than the raindrops hitting your skin.

You felt disgusting, enclosed in a body that had been consumed by the purest form of hatred, and there was nothing you could do to evade the feeling of that ugly gun pressed into your hand. But within that same moment, hot tears pumping onto Mingyu’s shirt, you understood a certain satiation that tempted so many people to do what you had just done.

“We can’t stay here,” You felt the vibrations from his deep voice against your cheek, coolness stinging the heated flesh of your face when you lifted your head to meet his gentle eyes.

“Gotta keep moving, alright? It’ll be over soon, I promise.”

Mingyu’s composure was definitely an admirable trait. But then again, he’d been exposed to this environment long before you ever questioned purging. At that point you had felt completely numb, allowing him to wind you through the crevices and shadowy tunnels building the foundation of the city, your vision blurred by a mixture of salt and rain water. You felt safe with Mingyu, though it hadn’t always been like that. Before your friendship you were an outsider to the boy, harbouring nothing but a tiny crush toward him and his handsome face.

In fact the first time you’d ever spoken to Mingyu, it was after his fight with Wen Junhui, one of the most infamous, cynical purgers you prayed to never meet.

Two Years Ago –

“I’ll kill you if you come near her again!”

“Is that supposed to scare me?!”

You’d never seen a fist fight in real life before, and you were positive that was a good thing. A large crowd steadfastly increased around two tall, venom-eyed boys caught up in their alcohol. They were spitting profanities, threats, and whatever else their clouded minds could formulate within the gap of the other’s speech. The party had been rather lackluster before that point anyways, so like the congregation swarming to the centre of the room, you etched into the crowd and managed to stand just inside the inner circle.

“Shit – sorry,” you squeaked as you were suddenly shoved into the girl beside you. Your face became hollow like a crater on the moon when you saw that it was Mingyu’s girlfriend.

“What am I supposed to do?” She mumbled whilst biting her nails, “I didn’t know how to stop it.”

“Stop the fight?”

She continued babbling, “Junhui kept coming on to me and Mingyu saw. They’re both competitive, boggle-brained idiots when they’re drunk. I don’t know what to do.”

Her name was Yang Yeeun, born and raised by parents maintaining such wealth that rumours began circulating their bloodstream was crushed rubies. You could see her pearl earrings flashing behind the straight black locks framing her small face. You don’t think she ever took them off. Her father manufactured security systems for the purge; however, the most recent release had been proven to bore many defects and flaws. She didn’t care, as long as she got a slice of the wealth.

In the beginning, Yeeun and Mingyu’s relationship came as a slap to the wrist. How could two people reaping such difference in personality become so close? Yeeun was frank and staid, with cold, cindered eyes that never displayed an eclipse of emotion. Her complexion was just as pale as the pearls she wore and her heart swam darkly.

Mingyu was her polar opposite.

Sure he was intimidatingly tall, but any menace he constructed with his height was easily derailed through his bubbly nature. He was what you call, “a gentle giant,” and anyone who contacted him for more than a brief period understood this. The warmth was in his honey-brown gaze, the velvet of his tanned skin, the sepia tones that were shaggy in his hair. When he spoke you could feel the gravel roll beneath your feet, and when he said your name heat would flood your face like steam throughout a hot spring.

Again, Mingyu and Yeeun made a bizarre couple, yet he loved her so deeply you swore the dark coverings in her heart had peeled back a little.

You kept in mind, a little.

“They’re fighting over you?” You questioned carefully, trying not to exaggerate your words so that it seemed utterly impossible for her to be worth fighting over.

“Yes,” Yeeun gritted, her eyes darting around the crowd, strangers pressing into the circle, allured by drunken shouting, “can’t they wait until purge before they start ripping into each other?”

Wouldn’t it be best if they didn’t rip into each other at all?

“Like you said, they’re drunk and stupid,” you opted for the latter choosing.

Mingyu’s mellow stare had been licked over by enraged flames, the remaining liquor still pumping through his system and warming his blood until it sizzled. His fists were balled tightly, fangs peeking past the taunt snarl on his lips. Junhui appeared calmer, though the bar of composure was quite low to begin with. The unkempt ends of his midnight black hair were shaking, his sharp nose crinkled, and his stare so impossibly intense that you were nauseated a vein on his neck might become engorged and pop.

As interesting as it would be for you to witness your first fist fight, you knew it wasn’t a wise idea for these two to start swinging at each other.

You set a hand on Yeeun’s shoulder, “maybe you should stop thi—,”

Suddenly, her palms encased her mouth as the last few words of toxicity were spat between Mingyu and Junhui, the crowd erupting in brazen cheering as the two lunged for one another in a flash of blurred colour. Your jaw was permanently unhinged, your body set in stone, attention completely spellbound under the boys who were viciously entangled. The world seemed to spin at a snail’s pace whilst the fight flickered faster than lightning. At one point Mingyu had Junhui shoved up against the wall, one hand nearly ripping through the boy’s black-collared shirt as he tore his free fist back and swiftly launched it forward. The hard ridges of Mingyu’s knuckles connected with Junhui’s eye, his head smashed back into the drywall so that an indentation remained.

“G-Get the fuck off me, Mingyu!”

“You fucking asked for this, dumbass!”

In another fuzzy whirlwind of movement, Junhui managed to push Mingyu backward and onto the snack table, bowls and bottled alcohol spilling across the floor with jade shards of glass scattering in flurries. Junhui drew his fist into Mingyu’s face, the collision splintering against Mingyu’s brow bone. You could see the speckles of blood flying off Junhui’s hand as he curled his fingers into another ball, preparing to throw once more. Panic encompassed you from every angle; it drowned you above your head until the crowd’s bellowing became a muffled choir to your ears.

You could hardly breathe as your sights shifted to Yeeun, the girl with her hands still clasped to her mouth, doing absolutely nothing.

Was that a smirk hidden behind her hands?

She really did have a dark heart. By the looks of it no one was going to intervene. You were most likely the soberest person in attendance. Even if it downright petrified you, letting those two get their hands so bloodied it would look like they doused their arms in red paint wasn’t a viable option.

“Hey!” You barked, slowly etching your way into the clearing, “what the fuck is wrong with you two?! Get off each other!”

Mingyu and Junhui were still a violent mass now buckled to the floor, anger and alcohol swelling through their bodies like a drug. You felt your knees wobble, as though a tight fist had an ironclad grip on your entrails and was squelching them around slowly. Junhui had Mingyu pressed to the floor, and raised in his arm was a sparkling shard belonging to a smashed bottle. You didn’t know what it was, but something inside compelled you to react. In a mere instant you were ripping the shard from Junhui’s hand and screaming at the top of your lungs, the crowd’s cheering turned to hushed whispers.

“Enough!”

Your chest was heaving, fingers grasping the glass piece tightly enough that thin lines of red began dripping down your hand. Junhui and Mingyu had peeled themselves apart, the deep marring of hatred etched so profoundly into their eyes you’d never be able to forget it. Yeeun suddenly blossomed with emotion after standing on the outskirts smirking into her palm, the girl bounding toward Mingyu and snaking her arms around his neck like she’d been downright sobbing with worry the whole time.

“C’mon, Gyu,” she gritted, “we’re leaving.”

Thanks for the help.

You were tempted to call.

The fight between Mingyu and Junhui might have stopped, but the party continued to thrive. You were wandering through the upstairs hallway as the wooden floorboards jolted beneath you, driven by incessant music that became a furthering echo. Fresh blood had yet to stop streaming down the grooves between your knuckles, pooling from the lacerations of that jagged, glass shard and wetting your warm skin. You continued seeking for a bathroom, any room really that might contain a first aid kit, or at least some water and tissues that would help to clean your hand.

Each room was either occupied or locked. A defeated sigh ghosted from your lips as you stood at the end of the hall, weakly knocking your healthy hand against the last door. Scarlet drops were creating a puddle on the wood whilst you waited, until the brass handle jiggled and you were stepping back in shock that someone had actually acknowledged your presence.

Of course, the person doing the acknowledging had to be Yeeun.

“Oh! It’s… you.” She murmured. Behind her slim frame you could see Mingyu sitting on the sink, holding a cloth to his eyebrow.

“It’s me,” you replied, desperately wanting to skip the small talk and use the first aid kit. Didn’t she say she was leaving?

Yeeun finally noticed the red pathways on your hand and nodded, “I see you need to get yourself bandaged up.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You hummed, trying not to sound impatient but utterly failing.

“Well… I’ll be right back then. Just so you know there’s no gauze left.”

“That’s okay, I don’t think I’ll need an—,”

“I’m going to look for some!” Yeeun called as she squeezed her way past you and began trudging down the corridor, “be back soon!”

Mingyu tossed you a lopsided smile when you entered the bathroom. You kicked the door shut with your foot to drown as much noise as possible. Though the small barrier didn’t do too much in regards to sound, it certainly made the bathroom feel one-hundred times smaller. Or maybe it was solely Mingyu and his gargantuan height. Perhaps it wasn’t any of those factors and you were just feeling nervous to be enclosed in a private space with him. Either way, your face turned into magma and you felt like swallowing sand. Without saying a word you turned on the sink and let the cold water stream between your fingers.

“Hey.” He began.

Oh no. If you initiate conversation with me there’s a ninety-nine percent chance I’m going to fall in love with you.

“Thanks for intervening. You kinda saved my life there.”

You scoffed whilst scrubbing the dry scarlet from your wrist, “I think you could have taken him.”

Mingyu took the wet cloth from his brow and folded it over before reapplying pressure to his own wound, sighing deeply. “Fuck this. I hate getting drunk.”

Fastening your teeth into your lower lip, you remained silent and continued swirling around the bloodied skin until the red currents seemed to all drain away, down the white porcelain. You winced a little because there was indeed a stinging sensation, but it was better than allowing the cuts to get infected. Mingyu’s curious gaze was watching the scene intently, and with his body propped right next to the sink, there was really no easy way to avoid your feelings other than to talk with him.

“How’s your injury?”

“I don’t know, how is it?” He peeled the damp cloth from his brow bone. You could see that directly in the centre the skin had spilt, a little ways above the brow and a little beneath it, bright pink flesh gleaming from between the dark hairs and tanned skin. It would definitely leave a scar.

“I’m no doctor, but you might need stitches.”

“Seriously?” Mingyu grimaced. “That fucking sucks.”

You scoffed. “That’s funny. The same kid who socked Junhui in his eye is afraid of getting a few itty bitty baby stitches.”

Mingyu pouted, his thick brows then slanting downward which made him wince petulantly. You couldn’t suppress your chuckling, turning off the sink with a coy smile playing along your mouth.

“I’m joking.”

“I know.” Mingyu said. “I’m sure everyone’s gonna start saying he’ll rake my eyes out at purge.”

You laughed at that too, though deep down you both knew it wasn’t anything flowery to laugh about. Junhui was the definition of nefarious. Similar to Yeeun his family danced in riches, their security systems were top-notch, and his access to weaponry and blueprints of the city could be in his hands within minutes. People worshiped the ground he walked on, but it wasn’t because they liked him. It was only sensible to play nice to the person capable of taking your life away in a single breath.

Of course, Junhui’s reputation made him a prime target, yet despite all the people who secretly wanted him dead, it was difficult to even lay a scathe on his amber skin.

In your eyes it was better to avoid the boy altogether. That way you never gave him any reason to seek out your oblivious-self during the annual purge. Mingyu had crossed that line to the fullest extent. He laid more than an innocent scathe on Junhui; the boy had given him an entire fist to his pretty, supposedly untouchable face. Feeling your heartbeat thump widely, you quickly willed to change the subject.

“Do you see any cloths? Or Kleenex? Anything?”

Mingyu frowned. “Sorry, nothing.”

You shook your arm out over the sink to shed some water droplets, yet the blood still continued to bead. Mingyu looked sympathetic. He presumed it was his fault you were even injured in the first place.

“Yeeun’s getting gauze.”

“I think I’ll be okay—,”

“Wait!” Mingyu suddenly piped. “This might be super awkward but—,” the boy’s tongue peaked out between his pink lips as he gripped the end of his white t-shirt and gave it a tear, pulling off a strip of fabric.

Your cheeks began crackling and your palms felt oddly clammy, “M-Mingyu, don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the boy said, “this shirt’s old and busted anyways. It’s better than walking home, dripping blood everywhere.”

You smiled softly and stared at the floor.

“Here! I’ll even wrap it for you.” He purred, gently reaching for your arm and twining the white material like a roll of bandages around your hand.

Forgetting about his own spilt brow that began clotting with blood, Mingyu finished his dexterous work with a tender glance that made your stomach flip, his chocolate bangs falling endearingly before his eyes. After shaking the fringe away, he gave you a thumbs-up.

“Now you look like you just got into a fight.”

“Right, because I’m the first person everyone suspects to start a fight. You hit the nail on the head with that one.”

Mingyu chuckled at the heavy sarcasm, blinking his pretty lashes at you with such warmth you keened to melt like an ice cream cone. You supposed after that moment, Mingyu might not be nearly as brutal as his drunken, love-induced mind influenced him to be. For a fleeting moment you even doubted that this was the same boy with his own kill-list. His eyes glimmered like diamonds catching a shaft of light.

“That’s something only time can tell.” He purred

Two Years Ago –

When Mingyu and Yeeun broke up, it was like the universe took its cue to make everything in life feel unreal. If their romance was nothing more than a mirage, then had romance ever existed in the first place? At least to you, it routinely appeared as though Yeeun’s heart had never been within the same realm as Mingyu’s. There was always an island of separation between them, one little ploy that prevented the couple from truly clicking like puzzle pieces. That ploy was exigent in the form of onyx hair, a sultry voice, and bottomless eyes.

In other words the obstacle was Junhui. Yeeun started dating him no less than a month after the break-up.

Mingyu, he was crushed; taking the point of devastation and expanding it an extra nine yards. In contrast with Yeeun’s heart, his was always wide open, warmer than a summer fire and more embracing than sun rays. You swore she would be the girl he took to meet his mother, the girl whose finger he delicately touched to slide upon a silver loop. A part of you crumbled each time you saw them together, before the break-up, and even more so after the party.

Remembering how his rough fingertips skimmed the wet (and surely burning) skin of your hand as he wrapped the cloth around it did something peculiar to your mind. Reminiscing on the soft timbre of his chuckles made your head spin, and replaying the manner in which his eyes twinkled as he gazed at you through his thick bangs brought forth fluttering in your stomach. It was what you were daydreaming about even after their infamous break-up, fingers clacking against the keys on your laptop whilst you finished an essay in the library. To your dismay, the thoughts were scattered by conversation at the table behind you.

“Think Junhui is gonna gut Mingyu at purge?”

