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onyourhyuck · 2 years

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Psycho Love. | Mark Lee (M) Part 7.

Prologue • “Darling you’ve got me obsessed with you.”

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synopsis • huang mei is a psychiatrist assigned to the most dangerous killer, but things start to go downhill from there.

warning • mafia x psychiatrist, mark lee mafia!, mei is Chinese and renjun’s twin sister, lots of action, thriller, fighting and mystery. dark romance!!! DARK DARK ROMANCE, mei is in a relationship with hyungsik, mark smut, kidnapping mentions. mark is 😃 slightly insane but yk what it’s fine 😭. THIS IS A MAFIA FIC OF MY SERIES!!

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*This contains Dark Smut , heavy psychology and strong language. Beware this is a dark romance.*

Orbital road follows by a sharp siren ringing. Entering the passable grounds of the abandoned farm, wind and rain drops heavily crashing to the car windows blurring the sight away like a filter on a phone. Tires skidding on the farming soil, stopping midway as the police got out of the vehicle, immediately going with the protocol of exploring the farm house and the surroundings.

While the police make themselves at home scouting the area, afar was two people stumbling down the rough up sketched out hill, sliding their feet to skid on the soil causing brown smoke to inherit in the air. Mei murmuring silent protests of tugging, resisting Mark to drag her back to the hostage farm house.

Chickens out of their farm pens surround by the police legs, pushing out their yellow beaks at the heavy army boots. Horses start on alert, neighing every minute as the curiosity arises. Cows began communicating with each other more and the pigs follow the chicken around as the pigs were also out of their own farm pen.

Aside from the loud farm animals, the house was awfully quiet and isolated. But it was just a phase because once the police enters, a guy following out of a window would be chased down and tackled into the muddy ground with heavy water, spoiling his white clothes into the dirty and mud mixing with animal waste possibly too.

Chenle groans as he shouldn’t of ran away this way, the ground was too slippery because of the heavy storm arriving. The police sigh at Chenle, arresting him.

Baekhyun sighs watching Chenle lock up at the behind of the car. “God, now to find the bastard Mark Lee and the doctor. You didn’t find any sign of corpse or blood right?” The older man asks his partner, Officer Park Chanyeol who shook the head. “Nothing like that Baekhyun. I think he ran away honestly. I’ll get the tropes to check the farm land soon.”

Mark pulls Mei into a tight hold once stopping seeing Chenle get arrested and put behind the police car. The facial expression darkening in seriousness, while Mei was simply pulling up her chances to yell out. “Help right he—“ Mark’s hand tightly travels to Mei’s mouth muffling down any sound she makes, going behind her with a gun directly pressed into the stomach causing Mei to fold straight, he felt her stomach organ clench in deep once the metallic pistol made its contact on the wet thin tank top fabric where the skin was most sensitive. “Now don’t start misbehaving, Miss Huang. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

Mei listens into the eery brittle gritty voice running a shudder of shiver down the neckline itching to be freed. “You follow me or you die if you don’t.” Mark speaks again, starting to run away as he holds Mei’s wrist tightly. She felt like she was tied on a leash called Him, Mark Lee.

Without discussed protests, Mei had no choice but to follow him if she wants to live.

The two ran at great speed to the point if Mei wants to look back she couldn’t be able to see two feet behind her. Cold icy air with a dribbling storm rain hit inside her lungs. They have ran in the direction of the large massively outgrown corn field ready to harvest, the girl following by the tight grip contained on her still, feeling the muddy wet soil stick between the bare feet with the soaking rain pouring heavily down on them like bullets. Little hail stones starting to shower with them, as if god was punishing them for running away from their fate. His fate.

He makes sure the metallic pistol wasn’t gone, so she could feel how serious he was. The body digging right into the hole of the gun, marking it deep. The more gut wrenching, heart pumping try hard several thrusts forward with her legs, the more the gun was swinging back for more taste in her skin.

Mark feels the adrenaline running short, other than that, he seems coldly apathetic and unbothered, seemingly not yet caught by the police so he doesn’t need to act terrified. Mark is confident. He won’t get caught, it’s the last thing he’s able to do. But for Mei, he wants to keep Mei.

The doctor however felt her save opportunity run away, a chance presented itself and she’s lost it. Mei wants to be freed but as much as she wants to be freed, she can’t seem to act on it.

With the non stop running, a gnashing slice hit Mei from the rock bottom of the ground, openly cutting the feet with a shred of glass. Mei felt like breathing clouds out, as her voice stutters out a painful cry due to the cold temperature inflaming the body. She pulls Mark, stopping him running, his eyes walking up at Mei watching her in pain.

He curses, pulling Mei to sit up from the falling position, hearing the police searching the endless corn field now gaining a closer position next to them quickly. Flashlights have brought both their attentions behind them as it was shunned by the police searching, Mark glances back at the bleeding foot.

“Detective Byun and Detective Park we found footprints! Freshly made too!” One officer shouts across the left side. Mark can’t help but think, The police found footprints. Now major panic hit his system.

Mark was met with Mei’s pleading eyes, stopping on the tracks while the police are moving closer each minute. Suddenly, the gun moves out of view as it slips behind the pockets, latching arms underneath Mei instead where he begins to carry her; bridal style. Mei gasping in surprise, having little with no choice but to cling and clutch on Mark. He begins running away out of the field.

Mei was as light as a feather, worrying Mark he wouldn’t lie. He was worried about the way her weight was so easy to lift. Mark wasn’t that strong, he was but not insanely strong; He’s more than sure Mei lost so much weight ever since he forcefully took her with him. The way her arms became more slimmer, the face lost its chubby cheeks a little, her body was weak and soft with no muscle.

Despite Mei’s worrisome condition, personality wise she was still as hot-bull headed as before, just like in the hospital.

“I can walk on my own.” Mei mocks, offended by this treatment of feeling belittled; especially coming from her kidnapper. The wounded woman earns herself a scoff from the man, “your eyes said differently. Deal with the situation until i find the car.” Mark commands strictly. “Car..?” Mei nosily trails.

Endless gritty pants came to an end once Mark kicks open a window, unlocking the reddish truck-car model from the inside out. Putting