“Probably not, Mingyu would be expecting it. And it’s not like he’s hopeless. Did you hear about how he stabbed someone to death in the tunnel last year?”

“Yeah. But Junhui’s clique practically owns the purge. They’ll tear your fuckin’ house down if they can find it.”

“…True. Those two seriously have some bad fucking blood. Do you remember the rumours about how Junhui sho— ”

Unable to listen any longer without this horrendous churning against the walls of your stomach, you shoved your laptop into its carrying case, swung it over your shoulder and began shuffling between the book shelves. Your stare traced the floor whilst a pummeling sensation thundered into your ribcage. Mingyu didn’t seem like the type to kill, though you didn’t know him personally, and perhaps he had matters of vengeance that crooned for redemption. This tiny hope inside you flickered, prayed that Mingyu was unlike Junhui, the kind that tortured for torture’s sake, the kind that shoved a pistol beneath your jaw because you looked at them funny.

Suddenly, you collided with someone. Blinking upward, you gazed at the body you’d walked into, Mingyu, who was in the midst of pulling out a book.

“Sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going.” You apologized.

You hadn’t seen him for a while, but he looked healthy, a bit tired perhaps, but mostly healthy. Dressed in comfy clothing, a grey hood drawn with his earbuds plugged in, he popped one of the speakers out and lent a small smile. His eyes were slightly veiled by his earthy bangs, the coarse fronds wavy in front of his forehead. His scent was a concoction of something tropic mixed with cannabis, and when he spoke his voice was lower than usual.

“Were you leaving?” Mingyu asked.

Yes.

“No, no. I wanted to finish my essay somewhere that wasn’t... back there.”

“Oh,” he sighed, “seemed like you were in a rush.”

“I was just thinking.”

Mingyu stuck the book back into its gap and smiled, “about?”

You sniffled. “What?”

“What were you thinking about?”

Obviously you were not going to admit that you just overheard conversation about Mingyu being gutted under Junhui’s hand, about Mingyu supposedly cramming a knife through whoever’s chest during last year’s purge, about Mingyu’s history of participation in the annual mayhem that plagued the country like a sickness each year. Now that the purge was on your mind, a dark worry skulked in the shadowy crevices of your brain, yet it seemed to dissipate just as quickly as it arrived when Mingyu stared at you so gently.

“How much I hate essays.”

He nodded. “That must be it.”

Without thinking, you blurted, “what happened with your eyebrow? Did you get a scar?”

He simply carded back the bangs covering his forehead and poked at the nick with his finger. It would have been courteous to receive a warning that he was going to reveal his forehead. He had no clue how powerful a mechanism it truly was, how badly you wanted to kiss that tiny scar after seeing the slit through his brow. Swallowing the flushed heat that arose in your throat, you grinned with a closed lip.

“Well, it makes you look like a badass if that’s any comfort.”

Mingyu let his hair flop back into place and laughed quietly. “What’s up with your hand? That cut looked so nasty.”

Looking down at your fingers, you probed the faint lines of where the glass had sliced your skin, engraved almost, like a stone carving.

“Kinda. It doesn’t look as cool as your eyebrow slit though. And you’re way less busted than Jun. His eye is still purple.”

For a brief ellipse you simply embraced the opportunity of being alone with Mingyu. That some higher deity had taken pity on your life barren with romance and granted you this precious exchange to add to your vault of daydreams. The more his hoarse voice lapped at your ears, surely roughened yet equally soothing, you felt your chest create a burrow for him, a gap that only he could fill. It baffled you, that Yeeun could break his heart. But it didn’t surprise you. She was built from titanium, similar to Junhui, and together they were hawks that would make prey of everyone.

“Trust me,” Mingyu said, “it wouldn’t make me feel any better if we were matching.”

His jaw clenched, and his stare slipped to the floor for a transient moment. A nearly imperceptible breeze tickled up the back of your neck, causing you to rub at the fine hairs as Mingyu’s usual aura slowly dissipated into a much darker nuance. You gulped, attempting to laugh something of comfort back into the air.

“There’s a lot we could match in, like... bracelets! Or a necklace! Or one of those couple t-shirts... Not that we’re a couple,” stuttering helplessly, you felt electricity tingle in your cheeks, “I was just thinking about matching stuff and that popped into my hea—”

“It’s fine.” Mingyu responded, the storm clouds cast in his gaze finally ebbing away. He smiled, and a deep chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“You’re pretty cute y’know? I don’t think I’d mind.”

1 year ago –

You never spoke commonly to Mingyu about the idea of purging until you were thrust into the political nightmare on a whim, a stupid, stupid, moonstruck whim. The few times the morbid topic arose seriously, neither of you had enlightening stories to exchange. A bitter knot lodged itself into your throat the night you reiterated to Mingyu about the tragedies concerning your parents; the disappearance of your father and the abduction of your mother, a tearful lining glossy in your eyes.

You’d never seen Mingyu express such grief when he returned the storytelling.

He moved out from his parent’s house when he was eighteen years old, his best friend, Minghao, making the journey alongside him. Faintly, you remembered Minghao, more or so from your high school days when you shared the same last period art class. He had always been rather subdue, never really speaking with anyone apart from Mingyu, though there had was a handful of times where you caught him and another boy, Wonwoo, skipping class together. Apparently Wonwoo didn’t have a very good home life. He’d supposedly been forced into purging since middle school, and his psyche never quite recovered.

You never even saw Wonwoo smile apart from when he was with Minghao.

However, one day that boy from your art class just disappeared, and the rumours hadn’t stopped swirling since. It was a common fact that Minghao never purged. He didn’t have any bad blood with anyone either.

Not that you were aware of.

In the beginning stages of Mingyu’s purging he used to commonly venture with a group of three friends. Wonwoo happened to be one of them, plus another named Jihoon (who you could recall dawdling around in the background of the party) though Mingyu never named the third. He described it as being pure, inexplicable dread. They were constantly finding themselves in gruesome situations that forced their true colours from camouflage, how they stole burning glimpses of the other when the night came to an end and blood was caked to their clothing. The purge had tainted all of them, some more than others, whether it be with drug addiction, eternal madness, or an unhealthy fascination to mend so seamlessly with the evil that they personified it.

However, genuine fear pitted in the core of your stomach when Mingyus’ fists had clenched in his lap, his features distracted by a look of anguish as he sucked in a breath and spoke in an unsettling, distant tone.

“It was four of us in my car. I was driving, Wonwoo and Jihoon were in the backseat, and he... he took up the passenger seat. It was different... How he reacted to the purge... The rest of us were still somewhat fearful of it but he almost thrived in all the destruction. We were even talking about going purging without him the next year, but...

Mingyu had to clear his throat.

“I guess Minghao was waiting for me to come back to the house. He probably wasn’t even waiting on me specifically, he had this little crush on one of my friends, Wonwoo. They were always messing around together. Minghao probably got excited when he heard us, so he came outside, onto the grass... But then I heard the pop of the gun out the open window... I just... I don’t fucking know if he thought Minghao was a maniac or... If he was on drugs or something... But, God... He just —“

You didn’t allow him to say anymore when his words became warped, when his voice cracked and his eyes split like a sheet of broken glass. Minghao didn’t just disappear - he was killed, and Mingyu knew who was responsible. Instead of pressing him for details, you reached for his hand, rubbed your thumb along his knuckles, made sure he knew that you were there for him.

And yet you had been thrust into the setting of the same picture during your first purge, the first time you had ever experienced what it was like to harm someone, turning their existence into an irreparable patch in the universe.

This is your emergency broadcast system, announcing the commencement of the annual purge.

At the siren, all crime, including murder, will be legal for twelve hours.

All emergency services will be suspended.

Your government thanks you for your participation.

“This is going to be your entire fault if I die tonight, Mingyu! I just want you to know that!”

“Relax. You’re going to be fine. We’re going to be fine.”

It was nothing short of chaotic. Pitch blackness shrouded the skylight like a heavy cloth, the distant rattle of gunfire and screams sitting heavy in the air as you raced down the street. The horrendous acts were most commonly centred to the city’s heart, where prime businesses, rich corporations, and notorious killers congregated to create havoc. Still, that didn’t make you any less petrified, your nails sinking into Mingyu’s hand like dog’s teeth. Fights were slowly beginning to litter the sidewalk, a store going up in orange flame and hissing embers now glinting behind you.

“I knew that we weren’t going to make it back to your place on time. I knew it was stupid that we even questioned going out on purge in the first place - Ah!”

You shrieked at an unprecedented decibel as two men came tumbling out of the alleyway only meters away from your feet, your body slamming into Mingyu’s backside when he cemented himself to a halt. The men payed no notice to you, entirely engulfed in their own world of vengeance through bloodied fists and messy punches.

“This way.” Mingyu’s words were like a breeze in the midst of a hurricane.

You hardly registered he’d even said anything until his grip lurched you forward and you were stumbling to the opposite side of the street. Then, your jogging pace skyrocketed into running, the breaths just squeezing from between your lips and the pain in your chest aching so potently you felt like vomiting. Your stamina was breaking faster than glass. You couldn’t afford to run any longer.

“M-Mingyu, can we please stop?”

The boy didn’t seem to have a choice as your fingers began unclasping from his hand, your body collapsing on the concrete staircase belonging to the city bell tower. Mingyu anxiously carded his hair back, his eyes moving hyperactively down the street only to be greeted with more and more violence consuming his vision. Gunshots seemed to thunder from every direction, splintered shouts joining hymn. Large trucks blared down the black pavement with ominous members hunched in the open cap, holding weaponry and wearing masks of painted wood.

The boy squatted down, his palm firmly encasing your cheek and keeping your head up.

“I’ll give you a minute. But then we have to keep going. It’s too dangerous to stay in one spot.”

You stared into Mingyu’s face with a tiresome expression, the bronzed and gleaming hue of his skin reflecting the fire that crackled in the distance. His touch became sterner as he moved in closer, his eyes no less than a few inches from your own.

“Trust me, I know you’re exhausted. We’re gonna be at my place soon though, okay? You just gotta hold tight for a little longer.” He pressed his forehead against yours, and met your gaze head on. “I’m going to keep you safe, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

An intruding shout echoed a little too closely down the street, engendering you to choke on your own heartbeat. Mingyu growled in irritancy, pivoting his head and glaring at the stranger who stepped from an alleyway. Rather than looking frightened (you were on the verge of sobbing bullets), Mingyu’s forehead crinkled angrily, the tiny scar that cut through his brow beginning to slant.

“Stay put.” Mingyu commanded you.

There was a colder lining to his tone that you’d never heard before, malevolent and icy. As soon as his touch fell from your cheek, you knew his hands were about to tend to a much different matter. Your mind implored for you to look away, yet your heart waned for the exact opposite. The man was scraggly and a bit stockier than Mingyu, a mischievous intent welling in his movement as he seemed to dance back and forth like a hummingbird. He wore a smooth, white mask and a heavy brown coat that bore many unidentified stains, a long, curved blade in his hand.

“You’re just a kid,” the man taunted, “it’s always the younger crowd that get so riled about the concept of murder, think they’re all that, but they drop faster than flies when it comes down to it.”

Mingyu didn’t waver. “You should keep talking if you want that knife poking through the opposite side of your throat.”

You inhaled stiltedly. This was definitely not the same Mingyu who smiled with the power of a burning star, his mannerisms filling your chest with laughter and his golden eyes bathing your face with heat. You thought back to the library, the conversation that drawled behind you. This was the Mingyu they were talking about. You had a feeling that the innocent projections in your head were close to changing.

The man chuckled and pointed his knife, shaking it at Mingyu, “you’ve got the same cockiness as that rich China boy’s little clique. I’m sure you’ve heard about them. They’ll be flocking to the streets any minute now.”

Mingyu spoke gutturally in response, the disgust and repulsion so thick in his voice you almost couldn’t recognize it. “Don’t you fucking dare compare me to him.”

The man chuckled darkly, “hit a nerve, did I?”

You weren’t sure what happened next, mainly because it all happened so fast, a series of swift movements (on Mingyu’s behalf) that resulted in your pulse fizzling like hot oil. Ultimately you were going to be exposed to murder one way or another, though watching it reflect in the glassy curve of your own eyes left behind a deep scarring. The man lurched at Mingyu with his hefty blade slashing for the chest, most likely assuming that because of Mingyu’s height he would be quite slow and lack agility.

However, that was severely not the case, to the man’s dismay more than anyone else’s. Within the span of sixty measly seconds Mingyu had tripped him onto his back, snatched the blade from his grip and wedged the knife directly into the man’s windpipe, exactly as he said he would do.

At that point you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. Mingyu’s breathing was level as he rose from the man’s waist, a burgundy pool of blood bubbling at the neck where the blade had punctured skin. Mingyu lifted his jacket, pulled the knife out, and attached the weapon through his belt. He spent an extra few moments patting the fresh corpse down until he uncovered a small revolver hidden in the inside pocket on the man’s coat. When Mingyu handed you the revolver in means of protection, you didn’t realize you were shivering.

“Now,” he pronounced, “we’re going home.”

And at the time you believed him.

Until thirty minutes stretched into an hour, an hour into two hours, three hours, four hours. The chaos that was the purge had encompassed you both. This supposedly psychological device controlled you like a ventriloquist. Violence sneered at every turn and eventually an unspoken conclusion emerged; that it was easier to join chaos than it was to run from it. Later that night everything came full circle.

You were the one pointing the weapon, aiming the silver barrel into the face of the man who had broken in your home and abducted your mother last year, on account of stupid, petty crimes your father had committed in the past. Seconds before touching the trigger, all you could picture was his face swathed in moonlight, the horror that clawed in your stomach when you ran down from your room that night to see him yanking her out the smashed window.

And when you felt the release of the bullet, it became emboldened that it truly was a small, cruel world.

Present –

Squeezing one eye shut, you held the black gun with both hands and aimed the muzzle toward a tree stump that acted as your target, a cheek pressed into the taunt muscle of your shoulder as you inhaled a steadying breath. Delicate winds blew across the meadow, each strand of grass rippling in a hypnotic wave. The horizon lay beyond the tree trunk, a bleeding yellow sun submerging quietly behind the endless terrain, casting a honeyed glow to speckle like rain droplets upon your face.

There was not a single sound apart from the grassy fronds tickling against each other, your concentration solidifying to a mar in the tree bark. Then, your finger ghosted over the trigger, a sharp burst echoing into the pale yellow sky and causing a distant congregation of birds to take flight. The bullet struck the wood, right where you had envisioned the lead entering.

“Look at you,” the tension keyed into your bones drifted away, exiting your body in a shallow exhale once Mingyu’s prideful tone filled the spaces between the winds, “your shot may be even better than mine now.”

After lowering the firearm to face the earth and switching the safety on, a demure smile danced across your lips. Mingyu’s arms were strong and looping carefully around your waist, hauling you back into the broad expanse of his chest. He buried his face into the smooth plane where your shoulder met your neck, his soft locks feathering along your jaw. You giggled the second his lips kissed your shoulder, evening sunlight spilling across the meadow and encouraging heat to caress your skin.

“The student becomes the teacher,” you purred, “I even remembered to turn the safety on this time.”

“You’re damn right you remembered to turn the safety on,” the boy quipped sternly, his palms gliding downward to grip your hips and spin you around, “you almost took my kneecap off the last time.”

Furrowing your brows, you pursed your lip at him petulantly, “can we stop talking about that? It was a mistake you big idiot.”

“I know, I know,” Mingyu cooed, “a very, very, very dangerous mistake.”

You rolled your eyes as he unwound the black firearm from your fingers. He walked toward his jacket that sat on the blanket you’d strewn across the grass, making sure to place it back inside the pocket.

“You still need some more practice, but I think for today we can call it quits. How does that sound?”

The boy then fell back onto the blanket with his head titled to the side, his eyes staring up at you winsomely. With the sun flaring behind you, the vibrant streaks set the grass aflame, making it appear as though Mingyu was sitting in the centre of a fire. His skin twinkled like golden silk and his canines peaked between his lips in a smirk. Shrugging your shoulders impetuously, you stumbled toward the blanket and fell into the boy’s lap, squirming against his broad body until he became pinned beneath your weight. As though he were a glass vase, you gingerly swept your finger along his scarred brow.

“Sounds fine,” you hummed, “since I kinda wanna makeout with you right now.”

“I love how straightforward you are, baby.” Mingyu confessed with his intoxicated gaze drinking in your image, already imploring for a taste of the strawberry balm that defined the pretty arches of your mouth.

Unable to quell how your body yearned for him, you gave your eyes a toss and pressed your lips to his. Mingyu craned his neck forward in immediate desperation to feel more pressure against his mouth; however, he soon gave up his craning and allowed his elbows to give out beneath him. His hands snuck beneath your shirt, to which he placed soft squeezes against your ribcage, fingertips skimming lower and lower until they were running along the back hem of your shorts. You continued to straddle his waist as the kiss drawled further, rhythmically slow and sweet.

You didn’t think it was humanly possible for your chest to be so encompassed with fondness, yet here you were, brushing your digits through Mingyu’s tresses, pressing your forehead to his, encasing his lower lip between your teeth to experimentally tug until the flesh swelled and glistened in garnet. You weren’t really sure how you started dating, it just sort of happened. It was perhaps an escalation of lingering touches, infatuated glances, and hot, fever dreams that kept you both slamming awake at blue midnight.

After your first purge together, the connection between you strengthened, like welding two pieces of molten iron into one. It was an experience that ruined you, stripped you of any innocent fragments still clinging to your bone, and once the night came to an end and you were sitting on Mingyu’s bed with blood spatters sopped into your cloths, you burst into tears. Strangely, you weren’t sobbing out of pain, mortification, you were sobbing because you could. It was the only accurate way to depict the weird melancholic, hopeless lump in your throat.

You squeaked as Mingyu grew impatient of your slow kisses. His want was increasing and he couldn’t bear to hear the quiet mewls that kept slipping from your mouth. His strength effortlessly allowed him to flip you on your back, his mass keeping you slack against the blanket as his lips dotted your jaw, your ear’s cusp, until he craved to taste more of the natural salt on your skin and his kisses ventured further down your throat.

Mingyu began suckling at a sensitive patch near your pulse. The warmth of his tongue combined with his teeth, and you felt him scrape his canines sharply against your skin. It wasn’t until the boy nudged his thigh between your legs that your fingers lurched into his scalp, tugging the earth fronds tightly. You couldn’t help but buck up against him, summoning a growl from his chest that only made him press his fangs into the soft skin with more force; not enough to actually break the petal-thin flesh, but enough to leave deep, possessive indentations. The ecstasy drumming in your veins was insatiable.

And yet, you knew it couldn’t progress.

With a fragile whine you placed your hands against Mingyu’s chest and gave the giant a small push, his mouth regretfully detaching from the beautiful marks he was intent on leaving all over your body. He spoke coarsely, breathlessly, when his rosy face surfaced from your neck, though the glaze in his eyes had quickly softened out of fear he’d made you uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong? I wasn’t being too rough, was I?” He gathered your hand in his and kissed along your knuckles apologetically.

“No, not at all,” You mumbled, still dealing with the blare of crimson running through your veins, “I just… Don’t think we should, do it, in a field.”

The hollow grooves in Mingyu’s features immediately flushed with solace, a large sigh escaping from his chest as he allowed his head to tumble into your shoulder.

“Thank God, I thought I hurt you or something,” he heaved in relief.

Your heart sang wildly, knowing that he truly was a boy gentler than butterfly wings and softer than cotton. It was difficult to imagine him as the same boy who ruthlessly shoved a blade through a man’s windpipe, allowing thick trails of blood to slide from the open wound and create morbid puddles on the hard cement. The evening air seemed to turn cooler, the wind’s peaceful lilting now picking up with more vigor. Mingyu collapsed at your side, one of his long legs still tossed over your waist as you stroked his hair.

With the sun halfway behind the horizon, you gulped whilst watching the yellow sky fade into watered, fierce shades of orange.

“Mingyu?” You hummed.

“Yeah?” His warm breath scattered in a ticklish manner against your neck.

“What’s going to happen with you and Junhui?”

Mingyu stiffened instantly. Nibbling on your lower lip, you watched with sincere eyes as the boy lifted into a sitting position. You joined him, closely monitoring the contours of his face that had surely twisted at the mention of the sinister purger. There was no room to blame Mingyu for harbouring such distaste toward the boy. Junhui did swoop in and steal his ex-girlfriend fresh after the breakup and run purge night like he invented the device himself.

Still, you wondered if there could be something more. If there could be a more profound explanation for why the air was so stale between them.

“Nothing is going to happen,” Mingyu said flatly, “are you scared?”

Caught off guard by his sudden questioning, you stumbled over your syllables for a painful second, his gaze turning back to wrack you curiously.

“N-No, I was- I just- I was only wondering.”

“He’s too obsessed with himself to care about me. Don’t worry, okay? Nothing is going to happen, baby.” Mingyu said in a much lighter tone, his signature, canine smile quirking along his lips.

Despite his calm protrusions, you could sense that something murky was swimming behind the curve in his eyes. The boy leaned backward and planted his lips against your forehead, leaving a small, adoring kiss. Shaking away the ominous tension that came with simply speaking the purger’s name, you grasped for Mingyu’s hand and smiled.

“Let’s head back into town.”

He set his jacket as well as the blanket in the backseat and climbed to sit at the wheel.

“Don’t forget about that, y’know,” you reminded him whilst gesturing to his jacket, “it’s not like there’s a gun in there or something.”

“A gun with the safety on.” He replied sheepishly, to which you simply huffed and stared out the window.

You stopped Mingyu when you were no less than a block away from your new apartment building, the tires crunching to a halt beside the common coffee shop.

“I’ll get out here,” you told him, “I’ll be fine to walk back to the complex. I just really want caffeine.”

Mingyu leaned over and pushed the car door open for you, his palm tenderly grazing your thigh as he found your lips. He gave you a quick goodbye kiss, and you felt flowers bloom between the bones of your ribcage.

“Text me when you get home, alright?” He reminded when you slid from the passenger seat.

Scurrying into the coffee shop, you already had an idea of what drink you’d like to get. As you stood off to the side waiting for an employee to call out your coffee, you fell into a slight trance, your eyes casting mistily across the cozy atmosphere whilst the sky began darkening beyond the clean window panes. You thought about Mingyu, how laughable it was that you were dating, and yet you knew you loved him like ink loves to kiss paper.

Hm, you chuckled inwardly, that girl sitting in that booth by the window, she looks like Yeeun, and that guy beside her really resembles Junhui. That’s funny.

That’s funny.

That’s… funny…

“Order 24, half decaf, two sugars one cream.”

To your inexplicable terror, heart-twisting dread, and every other repulsive emotion that could have cloaked you in that moment of realization, the couple sitting at the window booth was indeed Junhui and Yeeun. The employee called out your order again, this time a little louder, drawing customers to look left and right with puzzled glances. The nefarious couple was sitting across from two familiar faces, one with jet black hair brushed away from his forehead, the other disquieting with how vacant his face appeared, a grey beanie pulling back the fronds from his porcelain features, and a lollipop shoved between his lips.

It took you a minute, but you eventually recognized the lollipop boy as Wonwoo. He looked insanely different compared to your outdated, high school memories, where he was just a scrawny, fox-faced boy with the straightest black bangs you’d ever seen, always running around next to Minghao, getting pink in the face when the younger so much as smiled at him. It was evident that purging had completely hardened his face, his aura, to which he developed an almost sinister light. Whoever he was now, he definitely wasn’t the same boy. Jihoon sat next to him, impatiently spinning a stir stick between his fingers.

You didn’t know why you weren’t moving. Mingyu’s words rang in your head.

Are you scared?

Craving nothing more than for a sinkhole to form beneath your feet and swallow you whole, you did the sole thing your body permitted you to do; walk sternly out the coffee shop and pretend you never ordered a single thing.

God - I hope they didn’t see me. That would be the last thing I want, for Junhui and his purging buddies to have anything to do with me.

Jihoon and Wonwoo with Junhui was odd. Had they always been friends? Junhui never attended your high school either, rather he used to be a student at a prestigious private school you couldn’t ever dream of getting into.

Your apartment was close. You could distinguish its height amongst the low-cut buildings lining the sidewalk. If you just walked a little faster, you could be up the cement staircase, swinging open the glass doorway, and be safe within the front lobby. Titling your head back you quickly ogled at the sky. It wasn’t completely black yet, but there were distant tinges of dark, oily colours that pressed down like a heavy thumbprint amongst the grey. The wind picked up behind you, slamming into your backside in menacing howls.

Finally, you’d reached the cement steps—

But it was too late.

His tone was smoother than a crystal ball, lower than baritone, and incredibly seasoned at feigning genuineness. Hearing your name cascade from his mouth that was deceivingly shaped as a heart made your breath flatten. You didn’t want to turn around and face him, but it was too late to pretend you never heard his chant. Unwillingly, your body pivoted like a stone statue, your foot taking that one victorious step back as it left the staircase.

“You walk so fast, you could have been sprinting.”

“Exercise is good.” You nearly wheezed.

For the first time, you realized just how tall Junhui was, his body appearing as a shadowy mass as the wind blew the tails of his trench coat. His brows were slanted, lips quirked, his irises so rounded you could hardly see the white bits. He was handsome in the way that some people found graveyards entrancing. It was the eeriness that allured you.

“You left your coffee.” He stated.

“I realized I had somewhere to be.” You tried to hold his gaze, but it was impossible to evade the nervous eye fluttering.

“As anyone would, it’s getting late.”

The wind whistled between you, dark clouds swirling above your head as though the sky were a witch’s cauldron.

“I think it might rain,” you said meekly, “are you looking to ask me something?”

Junhui took a step forward. He’d never been this close to you before, maybe a few inches away from the tip of your nose. Your gaze tripped to his eye, the eye that Mingyu had driven his clenched fist into that one night, causing Junhui’s head to thrust back against the plaster. You swallowed the salty brick in your throat.

“I heard you like to purge now.” Junhui said with a smile. You swore his caramel gaze glinted with excitement.

Your blood froze. How did he know about that? Junhui saw through you like a translucent piece of plastic. He saw how you inwardly panicked.

“I was surprised,” he cooed, “you don’t seem like the type… But I suppose all that running around with Mingyu changed your morals.”

Your heart was beating at such a frantic pace you feared it may dislodge itself from your chest and land in your mouth.

“I’m so elated you found purpose,” his midnight fronds then fell mischievously before his eyes, keeping the candor of his secrets hidden from you, “the purge is a time of cleansing intended to help people like us find a little alleviation in the world. That one person whose been causing you grief? You won’t have to worry about their disgusting discrepancy that makes you so infuriated. It’s quite healing,” Junhui purred, “if you ask me.”

It felt as though someone just ripped your tongue from between your teeth. You couldn’t speak even if you wanted to. A splash of rain thumped your forehead, and yet you allowed the cold bead to trickle along the side of your nose and run onto your cheek. Junhui’s hand delicately raised, his thumb caressing the droplet away. He stood closer now, eliminating any room in which the wind could whisper through, his bangs tickling your forehead as his onyx pupils bore through your heated face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, looking toward your lips through his heavy lashes, his fingers pointing your chin upward, “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt just because Mingyu can’t take care of you.”

“I-I trust him,” You managed to squeak, though it required every bone in your body to summon equal modicums of courage.

“C’mon,” Junhui seemed to taunt, “you know who I am, right? I can have any weapon, any blueprint, any ctv footage I want directly in my hands, and all it takes is a single phone call.” He grinned wolfishly. “Besides, Mingyu doesn’t have the most durable history of looking out for others.”

His grip on your chin hardened like steel, heart-shaped lips pressed lightly to your ear’s cusp, “you do know what happened to Minghao, don’t you?”

Your body turned more frigid than ice, the warm blood that pumped beneath your skin running colder with every second that Junhui stood, seeing straight through you and to his old friend he’d hurt so dearly. You instantly grew sick to your stomach. The universe beyond Junhui’s shadow was spinning wildly, darting in nauseating circles like a carousel. The images came in flickers; the truck pulling into the driveway, the window cranking down, the crack of the gun as its bullet pierced a shape in the darkness. No wonder Jihoon and Wonwoo were friends with Junhui. He had been the other person in Mingyu’s car.

You felt lightheaded, like you were going to faint.

“I’ll let you go, but just consider your options. Really, truly consider them.” Junhui murmured. “I’m sure you have some personal contentions kept covert beneath that kind tongue of yours. Given your participation, I know you can upheaval your need to feel purification. If you’re wise, you’ll cleanse with us, with me, as you are entitled to.”

Without a single ripple Junhui broke away, his touch drifting like the edges of a silk blanket from your cheek. Immediately afterward, a disturbing burst of wind whipped between your bodies, inducing a long shiver that crept down your spine and fizzled at your fingertips. Your throat felt like cracked sandpaper and your chest bottomed out with a horrendous, wrenching fear.

Junhui knew that Mingyu didn’t fear him, but he knew that you feared him, and he knew that your fear would grow to consume you now that you’d been introduced to the devastating truth.

The radio was on, high-pitched static and monotonous advisement rasping through the car’s sound system. It was clear that in time, there would be a chorus of other harsh noises leaping to fill the sky, any pockets of oxygen, and the spaces that lingered between your hazy breathing. Yet in the dense heat, you could care less.

This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of The Annual Purge, sanctioned by the government.

It was hot, burning. The air felt like scorching linen that pressed fire into your skin. Mingyu’s teeth scraped along your collarbones, the thin layer of flesh that mapped over them singed with bruises and bites and kisses that still glistened.

Weapons of Class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted.

The radio continued to blip. Your fingers tangled through his earth-toned tresses, gripping the thick strands and tugging on them as your throat started to ache. The windows were splotched with oily fingerprints that had been left earlier, when you first climbed onto his lap.

Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed.

Your legs quivered over his thighs, his hands guiding your hips with such a brute strength that the pain welled into numbness and everything that surrounded you seemed nonexistent, save for where your bodies connected like a jewel to its staff. His forehead fell on your shoulder, groans muffled as they brushed your hot skin. He continued to hit deep, and you knew you couldn’t hold on for much longer, the sparks catching a foreshadowing flame

Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours.

It was then, when your weight came down on his lap for the final time, his hips stuttering upward at the perfect moment, that your head tossed back and you felt the energy rip from your body in a single scream. Mingyu wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you flush against him, working the pleasure for all its worth. You then buried your face into his neck, a soft sea of your whimpers filling the thick air whilst Mingyu emptied inside you, filling you with warmth.

Police, fire and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7am, when the Purge concludes.

For a moment, you just needed to close your eyes and breathe in his scent, hear his heartbeat, feel the familiar heat spread throughout your abdomen. He squeezed your hips tight, and his words were barely audible, attempting to drown over the radio’s static as well as the heavy breaths from your lungs. You heard them, even if your ears really had to strain to decipher the syllables whispered at the peak of his sensitivity. Mingyu said he loved you, and he meant it with every ounce of his soul as he felt your body shake in his arms.

Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and a nation, reborn.

And you would have meekly hummed the words in return, if the sudden cacophony of a siren didn’t shred the air like pastry, startling your system that had just come down from the best cloud nine experience you could ever fathom. It would have been wondrous to bask in the afterglow, to trace patterns on his biceps and run your lips over the scar in his brow. It had all been purloined from you in an instant. Though your centre still ached, you crept off his lap and into the passenger seat, cleaning yourself up as best you could.

“Here,” Mingyu held out his jacket that he’d tossed in the backseat, probably since your training in the fields, “it’ll keep you warm if it actually rains tonight.”

“Thanks.” You murmured whilst slipping the fabric around your body, noting that something a little heavy was inside one of the pockets. You remembered the gun was still inside. Suddenly, Mingyu started the car, the engine purring lowly and musty clouds of exhaust puffing into the empty parking lot.

He tapped the steering wheel with his palm, “where should we head?”

When the sirens faded away, you looked to him and smiled, “wherever you want.”

The red sun seemed anxious to disappear, for its rays cracked across the sky like bloodied, broken ice, hurriedly pushing itself further below the horizon as Mingyu drove into town. The Purge never introduced an easy atmosphere to stomach, yet tonight, you felt the bile in your throat was more acidic than usual. Maybe it was because you knew a huge secret, one that tied Mingyu’s hatred to Junhui’s existence.

You didn’t confess to Mingyu anything. Every word that seeped like a venom from Junhui’s lips was sealed within you, and only you. It was already painful enough for Mingyu to brace through such a traumatic incident. There would come a time when he told you his reasons for hating Junhui, and that time had yet to come.

Even so, the terror was exhausting. The first few nights after your encounter with Junhui, your slumber was plagued by gruesome nightmares, his comfortable laughter, and the black fire that seeped in his eyes as though he were some underworld creature. You’d slam awake in a cold sweat. At times you’d be so drenched that you needed to take a shower before going back to sleep, that is, if your mind allowed you to. Sometimes you would phone Mingyu and lie to him, tell him you needed to hear the brass in his voice as your nighttime spell.

You never told him about the nightmares, the panic, or the anxiety. Now the Purge had returned after its position was quelled in the nation for a year. Your head turned to glance more thoroughly out the window after you flitted past a man holding an axe tool, a painted mask shielding his face.

It didn’t take long for the streets to begin flooding with people of the same stature, and if their eyes of thirst were hidden behind costumes, then it became more than evident in the weaponry that adorned their guises. Mingyu seemed calm as he stared out the dash, his eyes giving away nothing that would hint toward his inner complex. You sighed and let your cheek rest in your palm, your gaze unable to stop tracing each and every person that emerged from the dark crevices.

About forty-five minutes had passed, driving around the quieter outskirts of the city. Looking into the side-mirror, you watched as the occasional killing occurred behind you.

Mingyu smiled. “The night just started and you already look like you’re over it.”

The echo of a gun pierced the air. You cringed slightly.

“I don’t know if I’m over it or not. I guess I’m thinking about how I’ll ever suppress witnessing senseless murder, y’know?”

The boy gently stuck his arm out, across the glove compartment, his thumb stroking your cheek for a fond moment.

“We don’t have to hang around. I can drive up to the field where we’ll be away from the worst of it. What do you want, baby?” He asked.

You scratched at your knuckles and puffed through your nose. “I don’t even know what I want. Am I supposed to feel this way?”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, “what way?”

“Melancholic, sorta like everything seems pointless. How do you feel?”

Mingyu took a wide turn to avoid a collection of smashed bottles that glinted on the road, increasing the vehicle’s speed steadily as the chaos increased. Like your first Purge, you saw the distant glow of burning buildings appear across the lake, at the other side of the city.

“I don’t even know if I can describe it anymore.” He shrugged.

You turned your head to look at him, deciding to ask something rather abrupt, but a topic you were curious on nonetheless.

“Why did you start purging?”

The boy’s canines pushed into his bottom lip as he probed his mind.

“Because I was friends with someone who wanted to. Even involving yourself once makes enemies. You can’t hide from it after that.”

Staring at the side of his face, you felt almost dirty for knowing a pivotal piece belonging to Mingyu’s past.

“Were you friends with Junhui?”

There was a thick silence as you waited for Mingyu’s response.

“At one point, yes.” He admitted, his words sounding distasteful.

You shifted up in the seat, stretching out your hand to rub Mingyu’s bicep.

“I don’t care if you were. I know you aren’t the same as him, and that this night changes people. You don’t let it consume you like he does.”

Mingyu took a turn through a wide alleyway to avoid a hostile situation escalating at the far end of the intersection. You didn’t get a good look as the sky was continuing to lose its orange light, but the flash of the group’s masks and weapons was convincing enough to take a different path.

You couldn’t help but note that Mingyu’s eyes had become slightly watered.

“It was never about purification,” he told you, “I never had any specific target, or someone I detested. Neither did Jun. But he comes from a family that relies on purging as their income. His mom designs weapons and his dad works for some underground branch, assigning bounties. He just isn’t the same as us. I was lucky if I could even hold a gun in my hands without trembling. I had to learn how to desensitize myself. For Jun, it was almost natural.”

A familiar sickness made your stomach twirl.

“It’s sad he had to grow up like that.” You sighed, glancing out the window whilst Mingyu remained silent.

A few minutes later, and you were laughing. “I didn’t mean to make the mood so terrible. I was just wondering.”

“I know,” Mingyu said, his lips curling warmly, “I can’t blame you for being curious, baby. I just don’t think back on my past all that much.”

He then gave you a thoughtful look, and your chest started fluttering embarrassingly fast. “I like focusing on right now, where I have you.”

It was quiet again, to which you let your thoughts roam astray.

You pictured the night your father disappeared, the night your mother’s life was taken away from her when she wasn’t even capable of defending herself. The feeling of coming down the stairway to broken glass, spilt moonlight, and a dirtied face lugging her away couldn’t be compared to any pain. And daring to unlock that enraged, bitter half of yourself, you thought to applying pressure on the trigger that killed the man responsible for her death.

Those memories influenced your appreciation, your gratitude, toward Mingyu, the boy who you had always admired at a distance, never knowing he could be so tender and benevolent. It was possible that you could have turned out similar to Junhui if you let your indignation take control. Seeing how Mingyu always remained so grounded helped you keep your footing, and you hoped there never came a day when you started looking at the world how Junhui did.

All of sudden, your musing was shattered when a pick-up truck roared from an alleyway and soared into the street, plumes of grey smoke pumping from its pipes as the tires screeched against the asphalt.

”Mingyu, watch out!” You screeched, gripping the steering wheel.

At the same time, Mingyu veered away from the truck, your heart nearly tearing a hole right through your chest as the head of your vehicle rammed into a light post. The collision jolted your body forward, though the seatbelt kept you strapped in and unscathed. Mingyu cursed through his teeth.

“Fuck, are you okay?” He rasped.

“I-I’m fine. Let’s just get the hell out of here.” You replied shakily.

Mingyu’s facial expression relaxed for less than a second. He appeared ready to oblige, though casting another inspection into his features relayed a nauseating truth. Suddenly, Mingyu’s hand gripped the back of your neck and he forced your head down between your legs. You heard it, the crisp echo of a gunshot. Except there was no bullet that punctured the glass and made fragments rain over your body. There was no dent in the metal door either. The barrel was purposely aimed to a different area, and as the second shot fired off, you felt like passing out.

They’re shooting at the tires.

Mingyu whispered to you with a coarse urgency, “this way!”

He’d managed to open his door, your only choice of escape a labyrinth of alleyways that lay beyond the mangled car. The alleys were dark, damp, and most likely rife with impending danger. Your throat closed in when you attempted to swallow. You could see the blade that Mingyu had collected from the console, already tight in his hand. Licking your leathered lips, you squirmed out his side after he’d gone through. He was squatted down, waiting for you.

Just as you joined him, you cast a glance above Mingyu’s head, your blood turning into ice as a slim figure appeared around the back end of the car. It was a man, dressed in a black raincoat, long and glossy. He was wearing a dirtied, white mask, where kohl paint was runny down the large eyes and the mouth was outlined in a red marker. Next to his side was the long barrel of a shotgun, and you felt unimaginably dizzy. Mingyu immediately identified the terror that leaked into your gaze, and with a thick gulp, he dared stare over his shoulder.

“Hey Mingyu,” the stranger mumbled, taking the pointed chin of the mask and tipping it upward, revealing a fox-like face, “long time no see.”

Mingyu wrapped his fingers around your hand and stood up slowly, ensuring your body was sheltered by his size. You breathed as quietly as your vandalized chest would allow, your diaphragm keening to erupt.

“Wonwoo?” Mingyu echoed, “I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“Didn’t mean to scare you or anything.” The boy said, his voice very deep and smooth. The depth reverberated in your chest and made your skin crawl.

“Are you crazy, dude?” Mingyu growled. “You shot out my fucking tires.”

Wonwoo scratched the nape of his neck. “I was just following orders.”

You had no idea what was happening. The only piece of concrete knowledge that hadn’t been fogged over in tangible fear was that you could still hear incessant firing in the distant, chaotic screaming and rioting. Looking down to the blade that glinted in Mingyu’s palm, you were able to plant a little reassurance in yourself knowing of his skill and ability to stay grounded. Keeping your mouth shut, you held Mingyu’s hand in a vice grip.

“Following orders from who? What are you talking about? Are you wired?”

“It’s understandable you would think that,” Wonwoo sighed, “but I’m not. If I were though, your death might be a little easier.”

“Since when are you supposed to kill me?” Mingyu sounded flat out bewildered.

It was then that it dawned on you: Mingyu really had no idea Wonwoo was still a part of Junhui’s brigade.

Grinding your teeth together in contemplation, you finally decided to swallow the grain in your throat and break the truth. Getting close to Mingyu’s ear, you whispered to him what you knew, no matter how much of a fable it may be perceived as. Visibly, his body stiffened. His fingers gripped the blade’s handle with an unprecedented rage.

“What are you doing?” Mingyu implored, candor in his despair. “Even after what he did to Minghao? What the hell is holding you to him?”

“It’s nothing personal, but as you know already, Junhui is filthy rich,” Wonwoo gloomed, cocking the barrel once more, “and he’s promised me some things.”

Mingyu clenched his jaw. “You mean more of those drugs he keeps stealing from his dad’s lab? Wonwoo, what the fuck happened to you? The last time I heard from you, you were getting clean, you were going to start fresh!”

There was an unorthodox twinkle in his black stare, oddly full of emotion, hurt, repressed pain that cut deeper inside than out.

“I tried,” Wonwoo stated, a slight anger tainting his voice, “I went to three different rehabilitation clinics. I took a vacation to the rural springs and received lessons in guided meditation and bought myself a journal so I could document my success in getting clean. And you know what? I haven’t touched that journal since the day I fucking bought it. Tell me, Mingyu. How the fuck am I supposed to care about staying clean, how the fuck am I supposed to care about anything when I saw the love of my life get fucking shot right in front of me?”

Mingyu shook his head in disbelief, “Wonwoo, I--, I know that was horrible, I know that hurt you and--”

“Just shut up,” the elder interrupted flatly, “maybe today I’ll actually feel something when I put this barrel between your eyes.”

It was impossible to stand by and remain silent. Chewing on your bottom lip, you gathered a modicum of courage and poked your head around Mingyu’s shoulder.

“So you’re going to kill us just because Junhui wants you to? That’s how you’re going to live the rest of your life? Listening to his psychotic fantasies about purification and entitlement?”

Wonwoo narrowed his eyes at you, his jaw taunt.

“I know you loved Minghao, I know your life hasn’t felt the same since. Minghao was Mingyu’s best friend too. You weren’t the only one who lost somebody. Do you think when I came downstairs at fourteen years old and saw my mother get pulled away through the window that I wasn’t upset, angry, confused at the world? Junhui just sees you as a pawn to delegate the matters he doesn’t want to dip his hands into, but you’re a real person. Wake up and act like it!”

For even just a fraction of a second, Wonwoo’s shoulders slumped, his finger that was feathering the gun’s trigger drifted from contact, and the stoic cloud in his eyes fuzzed a little. You were starting to feel confident. Yet just as easily as the feeling came to you, you were caught off guard by an arm that slid around your neck and lurched you backward, against a hard chest.

Mingyu barked immediately, his blade drawn and eyes wildly dilated as he turned to face the person responsible for holding onto you. Biting the inside of your mouth, you squirmed and thrashed and kicked, until something cold pressed into your temple and suddenly the energy evaporated from your body like dew droplets on an August day.

Mingyu’s voice sounded rusty as he gaped again. “Jihoon?!”

Wonwoo piped up suddenly, and his eyes turned cold once more. “Be careful, dammit. She’s the one we can’t afford to bruise up.”

Jihoon’s arm was now wrapped around your neck, pressing against your windpipe and causing your air supply to falter. You knew it was a gun that was poking sharply into your temple.

Mingyu’s gaze was wild and rife with fire. He growled between his teeth like a wolf. “Don’t even fucking think about it, Jihoon.”

Wonwoo stepped forward and shook his gun at the boy who was closing off on your breathing. “Junhui wants that one,” he pressed the snout of his weapon into your chin, “alive.”

Jihoon sulked, his voice rumbling in his chest, “So what’s our fun tonight? We kill Mingyu and then pack up?”

You wriggled again in Jihoon’s arms, tempted to gnaw right into his wrist. “Can we not kill anybody?!”

“Calm down,” Wonwoo instructed, “I hate shouting. If any of you shout I’m planting a bullet in your brain.”

“You’re such a bore,” Jihoon whined, pressing into your windpipe with more force, painting speckles of white across your vision. Mingyu was bubbling with rage, like a teapot left on the burner for too long, his teeth clamping down so tightly his whole face was aching.

Wonwoo used the muzzle of the gun to tip your chin toward the moonlight. “A word of advice. Stop struggling and you won’t get hurt.”

“H-He’s hurting me,” you attempted to coherently spit past the pressure concocted against your throat. Jihoon was issuing enough force to make your eyes water and your head spin. Mingyu piped up, but Wonwoo was swifter and beat him to it.

“Lighten your grip.” He told Jihoon.

“I’m not even holding her that tightly!” The boy protested. Wonwoo’s face didn’t crack. He just repeated himself with an underlying menace.

“Lighten. Your. Grip.”

“It’s all pretending! Can’t you see? They’re trying to distract you so Mingyu can shove that blade through your back. Don’t be so fucking soft, Wonwoo. Look! I’m hardly touching—“

Bang.

Wonwoo dug his gun right into Jihoon’s forehead and pulled the trigger, the strict barrier against your throat immediately releasing. A fresh gulp of air hastily entered your lungs as you stumbled, Jihoon’s body folding onto the sidewalk from the corner of you eye. Mingyu quickly caught you, cupped your face in his hands and wiped the beaded sweat at your forehead. He kept whispering to you that you were okay, repeated the words in a soothing, husky mantra, his thumbs stroking your jaw in comforting sweeps. The ringing in your ears was unfathomably painful, it stung and stung and stung.

“Well,” Wonwoo announced with a despondent sigh, setting the gun over his shoulder, “I really do hate yelling.”

Mingyu’s kissed your forehead briefly. Your lips were still dry and they struggled to form a word of thanks to Wonwoo. The boy shrugged.

“He was holding you kind of tightly.”

Mingyu gasped, “no fucking kidding.”

Wonwoo sighed. “I guess I don’t expect to live much longer now that I’ve gone and wasted my companion here with my last few bullets. Not to mention I have prolonged the existence of your life, Mingyu, which I was strictly ordered not to do. It was nice to meet your little partner in crime too.”

“What are you talking about?” Mingyu questioned whilst gathering you into his side.

“I didn’t follow through on my order. I can’t bring myself to do it. ” Wonwoo mumbled. “We’ll catch up in the afterlife or something. Maybe where you’re going is different than where I’m about to go. You’ll probably be with Minghao while I deservedly rot. One of life’s many mysteries, right?”

There wasn’t much of an opportunity to process the situation, not when a gunshot echoed from down the alleyway and pierced the boy in his temple. The shotgun clamped in his hand clattered against the cold, concrete sidewalk, and his mask clattered off his head. His body joined the likes of Jihoon who’d been staring up at the night sky with dead, glazed eyes, a trail of red leaking down his nose. Your head pivoted and you felt a surge of vomit climb to the back of your mouth, for the person behind the trigger was Yang Yeeun, her pearl earrings flashing against the silver moonlight.

“Horrendous.” Her accent was thick with venom, heels clicking down the alleyway as she stalked in her black trousers and white dress shirt.

Intimidation sweltered against your skin at just her attire. The fact she dressed expensively for the night proved she wasn’t expecting to get in any confrontation that would result in her own blood being spilt.

“I expected Jihoon to cause trouble, but not Wonwoo. He was so promising. I guess he really did need drugs to stay sane.”

She stepped over a corpse you hadn’t noted lying face down in the alley, growling between her teeth.

“Filthy,” Yeeun remarked without a grain of empathy, “nothing but filth.”

Mingyu gripped your wrist and you felt your body stumble behind him. Keeping your arms drawn against his back and softly breathing, you inhaled the musky scents of damp, nighttime air and car exhaust. Though you couldn’t directly see Yeeun, her voice was still audible, lacquered in such a feigned delicacy it reminded you of Junhui. Mingyu hadn’t said a thing. He didn’t have to speak for you to know his heart was decaying.

“There’s my sweet boy.” Yeeun cooed. She was close now, so close you peered between Mingyu’s legs and saw her shiny heels standing in blood spatters.

She regarded Mingyu like they were still together, like they still reflected the image of romance that was envied by so many people, you included. Her arm extended, pale, numb fingers brushing along his amber cheek. You wanted to scream at her to never touch him again. It was her own mistake to let Mingyu go, when he was positively in love with her and preached their future with honeyed words, like an artist who preaches with paint.

“You know, I miss you,” she hummed, tracing the flint of his jaw, “I’m so terribly sorry you had to witness your old best friends get a bullet to the brain, but, that is what happens when tensions are high, and, you know, we can’t afford to let many errors slip past us. Now, let’s not let that put a damper on the night. It’s still young, and so much has yet to happen. How about you come with me?”

You knew there was a handgun she was keeping pressed to her leg right now, and that if neither of you complied, it would be put to good use. Mingyu hadn’t opened his mouth. His lips were tight and his eyes were concentrated. Maybe he was trying to scheme.

Yeeun stretched out her gun and let the muzzle clink with Mingyu’s knife, trying to push the weapon from his hand.

“Just drop this and follow me, sweetheart. Due to these unforeseen events, there’s been a change and your presence has been urgently requested.”

Quicker than expected, Mingyu complied. He let the blade untwine from his grasp and rattle against the ground. If he did have some sort of plan, you were hoping that giving up his only weapon was part of it.

“She can come too,” Yeeun purred, “Junhui wants to see both of you.”

Yeeun trudged behind you, her weapon drawn, a manicured nail feathering upon the trigger just in case one of you attempted something of trickery. Tall, grimy buildings surrounded you, leading up to the black sky, where the stars gazed down in lamentation. Mingyu’s fingers were wrapped around your wrist with such steely strength that you felt your circulation dwindle, though the tiny, tingling feeling would never surpass the fear that sat like a pound of tar in your stomach. Similar to your first purge, tears pushed at your ducts, though there was a certain exhaustion shrouding your body that prevented them from falling.

Despite your unstable condition, the possibility of death snickering right in your face, the wavering thought that either Junhui or Yeeun could imbue a torturous fate, you were worried about Mingyu.

Yeeun was playing him expertly. She knew it wasn’t her heart that cracked after their breakup, it was Mingyu that suffered independently. Only he bit the nail, only he felt the salt mix with his wounds, and only he would welt in self-contemplation over a love that he nurtured, alone. If it came down to it, and your life was on the line, would Mingyu hesitate? Would he be afraid of hurting someone he used to treasure so dearly? You didn’t doubt his affections for you. His heart was strong, but what if Yeeun’s deceit was stronger?

The labyrinth of alleyways had finally led you to a dead end. Your wrist shook in Mingyu’s grasp, for the man nonchalantly leaning against the solid wall was none other than—

“Junhui,” Yeeun cawed, “you won’t believe what the fuck just happened. Wonwoo popped Jihoon. He’s dead, should have brought more crew instead of displacing them like we did.”

She finished her sentence by fitting her gun right snug at the back of your head.

Junhui spat onto the floor before he unstuck himself from leaning against the wall, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his dark trench coat.

“It doesn’t matter,” he dismissed, “using Wonwoo and Jihoon was a squander anyways. I could have concluded both their lives at a much more efficient pace. I’m guessing you took care of the traitor?”

Yeeun cackled, “right though the side of his head. He fell like a stack of cards.”

“It’s a real disappointment,” Junhui huffed, “since the beginning Wonwoo and Jihoon have shown the utmost loyalty for me and my craft. But, I guess this just demonstrates how purifying this device truly is. We’re ridding the streets of scum, aren’t we?”

Mingyu released your wrist, and you felt like a bomb had just dropped to the soles of your feet. His lips parted and his voice was deep. Hearing him speak allowed your heartbeat to calm, even with Yeeun’s gun taunt into your hair.

“The streets will never be rid of scum until you’re over and done with.”

Junhui cocked his head, his mouth falling open and his eyes twinkling as though a tiny flame had ignited in their inky depths.

“And here is the biggest traitor of them all!”

Junhui tossed his head back and ludic laughter echoed into the compressing air, “how do you suppose you’ll rid me, Mingyu? Are you going to give me another black eye? Curse at me? Damn me to hell and back because of what happened that night? Damn me behind my back because I took Yeeun away from you? The girl you once loved and valued with your every essence?”

It was then that Junhui shifted his sights on you, his lips pulling wide in a smile.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware Mingyu, but your partner and I exchanged a very compelling conversation a while ago. I guess word never got around to you.”

Junhui’s boots dragged over the crumbs of dirt and asphalt that littered the ground, his presence nearing closer and closer. When you tried to lower your head, Yeeun’s gun pressed with a stricter force into your scalp, filling you with enough fear to keep your gaze straight.

“You’re very fortunate, Mingyu. To have such a pretty thing to call your own.”

Junhui’s hand reached for your chin. His touch was colder than the dark shadows that masked his soul, and it engendered a shiver to slither along your spine.

“Don’t put your hands anywhere near her!” Mingyu seethed, to which Yeeun instantly switched her gun to point against the back of his skull.

You could see his jaw clench from your peripheral vision. But Junhui didn’t listen, and his thumb pushed down on your bottom lip as though he intended to brand your skin with his insanity. He spoke lowly, smoothly, confidence lathered into his every syllable.

“Do you know why I did it?” Junhui stared into your eyes and asked.

“Dd-did w-what?” You warbled.

“It wasn’t because I was jealous of Wonwoo and Minghao, or because I had some personal contention against the boy. I didn’t even think when I pressed the trigger. I spent the whole night adding so much blood to my hands, that the moment I saw another shadow move, my body just - it just acted for me. Like it was an instinct. I wasn’t sad... But I wasn’t happy. I only knew I was no longer myself... I was someone stronger, someone enhanced, and that is the greatness of this evening!”

Junhui clutched your shoulders and shook them, his eyes alight with a certain derangement that petrified you to your core.

“You’re reborn! Don’t you get it? You’re no longer tied down by the concept of goodness, and your free will is truly free. When will you two realize that--”

Out of nowhere, Mingyu shoved into your side so aggressively you stumbled sideways and collapsed on the sooty ground. The air was knocked from your lungs and your heart pumped like it had been electrocuted. Fuzzy splotches of colour coalesced before your watered vision, projecting nothing but an obnoxious blur. There was shouting, the loud crack of a harmless gunshot, and scuffling that emanated from every direction. Before you could separate the blacks from the blues, something cold wrapped around your wrist and dragged you backward. Then, your entire body was thrust up against the brick, scrapes and bruises already forming on your bare skin.

When your head stopped spinning and the world dulled down from reflecting three versions of the same image, you were shuttering, whimpering, as Junhui held you firmly against the wall.

Across the alleyway you could see that Mingyu had Yeeun pressed to the floor, his palm covering her throat whilst he took advantage of his weight to keep her slim frame still. He fought to unwind the firearm from her fingers, but when he did, the weapon was digging into her forehead. You wanted to scream at him to pull the trigger, to fucking end her already, even if your throat felt like it had been scraped of all moisture and scrubbed with a pad of steel wool. You heard Junhui snicker, his mouth twisted cynically. It was evident what he was thinking, for it was identical to your own thought.

“Like hell you’ll do it!” Junhui screamed.

If it came down to it, and your life was on the line, would Mingyu hesitate?

Love. It was just as much a weapon as it was a comfort. And as Mingyu stared down at Yeeun, silver pearls of water slipping from her brown eyes, the eyes he had fallen for, you felt consumed by terror, that your life may truly end at this exact location. Mingyu proved your doubts were transparent and his finger jammed against the trigger. Except – there was nothing, nothing at all. The gun had no ammunition left. Yeeun sighed heavily.

“Don’t do this,” she mewled, still wriggling beneath him, full-fledged tears pumping down her flushed, scarlet face, “I never meant to hurt you. It’s just – you wouldn’t understand why – he didn’t leave me any choice!”

Mingyu released his ironclad grip over her throat and used his fingers to sweep the stray hairs from her eyes.

“Shut your fucking mouth.” He abruptly snapped. “You lie through your teeth like it’s the only thing you’re good for. You don’t love anyone or anything. I bet you lost that silver spoon you were born with, huh? Daddy’s security systems aren’t as bulletproof as he thought they were? So you had to run to Junhui?”

She gargled slightly on her own saliva, coughing a bit of foam, though she never tried to respond.

Mingyu lifted Yeeun’s head in his hands. Squeezing your eyes shut didn’t make the snapping noise any less gruesome. If anything, it only amplified the sickness building in your gut, it only amplified Junhui’s enraged storm of cursing as his companion’s body went limp, her eyes stained with not even a smidgen of regret. If there was any regret at all, it was that she couldn’t have killed you herself. Hope began trickling back into your body, and, taking advantage of Junhui’s distracted vacancy, you attempted to give him a swift kick.

And yet that thought was a mistake in itself. Junhui lost his composure, his sophistication.

Your struggling only encouraged the anger spilling inside him, prompted him to uncover a blade that was hidden inside his coat, its silver gleam reflecting off your eyes for a millisecond before you felt its sharp edge nuzzle into your skin, somewhere around your stomach. A surge so violent and unbridled soared through your body, forced you to lean over the blade where your eyes soaked up the unholy sight of Junhui’s knuckles pale as snowflakes wrapped around the handle. You spluttered out nothing but air, watched as dark liquid began seeping from the wound and wetting your shirt.

Junhui took it upon himself to slowly, ever so slowly, extract the knife from its crevice, his teeth grinding together as just the point remained in your flesh. Then, he dug the blade back in through its opening, giving the weapon a slight twist.

When Mingyu had risen from Yeeun’s corpse and tore Junhui away from you, a silent sob wobbled off your lips. At some point that your mind was too fogged to remember, you were sitting, slumped against the wall as thick, grey storm clouds crowded the night sky. When you could no longer find solace amongst the stars, your gaze flitted across the alleyway, to where Junhui and Mingyu were a vicious tangle of limbs that punched and kicked and pulled. It reminded you of the party, the stupid party that had somehow preluded your path to cross with Mingyu’s. They were shouting at one another, at war for Junhui’s knife that kept slipping from their grasps like butter.

Wincing, you stretched an arm to fold over your stomach, attempting to apply even the meekest amount of pressure to your wound. Your brow furrowed when something hard nudged against your arm, a harsh weight that seemed to sit inside your jacket.

Well, it wasn’t your jacket, it was Mingyu’s.

Chewing down on the inside of your mouth, you ignored the pain that cut through your every nerve and fought to wind your hand within the jacket, fingers poking and shuffling around until they brushed the pocket stitched to the inside. Despite your battered condition, you nearly yelped when you gripped the handgun, the same gun that you’d used to practice your aim in the fields. There was not a moment to squander, nor a moment to think. Your whole body screamed as you drew the weapon from its pouch, fingers slippery with blood as you fought to turn the safety off.

Your entire arm shook like a brittle leaf in mid-autumn, yet you still held the gun forth, your head banging, your vision blurred, bile pushing and stinging against your throat. Junhui had Mingyu pinned to the grit, his boot heavy on Mingyu’s wrist. Raised in the air was the knife, stained with red globs of your blood. It was just like the party, except it wasn’t a tiny glass shard sealed between Junhui’s fingers. It was a literal hacking device. There was nothing you could do to stop your arm from shaking. You had no more ammunition apart from the bullet left in the gun.

What if I miss, what if I miss Junhui and hit Mingyu? What if I hit Junhui but it isn’t enough to stop him? I don’t think I can do this. I can’t I can’t I can’t—

“So,” Junhui barked, his vocal chords strained and hoarse, “where’s your little guardian angel now, huh? If it weren’t for your girlfriend fucking getting in the way two years ago, you would have had it, Mingyu. But now there’s no one to save you. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment. Finally, I’m entitled to purge how I’ve always wanted.”

The tears finally erupted from their ducts, streaming down your dusted cheeks and dripping at your chin. You felt like a child, a blubbering infant.

But it wasn’t worth it to lose Mingyu.

You weren’t entirely sure what happened when you sucked back the distracting binds of your self-doubt and clamped the trigger down. It didn’t register that the bullet had struck Junhui’s head until his body collapsed off of Mingyu’s lap, lying lax on the pebbles like a sack of flour. It didn’t register that you had saved Mingyu’s life until the first few cold splashes of rain thumped against your forehead, dampened your lashes, and trickled along your scuffed flesh. The gun dropped from your fingers and the whole world went black.

The next time you awoke, you were faced with a pair of glimmering, penny eyes that rapidly blinked, tiny crinkles mapping along wet, amber skin. An instant pain jolted into your gut when you attempted to fidget, and a whine nearly tore itself from between your cracked lips.

“Don’t try to move,” you heard a rough voice, “stay still as best you can.”

“Mingyu?” You croaked, reaching upward to stroke his cheek.

His fingers coiled gently around your wrist, bringing the scars that were carved like ancient hieroglyphics to his lips. The second he pressed kisses to the old wounds, you smiled.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you awake,” he rasped, his eyes soft, gleeful, “you fucking saved me, y’know? It’s because of you I’m still here, still breathing. All because of you.”

Your face scrunched in confusion.

“Wait… So, I’m not… dreaming?”

Despite Mingyu’s earlier advisement to stay still, you forced your body upward, though you faced immediate repercussions as a jarring bolt struck you in the stomach. Mingyu attempted to make you relax once more, but you refused to listen to his cooing. Distant thunder rolled in the distance, and you could see a pale glow beaming behind the flossy clouds that shielded the sky. Seven o’clock was probably on the brink of arrival. You were still in the alleyway. Casting a glance toward your new wounds, you noticed that Mingyu had wrapped his jacket tightly around your waist.

“Now would be a good time for lots of gauze, right?” You smiled.

Mingyu settled his palm delicately at the back of your neck and pushed your lips together, a smile slowly dancing along his mouth as he felt your fingers thread through his locks. Just like Mingyu had predicted, a misty rainfall was spraying from the early morning sky, infinitesimal droplets of glass sitting upon his skin as though he were a springtime rose. You kissed his lips again, and again, and again, until the pain in your stomach became too much of a distraction and your head was falling to the crook of his neck. Stealing a glance around the alleyway, you couldn’t help but notice that Junhui and Yeeun’s bodies had been laid beside each other.

You thought about what Wonwoo had said.

Maybe where you’re going is different than where I’m about to go. One of life’s many mysteries, right?

Well, at least Junhui and Yeeun would share an eternal fate in the one place they truly belonged, and it wasn’t exactly a mystery where that place was either.

“Mingyu,” you reached for his shirt and gave it a small tug.

He peered down at you through the fanned arch of his lashes.

“Are you still in a lot of pain, baby? I wish I could take it all away from you. I’m sure the medical services will be here soon, I promi—“

“I love you.”

Mingyu stuttered over the humid air. “O-Oh – I, um, I – I love you too… But, I think you already knew that.”

A molten blush crawled up from the column of his neck and flushed throughout his face akin to a raspberry burn. Though it ached to giggle, you couldn’t evade in doing so, your eyes turned to crescent moons as more golden splashes of dawn light ebbed through the clouds. Somewhere in the distance, you no longer heard gunshots, incoherent slurs, riots and the skid of tires creating friction against pavement. You heard the whirr of emergency sirens and helicopter wings, medical services beginning to flood throughout the city like a creek. It was over. Mingyu was still tangible, warm, smiling whilst he pressed kisses against your forehead.

You don’t know how, but you survived the chaos, you survived Wonwoo and his ludic friend, Jihoon. You survived Yeeun and you survived Junhui.

You survived the Purge together.

✎ a/n: ugh. this is just one of those fics where you become v attached to the characters. i was able to write this quicker than expected (MINUS THE STUPID TWIST THAT STUMPED ME) bc i was truly invested in the plot, and i rly adored every moment of it. actually, this fic was supposed to be posted ages ago, i think last year? but last year was terrible in terms of my health and wellbeing, so i kinda forgot this fic existed as i went on my hiatus. anywho, in my opinion, the first purge film was the best.

i haven’t watched any of the newer purge movies tho, so they could be good! since im a horror/thriller fan, i liked the aspect of vulnerability the purge brought and how it forced ppl to invest in their capacity for violence, especially when the ppl they loved were involved. obviously - only for the fic lmao. bruh, during a real purge i am going to lock myself in the crawl space with a blanket and some cheerios. ALSO!!!! A HAPPY ENDING!!!!!! be proud of me!!!! this was an adventure!!! i hope you can enjoy the story as much as i!! hearing ur thots is appreciated as always!

#mingyu scenarios #mingyu fluff #mingyu angst #mingyu fanfic #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfic #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #mingyu au #mingyu x reader #svt scenarios #svt angst #svt smut

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alexanderwesker · 4 years

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My analysis of the character of Jeremiah Valeska (pre-Insanity Spray)

I've finally come around to actually write that analysis, I promised you guys some days ago. I actually tried to read up on how to do a character analysis, for this. But decided to just go with the flow of my though so sorry if this turns out to be too rambly. This whole analysis is also based on the impression I got from Jeremiah the first time he was presented in 4x17 "Mandatory Brunch Meeting". And that impression was that Jeremiah Valeska was (well I don't wanna use medical terms because they bore me and because they have been thrown at me too often so I'm gonna put it in layman terms) a man with paranoiac tendencies and low empathy, and he had also some kind form of obsessive/intrusive thoughts. From this basis we can start the actual analysis (plus some congectures of the twins childhood, because that did shape them to be the men they became): Between the twins Jeremiah was, probably, the quiet one, but not out of some sort of shyness or anything similar, but just because he didn't know how to interact with people... normally. In the sense that when he spoke up he'd probably be kind of unsettling for how cold and emotionless he appeared to be as he wasn't yet that apt in picking up social clues and read the minute instances of body language, and as such could fake any kind of emotional responce that wasn't particulary obvious, and so usually let Jerome do the talking, so that he could learn, and imitate. So that he could become the perfect one between them. For his sake, for his need to learn how to 'fake being normal' he probably pushed and pushed Jerome as far as he could, to get any sort of reaction that he could learn from. (Jerome let him because he didn't know how harmful it was enabling that behaviour; Jerome let him because Jeremiah was his twin and he'd never hurt him.) He, also, probably started 'manipulating' Lila very early on, as soon as he understood that he could get people to do what he wanted if he acted like they wanted him to act. (That was probably the first wedge between the brothers). Lila wanted a little Mr. Perfect that was studious and clever, and silent and polite, so Jeremiah gave her what she wanted so to make his life easier. And since he started so early on, he probably has problems in discern the difference between who he really is and what he is so used to show others. (Jerome is the only one who knows the difference, the only one who can see behind the facade that Jeremiah presents to the world, and has always being able too). Of course as time passed, say the twins were nine or ten, Jeremiah felt like he needed to get out of there that that wasn't the life for him, so he used all of what he had learned. He lied and he created evidence to support his lies, even if that meant hurting himself, why? Because his goal was more important, because it was self-preservation after all. And with that he managed to escape the circus. Went to St. Ignacious, created a new identity for himself and lived it, and because he was yet to young to lie and not being affected by it, slowly he started believing his own lies. That Jerome had tried to kill him, that he would find him and hurt him. He also wasn't adopted probably, people don't tend to like children that are too disconcerning (and trust me I know how much people don't like people like me), but he was a genius and got to emancipate himself, started working as an engineer as soon as he was able too. Somewhere during that time he met Ecco that basically took Jerome's place as Jeremiah's anchor, but as she wasn't Jerome, as she probably was more suscettible more malleable, he changed her instead of letting her change him. He made her what he needed: a protector, someone who'd be his voice and eyes in the outside world as he shut himself in further and further away, letting his fear turned obsession for Jerome, Jerome finding him, Jerome killing him, Jerome hurting him. (And even though he knew that was a lie, he was already too lost in his own web of lies to actually rationalize that he didn't need to do any of that.) There was probably some period of his life, either before or after he worked for Thomas Wayne in which he felt like he didn't have control on anything, not even having Ecco at his beck and call was enough. And that was what made him create the labyrinth, his perfect home. A place where he'd be the one with all the power, and anyone else would be just like a fly trapped in a spider's web. Which bring us to the Jeremiah we see in "Mandatory Brunch Meeting". That Jeremiah has long passed that period of his life in which he didn't have control. In fact he was in perfect control, he probably even made possible for Jerome to find Ecco, because if they had to actually met, he'd want that to happen by circumstances he created. He is so sure, like a tarantula in its nest calm and quiet till bothered, that he even let the police in his maze. He doesn't fear them, he doesn't have any reason to (his only fear locked up tightly in a place where, he thought, he could never escape from), and that we can see in the scene where Jim and Harvey met him. Jeremiah isn't allarmed, he isn't even scared when they point their guns at him, why? Because he knows that he isn't in danger, they are in his den, they are the one who are in the wrong place, they don't know how to leave the maze. If he'd so liked he could have leave them to die forever trapped, of course that's not what he wants, no, what he wants is for them to leave him alone. So he puts up the old mask of vulnerability and tells them the old lies he told, he tells them that Jerome threatened him, that Jerome was violent, that Jerome was the broken one. He? He's always been the poor, poor victim, he's always been the one who was born right. (Is that true, no and yes. If he had had actual support? He'd probably be as normal as someone as me can be, but he didn't have support so he just... worked around that in a way that made sense to him). Then Jim discovers his trick, he discovers that Jerome is there trapped in his maze, and Jeremiah starts desperately grasping at that control that he knows is starting to fade away. He has still enough to keep his mask up, though it’s cracked as he shows less concern for others than he knows it’s normal. He doesn’t pretend to care about what’s happened to Ecco, or to be worried about the detectives lives, he cares only about himself, his own self-preservation once again. But then he loses control again completely; Jerome is freed, two maniacs enter in his perfect, perfect maze. He loses even Ecco, who gets hypnotized, and even though he doesn’t care about her as much as he pretends to, it does somewhat hurt to be betrayed like that. And you can see that, that lost of control from his part. You can see that in the way he confronts Jerome, scared and angry, in the way he acts at the words that Jeromes spews at him. Because Jeremiah doesn't have masks in that moment, beside the pretending to care for his mother. And that reality is that Jeremiah is afraid of the conseguences of his actions, because he knows that now Jerome is a real threat, that he beat the rabid dog that one time too much, and he is angry because he's lost control again, because of Jerome, and he doesn't know how to gain it back. Then everything just spirals down from there. Once he has lost his foothold, he doesn't have time to regain it. Then the events of "That's Entertainment" happen, and he never actually has the chance to ever regain it. He loses everything that's important: his control, that part of him that actually cares enough for himself to actually force him to try and act like a 'normal' person. He just stops caring, or well in reality he just stops pretending to care. But this analysis isn't on Post-Insanity Spray!Jeremiah so I'll stop here. Sorry if it's rambly or nonsensical but I feel a lot for him, or well not feel exactly, I just liked to see someone like myself on screen. For that little he was there as himself and not that... being he became after. Though I guess, people will always see people as myself as monsters so... was Jeremiah's end really a surprise?... Not really.

#jeremiah valeska #jerome valeska #gotham #gotham analysis #character analysis #gotham character analysis #Oof this came out more rambly than I wanted...#and much more bitter #:( sorry #i tried #tell me what you think #again sorry for the rambliness and bitter tone of this analysis #It's just that Jeremiah Pre-Spray was basically the first time I saw somebody like me on TV and wasn't evil #then they of course had to Spray him and make him go insane...#(I like Post-Spray!Jeremiah though don't take this as me hating him because I don't)

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higuchimon · 3 years

Text

[fanfic] One Year

It had been an entire year. Kaiser almost couldn't believe it. Twelve months of being the unquestioned master of the Digital World - and the unquestioned Master of Motomiya Daisuke. That was almost a little sweeter. Though he really wasn't certain which he enjoyed more. The two things wove around one another so very tightly that he couldn't separate them, and he didn't especially want to.

Right now, Daisuke knelt submissively at his feet, clad in the Kaiser's own colors, neat and clean, his eyes cast down, and if Kaiser had seen them, they would have been full of adoration for him. That he approved of. Which was, of course, why he'd arranged for Daisuke to have that in the first place. The collar around Daisuke's neck made it impossible for him to think or remember or do or be anything that Kaiser didn't want him to be.

"Daisuke." Kaiser said at last, and his slave looked up at once, large brown eyes focusing on him as if Kaiser were the source of all life. Which, of course, he was as far as Daisuke was concerned. Kaiser reached out to caress the side of Daisuke's face. "Today is our anniversary. You've belonged to me for a whole year now." He nodded slightly to indicate that Daisuke could speak.

"It doesn't feel that long, master," Daisuke murmured, keeping his voice pitched properly low. "I think it only feels like a few days."

"I know. I feel the same way." Kaiser considered his options. He had already decided not to have a celebration. At least not one that multiple folk might be invited to - why would he even want that? Digimon were little more than vaguely sentient lumps of data. They meant nothing to him except as toys and tools. But to celebrate his taking and taming of Daisuke? That he would gladly do. "I’ve had a special meal arranged for us tonight. And I have a surprise for you as well."

Daisuke blinked a little. "A surprise, Master?" He worried at his lower lip. "But I don't have anything for you."

And how could he, when Kaiser had everything? But Kaiser only chuckled and patted Daisuke once again. "You have yourself. That's always what I want from you - just to be you for me. Can you do that for me forever?"

"I will, Master!" Daisuke declared, a few flickers of light burning in his eyes. Kaiser leaned forward to brush his lips against Daisuke's. Daisuke didn't hesitate for a second, but returned the kiss as much as he could. Kaiser waited until what he knew was the absolute right moment then whispered a soft command. Daisuke's ears might not hear it, but as close as he was, the collar would and that was what he wanted.

Daisuke stopped right away. He blinked slowly, then his eyes cleared and he stared at Kaiser, building rage and anger overflowing. For a moment he surged forward, but the collar hissed and sparked and he stopped where he was, shaking in unmeasured fury. Kaiser chuckled.

"You haven't changed a bit," he purred, quite pleased to see this other side of Daisuke - what some people might call the "real" Daisuke. Kaiser far preferred to think of him as the original Daisuke. He didn't like to see him turn up all that often, preferred the Daisuke that he'd created, but this would do for a little amusement.

"How could I when you won't even let me exist?" Daisuke snapped, his fingers tightening into fists. The first time that Kaiser had allowed this, Daisuke had hit the wall until his knuckles bled. Kaiser wasn't going to allow that. What was his only could hurt as he declared it, and he hadn't declared it.

He fit a hand on Daisuke's cheek and smiled at him. "That's not my problem. Do you really need to exist? You're my property now. I think we already went through this, though, didn't we?"

Daisuke trembled, clearly not liking how Kaiser touched him, and unable to do anything about it. While his mind was in its original configuration,, his body remained suborned to the Kaiser's will, which meant he wasn't going to move unless Kaiser let him. He probably wouldn't let him. It was too much fun to see his frustration and fury in moments like this.

Kaiser toyed with his pet's hair. "A whole year since I crushed those idiots and made you mine. Do you think anyone even remembers you back there? I doubt it. They probably have written everyone off." He suspected that wasn't entirely true. He'd sealed the gateways but there were always the occasional moments when he thought someone prodded at them. They couldn't get past his shielding. He thought it might well be the older Chosen. Perhaps. He would never know, because they weren't going to get in.

"I hate you. I hate you so much," Daisuke hissed. "You're a murderer. You're awful. You - you -" Words failed him and Kaiser only smiled.

"What I am, is the winner." Nothing else mattered t all. He'd won. Finding out what to do with his victory was the difficult part. He toyed now and then with removing the collar from Daisuke and breaking him the long, slow, hard way. That would certainly offer quite a few challenges, and give him something interesting to look forward to. Perhaps he'd let matters go on like this for a while, letting Daisuke remember that he existed now only as the Kaiser wanted him to, and only for as long as he wanted the other to.

It certainly sounded interesting, if only to him, and what else mattered? Nothing, that was it. Nothing at all.

"You didn't win anything." Daisuke spat the words out, edged in rage and fury that only mounted with each passing moment. "All you do is hurt people. Kill people."

"Now, now that's not quite true." He caught Daisuke's chin and turned it so he could stare into those deep brown eyes. He did think that he liked this look far more than the absolute submissiveness of his creation. It reminded him of the old days, when Daisuke fought against him, and it was somewhat of a challenge. "I can also do things to you."

"That comes under hurting people," Daisuke growled. "Let me go! Let me go home!"

"You are home. You are mine and you belong to me." Kaiser traced Daisuke's lips with one finger. "I might have to teach you that. In fact, I know just how to do it." After the last year, he knew Daisuke far better than the other could believe. He could pick all the information he wanted from Daisuke's brain and the other wouldn't even be aware of it if his Master didn't want him to be. Normally he didn't want him to be. Daisuke was far more tractable when he was little more than a lump of malleable flesh.

More tractable but not as interesting and truth to tell, Kaiser wanted something more interesting on some days. He'd captured almost all of the Digimon running free and once he did that, they were easy to fit with a Ring or a Spiral, and that left them as no challenge whatsoever. He'd heard rumors that there were a few survivors who called themselves a resistance, but he'd never found any real traces of them. He suspected that they weren't anything more than vague whispers on the wind, sent by those he hadn't caught yet to give one another hope.

But he did want to crush those little slivers of hope, because if they caught into the correct fertile ground, they could become real hope and he wanted none of that. Even those Digimon that he hadn't captured yet needed to know that they all belonged to him. His territory was wide and far-ranging and he discovered day by day that there was more that he hadn't been able to get to. Part of him liked that. Part of him didn't.

Being the unquestioned Kaiser wasn't without its issues. That was why he stayed here and didn't just give it all up as a bad job to go back to Earth. They would never appreciate him there regardless.

And while he refused to admit it, a part of him didn't want to go back, because he suspected if he did, there would be questions about what happened to the other Chosen. From the surviving older ones, if nothing else. He wasn't going to let that happen.

He toyed his fingers through Daisuke's hair. "Come along," he ordered, rising to his feet. He arranged for what he wanted in moments, then headed out to his personal favorite arena. Daisuke followed along, his movements a little slower and jerkier than Kaiser would have liked. Perhaps he'd have to give him more control more often. His servant - his consort - should be more graceful than that.

Kaiser might still be but twelve, but the longer he only had Daisuke around, the more thoughts of certain natures occurred to him. Not that they never had before, but he knew what would happen in due course. He wasn't ready for it to happen yet, but they slept in the same bed every night, and he favored Daisuke with kisses whenever the mood struck him. Perhaps in another year or two he would feel ready for more. The question would then become if he should consummate the relationship with Daisuke's mind in full awareness or with the submissive, obedient slave who would do anything to please his master. or both - both would be interesting. Not at the same time; not even he could accomplish that. But one night for one and one night for another? That he could easily manage.

He did look forward to that in the future. But all in good time. He wanted to ensure it was worth the anticipation.

Soon the two of them sat overseeing the arena. Or rather, he sat in his throne, and Daisuke knelt down at his feet, attention on the arena below. Kaiser gave an order, and two Digimon came out there - Agumon and Gabumon. They were the ones who had been partnered to Yagami and Ishida - technically they probably still were, but that meant nothing now. Both of them sported Evil Spirals - he would be able to evolve them if he so desired. But for now, he simply gave the order, and the two of them began to spar against one another.

At his order, Daisuke watched, unable to turn his head away, and Kaiser watched in pure enjoyment. He didn't know which he liked better, watching the combat itself, or watching Daisuke watch it, and clearly hating every second of it. He passed his own time by stroking the back of Daisuke's head. He'd learned months ago that Daisuke had a very sensitive scalp, and combining stroking there with the torment before him made for a very pleasant interaction in his opinion. Daisuke hated it when Kaiser made him feel good, so Kaiser went out of his way to ensure that he made Daisuke feel very good.

A thought occurred to him, and he ordered, "Stand up. Sit here." He indicated his lap. Daisuke's eyes widened, even as the collar forced him to obey. Kaiser enjoyed the weight of Daisuke there, even more so than he enjoyed seeing Daisuke humbled and tamed before him. He ran his fingers alongside Daisuke's skin and breathed in the scent of his rage. So pleasant. So enticing. This was the greatest reward of his conquest - a true trophy in every sense of the word. He would be thrilled to one day take it beyond. For now, he savored the feel of Daisuke's hate and pleasure all mixed into one heady cocktail.

The battle beneath kept on going, lightning and ice dancing around one another. He enjoyed the show there as well. If there was one thing that he liked, it was those who'd once fought against him now being his devoted slaves, doing whatever he ordered and pleasing him with it.

"I hate you," Daisuke whispered. "I'm always going to hate you. You've taken everything from me."

"And I give you even more. You're safe. You don't have to fight anymore. you don't have to go to school anymore, or have people around who mistreat you. You don't have to worry about where your next meal is coming from or where you're going to sleep at night. You're absolutely safe." Kaiser circled his arms around Daisuke's waist and held him close. "Whatever could you want that I haven't given you?"

"My friends! My home! Not being tortured by you! My partner!" Daisuke snapped. Kaiser remembered why he didn't like to do this very often. Daisuke always ranted about what he'd lost instead of thinking about all that he'd gained. Perhaps it would be interesting to attempt that intensive training. The idea had merit.

"None of that meant anything. I am keeping you and we have had this discussion too many times. Now watch the show and if you can't say anything new, then be quiet," Kaiser ordered. He didn't expect to hear from Daisuke again unless he ordered it any time soon.

A tiny bit of something fell and Kaiser glanced up. It wasn't getting ready to rain, so what had that dampness been? He frowned - it was a tear. A tear coming from Daisuke. Really, what did the other think he had to cry about? Would he have to teach him what pain meant – again.

Perhaps he would. Daisuke only seemed to respond to pain these days. Well. He could do that. He was very, very good at hurting people. One must do what one was best at. And he would do that for a very long time.

The End

Notes: Okay, this week I’m going to catch up on some old series. Not every time, but for some of them. Let’s go!

Those of you who have read Interruptions and Annoyances can probably guess that Ken did eventually take the time ot break Daisuke the long and slow way. Fun was not had by anyone – except Ken. And probably me.

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #digimon adventure 02 #daikenweek2021 #ichijouji ken #motomiya daisuke #ken x daisuke #daisuke x ken #series: scars of victory

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static-fanatic-1 · 3 years

Text

Day Two

-| Stuck at A StandStill |-

StandStill: Chapter Three

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Foul Language, Bullying.

Komori didn't really appreciate being in second place. Out of everyone in his school he went against one of the weakest students, and yet he got second in a two person race.

That isn't something to be proud of.

And it made his blood boil to no end.

With a bubbling jealousy and a rough plan in mind, the second day of U.A would be the beginning of his call to action. Of course he had some help, another student who resented class 1-A. He was blond and had a stare that pierced daggers through anyone he looked at. He had a smile that called you an asshole and an attitude that was too envious even for Komori.

His name was Monoma, and he would help him finally break Aiko down. Once she's out of the way with a mind as malleable as clay, he'll be able to shape her into his ideal version of herself. It'll be easy, just a little bit of manipulation to do so.

Komori sauntered his way into the school. His uniform was loose and he didn't bother fixing the tie around his neck. As long as he has the components of his uniform the teachers won't bother him.

His plum eyes glanced around at the students piling into the school, each one different than the others. Some had spiraling blue hair and doe like eyes while others had fur like manes. Teeth, horns, tails and more created a mythical atmosphere while some people had mechanical parts attached to their limbs. Some people even looked normal, well as normal as someone can be in a quirk infested world.

The bat child wasn't paying attention, and his shoulder bumped into someone else. "Tsk, watch it." He growled, turning to face the kid beside him.

He was tall, about as tall as Komori minus his ears, and they both shared a pair of glasses. Though he smiled, nervously, a extended his hand in good fortune. "I'm sorry about that, I'll take better care in watching where I am going."

Komori's sharp teeth gleamed past his pink lips. "Yeah, whatever." He turned his body away and waved his wings behind his back to dismiss the other student. "Just stay out of my way."

Iida furrowed his brows and pursed his lips in a scowl. "What a... nice fellow." He whispered, watching the bat saunter further into the school. Iida pushes up his glasses and turned to his locker.

Behind him he could hear heavy breathing and the clatter of shoes. He turned and waved his hand, shutting his own locker in the process. "Hello Aiko! Are you alright?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah! I just woke up late." She brushed her curly pink bangs from her sweaty forehead.

"Late? You're early, there are fifteen minutes before the ten minute bell."

Aiko whipped her head around with a pause. "Wait, what time is it?"

Iida lifted his wrist and pulled back his sleeve. "It is five minutes past eight."

"Really?! My alarm must have been off." She lightly chuckled, it was nervous and stressed. "I'll have to fix that when I get home. Uh, how have you been, Iida?"

He smacked a hand onto his chest and happily smiled. "My day is going wonderfully so far! And you?"

Aiko blushed. "I'm doing good." She shut her locker and fixed her backpack. "I guess we should go ahead and head to class huh?"

"Of course! All the top students are early to class!" Iida grabbed Aiko's hand and dragged her to the classroom with a grin plastered onto his strong features.

The hallways were the most uncrowded Aiko has ever seen. Being so early meant most of the students hung out around the lockers, conversing about whatever came to mind. Most seemed to be second or third years, while a few were first years who wanted to know the ropes.

Iida stopped near the door, not exactly in front of it, but close enough to not raise suspicion. Though, she should have guess something was wrong with someone as meticulous as Iida.

She glanced past his broad shoulder and was greeted with a face full of leathery wings. "Oh look who it is. The twat and the slapper. Seems they don't care who gets into class 1-a."

Iida moved back a bit, kinda stumbling over Aiko in the process. "Twat? Slapper?" He furrowed his brows at the insults, wait, were they even insults?

"You heard me." Komori pushed, stretching out his large wings to size Iida up. "Twat." Plum eyes scanned the figure behind Iida, a toothy grin stretching across his lips. "And slapper."

Aiko bit her lip, now the time to grow a backbone, she thought. He can insult me as much as he wanted but insulting a friend was out of the question. 'Say something. Tell him off!'

"Are you just going to stand there, mouth open like a fish out of water?" He mused, sidestepping to face her fully. "Or are you too terrified?" He leaned down, sharp teeth only a few inches away from nipping at her nose.

"Leave her alone." Snapped Iida, placing a large hand upon the aggressors shoulder. "There is a zero tolerance for bullying at U.A."

"Tsk, like that matters." The bat shrugged off the hand with a scoff, turning his back and ruffling with wings once more. His thin tail swished behind his lanky form with a newfound vigor. As if he enjoyed the challenge despite being seemingly annoyed. "But seriously, this is what the legendary class 1-A has to offer? A kid who can run fast and some girl with a useless quirk? Where's the competition?"

"Leave us alone, Komori. If we aren't worth your time why are you wasting it?" Snapped Aiko, finally building a bit of a backbone.

Komori turned and glared, his signature grin now faltering into something of mixed surprise and malice. He didn't need words to tell her to shut her pretty little mouth.

The tension was high and the thickness of the air could only be cut through with a sharp blade. Luckily, it seemed Iida was that sharp blade. He placed a warm hand on the small of her back to support the backbone. "We'll be taking our leave." Iida's tone was sharp, strong and defensive, warning Komori to back off and leave them alone before things get too ugly.

Komori watched with a malevolent glare through his shimmering glasses. "Just needed to make sure you knew your place."

The two students of class 1-A watched the bat walk away, his figure disappearing behind the doorframe of the class over. There was a pregnant silence between Aiko and Iida as they entered their classroom.

They were the only ones so far, so they stood next to each other and soaked in the new student they met. "Aiko, May I ask you a question?"

She hummed in approval, placing her bag down and giving him her undivided attention.

"Komori... do you know him?"

"Oh, yeah. We went to the same school ever since we were kids. He... always bullied me. I'm kind of used to it by now." She gave a small chuckle and avoided eye contact. Instead she decided her sketchbook cover was far more interesting than Iida's concerned eyes. "I wouldn't worry too much about him. He's all bark no bite."

Iida has never been bullied, at least not to his face. Every once in a while in middle school, a student would talk about him behind his back. Thing like his strange body language, intelligence, or physical appearance. He never thought too much about it, only that they must be jealous of his hard work. Still, that doesn't mean it didn't hurt.

"Well, tell me if you have any problem then." His hand pointed to Aiko and a comforting smile stretched across his thin lips.

"Th-thank you. I appreciate it." She really did, it wasn't everyday someone would help her stand up to a past bully. It actually never happened, not even her past teachers did anything other than scolding Komori.

Iida sat down in his seat and awaited the start of class. She guessed the conversation was over. Though it didn't feel over, Aiko couldn't help but linger on the kindness from her classmate. His words echoed trough her head as she sketched away her future hero costume. She made a few changes from her current costume, some she actually liked, but she could do that once she goes big after school.

Once she became a hero, all of her problems would fade away to nothing. All she'll have to do is battle against her family's killer: All for One.

The door to the classroom opened, the green haired boy labeled Izuku shuffling into the room. More students entered, each one with their own gait.

Then there was the teacher, he really was a strange man. He still looked like a gruff cat of sorts with yellow goggles. The scarf around his neck hung loosely on top his slouched shoulders. In his hands was a small stack of papers, he straightened them up in the pedestal in front of the class and readied himself for the rest of the students.

Once class started, Mr. Aizawa cleated his throat and began. "Today I am going to give you the class syllabus. I would read it carefully and thoroughly, if you don't you will miss something important." He flipped to the back of one of the papers. "We will need your parent's signature and your own, as well as a class fee and other important information. Again, look over it completely. You need to turn it in by this Friday."

~~~

Nothing too important happened, introductions, classes, teachers. Some were eccentric like the Voice Hero Present Mic, and some were... R-rated like Midnight.

Still, Aiko was giddy with excitement. She would be taught by heroes! Professional heroes! The young girl couldn't help but bounce her leg beneath her desk, tap her pencil on her sketchbook, and nibble her lip between her teeth.

She dug her hands into her backpack to fish out her binder. One section for each class, right now with different syllabuses and paperwork. She already took out her pen and signed everything, so she just had to ask Ms. Takahashi to do her part.

Aiko wasn't too focused on the door, well, until it burst open with s gust of wind. "Hahaha! Hello there!"

Everyone jumped from their seats with a newfound vigor, yelping and jumping with smiles that rivaled his own. All Might! In class 1-A! "All Might!" Even Aiko couldn't handle her excitement!

He continued to chuckle, swaying his way inside with Aizawa and shutting the door behind him. "Hello young heroes! I would introduce myself but I'm sure you already know who I am! Number one hero-" he turned to his side and flexed his muscles to the class "ALL MIGHT!!"

Out of everyone in the class, no one was as excited as Aiko. Even that kid with the freckles and green hair had nothing on the beaming smile and jumping Aiko was doing. She couldn't help it! All Might was more than her hero! He was kinda like a messiah for anyone in the Hero community! And Aiko was becoming a hero!

"This year will be an eventful one, as I have decided to help train the new generation of aspiring heroes!" He returned to standing straight and tall, towering over everyone in the room. He set his fists on his hips and continued. "I, as well as all the other teachers, will do our best to mold you into fine, young heroes! Bravery! Integrity! Compassion and hope are all necessary for someone to be the best hero they can be!”

He threw his head in a cheerful laugh, the entire class clapping from the small speech. All of them would become heroes and nothing would stop them! Aiko couldn't help the rush of excitement either!

All Might evaluates the class, each one a rising hero with promise. Finally, his eyes landed on Midoriya, and his smile grew just a bit more, yeah, he chose one good successor!

"Hurry up, All Might." Aizawa pushes, moving to his desk and tapping away on his computer.

"Right right." The number one rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry. Anyways, I have your syllabus' right here for my class. I will read most of it out, the important stuff at least, and then I'll ask you a question I would like you all to answer. So, let begin shall we?"

All Might, with his theatrical voice, wasn't the best at reading out loud. He stuttered more than any other teacher, and Aiko couldn't get past the funny tone he always wore. Imagine an over exaggerated, comedy relief character trying to read something serious. It's more entertaining than anything.

"Finally, the question I want to ask all of you is, what do you think makes a good hero?"

Iida raised his hand first, his entire body leaning up to the roof. Momo was the same, her hand stretched high above her head and even higher against all the other classmates. Though, All Might seemed to be a bit nicer to the shyer students, his first choice was a kid in the back with white and red hair, and a scar across his right heterochromia eyes.

"Go on, introduce yourself first, then answer the question."

All eyes took in the student in the back, his body shriveled and his hand slowly dipping down to his side. His face portrayed a different story, instead of being reserved and shy, there was a hint of distaste as his brows furrowed together. "My name is Todoroki Shoto, and I believe what makes a good hero is someone who protects people. Someone who doesn't hurt others needlessly, and instead helps them when they need it."

Aiko glanced back at All Might, the cryptic message seemed to make the number one hero uncomfortable. Weird.

"Of course! A good hero always puts others before themselves, and makes sure the masses are safe against villain attacks!" He moved on to the next student, the infamously pissed blond who seemed to not care at all given his posture. "And what about you?"

"Bakugou Katsuki," he introduced, springing up from his chair when he began the second part. "What makes the best hero is being on top! Winning and taking down useless villains!"

All Might stuttered. "We-well of course winning against villains is important! But winning isn't exactly what makes a hero. It is important to think of victory as a means to save as many civilians as possible." The pro hero moved on to another student, then another one, and another one, until he landed on Aiko.

She didn't even realize her hand was up, too excited to even think correctly. Her bright features dulled down, what was she going to say?! Revenge? Helping people like herself? That'd defiantly get Mr. and Mrs. Takahashi in trouble... they would hate that.

"My name is Takahashi Aiko and I think what makes a good hero is... helping people who can't help themselves. Through anything, like helping the elderly cross the street or helping someone with their homework."

All Might smiled. "That's a perfect example of what makes a good hero! Being a hero isn't always about fighting villains or saving civilians, it is also about being a good role model for the people who look up to you."

His theatrics didn't end when the bell rang, and he dashed out of the class with a strength matched by only one. Aiko was beyond excited, beyond proud! Talking in front of a class is difficult and she did it without any hiccups.

Seeing All Might, being brave, and making friends counts as a win in her book.

Iida wondered into view, his glasses falling slightly down his nose with a pleased grin. "Can you believe it?! All Might will be teaching us heroics! It's the chance of a life time!"

"Yeah!" Aiko began. "I can't believe it either! He's my hero."

"Mine too, I've always looked up to All Might. He's the world's best hero, there's no competition!" Iida finished collecting his things and waited, two more people wondering over. One was Uraraka, the cute brown haired girl with flushing cheeks. The other one was the green haired kid with cute freckles, Izuku maybe? "This is Uraraka and Izuku, we were in the same entrance exam."

Aiko gave a gentle smile. "Hi, I'm Aiko. I met Iida at my locker, his is across mine." She shrugged and stuffed her sketchbook into her back. "You guys can go ahead and get a table, I wanted to stay after class a few minutes."

"Sure!" Uraraka smiled and threw up a few thumbs up. "We'll save you a seat!"

"Sounds good." Aiko grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. She waved away the small ground and looked around the busy halls, where did All Might go? From the path of talking students, her probably went in the opposite direction of the cafeteria. Would it be okay to see him?

She bit her lip, this would probably be the only time she could talk to him privately, after all he's probably really busy already. It would just be better to get what she's itching to say out of the way. Silver eyes glanced at her homeroom teacher, he was sitting at his desk, shifting through some papers with a bored expression.

He looks too busy to be bothered, so the aspiring hero trotted off into the hallways with vigor in her step. Passing through the cluttered halls, Aiko rushed through the crowds of students and past class 1-B.

Until she stumbled to the side form bumping into someone. "Sorry! Sorry!" She yelped, catching herself and grabbing the shoulders of the figure she hit. "I wasn't watching where I was going!"

The blond ran his hand through his hair, his too gleeful grin plastered onto his now visible face. "This is class 1-A? Pathetic! Can't even watch their own feet!" He cackled through his disturbing grin and held his pained chest. "Seriously?!"

The pink haired girl stumbled back, once again almost tripping on her feet. "I-I'm sorry?"

"Sorry? You don't even know how to apologize? Useless, hahaha!" He continued to imitate a hyena as another figure showed up... and smacked him across the back of the head.

"That's no way to talk to a fellow student!" The new figure chided, using her hand to swipe away the red ponytail form her shoulder. "Sorry about him, he's always been like this since we started class. Don't know why." She shyly laughed to herself. "My name's Itsuka Kendo by the way, if he ever does this again, just call me."

"S-sure?" Aiko gave a scared smile. "Uh, thanks—oh! Do you know where All Might went?"

"All Might?" Her face flashed with excitement. "Yeah! We went to the teacher's lounge over in that direction." She pointed her thumb behind her. "Anyway, I should take him to the lunchroom, ya' know?"

"Right, uh, thanks by the way... Kendo. I appreciate it." She glanced to the side, movement catching her eye.

Komori stared into her soul form behind Kendo, a snark plastered onto his features. He scoffed and walked off with his clawed hands into his pockets.

Kendo didn't notice Komori and instead smiled at Aiko's discomfort. "We honestly think he's an escapee from Tartarus or something." She giggles at her joke to try and lift the mood.

It worked. The two exchanged a little laugh. "I'll see you around I guess."

"Defiantly! See you later-?"

"Aiko, you too." Both separated their own ways, and continued their missions.

The pink haired girl ran through the halls and stopped in front of sign high on the wall. Big, bold letters told her she finally made it to the teacher's lounge. God, was she really going to go through with this?

The door opened before she could bail, a small mouse with the most adorable suit she had ever seen walked out. He had the cutest smile on his face with beady, black eyes that shimmered with momentary surprise. "Hello there!" He began, waving around a tiny paw. "How May I help you?"

She knew who this cute mouse was, and it only made her more regretful of her decision, would he be angry at her? "I-I-umm, I just-I was meaning to-uh-ask Mr. Might a question. I-I can ask another time if he is busy."

All Might jumped at her voice, quickly scurrying away from the view of the door. He wasn't in his All Might form, and if a student already figured out his secret, god that would be difficult to deal with. Still, he listened in, wondering what she might have been wanting to ask. He should go out there right? A little more time wouldn't kill him, besides he needed to be a role model right?

Taking a deep breath he inflated, fixed his suit and leaned into the doors entrance. "Hello there-er-little miss."

Her eyes shined a bit brighter, and Nezu glanced behind him with a raised brow. Toshinori grew his smile to reassure the little mouse.

"Sorry to bother you sir, I was just wondering if I could ask a question about earlier?"

He thought for a moment and remembered which class she might have been from. Oh! Right, the one he was just in. "Of course! What did you want to ask?" He fixed his posture and leaned on the door, waiting for her to continue, but she didn't right away. Instead she glanced over at Nezu nervously and fiddled with her hands.

"I'll see you at the office room, All Might." Nezu said, shuffling away with another cute wave.

The teacher and student watched him walk off before looking at each other once more. "Um, I was thinking about what you said, about what makes a hero, but would it be wrong for someone to want... revenge?"

The question took him by surprise. Revenge? Such a fickle idea split between right and wrong, would it be bad to want revenge? He didn't think so, after all an ulterior motive of him being a hero was also once revenge. "You want to be a hero for revenge? Who are you after?"

She blushed, clearly embarrassed. "It's a bit of a long story, but six years or so ago you saved me from a villain attack. My family didn't make it, but if you weren't there I'm sure more people would have died! If it wasn't for you I probably wouldn't be here, that's why I idolize you!"

"Six years ago? I'm sorry I don't remember much about villain attacks back then." He rubbed the back of his neck with a shy smile. "It's been quite a while."

Aiko shuffled on her feet. "It was a major attack in one of the rich districts, it has been rebuilt since then."

All Might thought deeply about her words, it's normal for villains to attack wealthy districts or shopping centers, either to get hostages or to steal. Her words didn't really make it easy to remember.

Then he thought about what happened six years ago, the scar along his torso tingling form a long lost memory. With that in mind, he would just base her experience after what he remembers in that fight. He couldn't forget that fight. "I think I remember, there was a lot of collateral damage, I'm sorry for your loss."

She smiled a sad smile and avoided eye contact. "Don't worry, you saved my life... and it wasn't your fault. I just want to find that villain and put him to justice for what he did, is that wrong?"

He snapped out of his thoughts, a small head of sweat dropping down his high cheekbones. "Of course it isn't, revenge can be a bad thing, but I think you are justified in wanting to find this missing villain." He shook his head to clear his mind. "You seem like such a sweet, young girl. There is no doubt in my mind you can put that villain to justice and make your family proud."

He placed a large hand on her shoulder and crouched down. Shadowed blue eyes now stared into weary silver ones. "You will be an amazing hero one day, I can tell."

"Th-Thank you, Mr. Might. Hearing that from my hero means more than you think." She glanced down at her hands, a loose nail catching her eyes, must have been from her fiddling. "Thank you, I was worried you'd think it was wrong."

"Everyone has their motives, some more selfish than others, wanting justice is on the selfless side of the spectrum." He stood up to his full height and flashed a smile. "And if it makes you feel any better, I find it admirable to want to justice."

Aiko blushed a deep crimson, did her hero seriously just call her admirable?! Is she dreaming?! No, she isn't, and the man in front of her wasn't just a made up fantasy. She was actually talking to the number one, her literal savior. "Th-Thank you! I promise to be the best hero I can be! I promise to put that man to justice and make you proud!"

With that she dashed off, her hands gripping her hair over her face to cover her blazing cheeks.

All Might chuckled, these students really seemed like a promising bunch huh?

#bnha #mha #aiko takahashi #fanfiction #mha oc #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #my hero academia fanfiction #chapter three #komori suzuki #Bakugou #deku #all Might #Iida

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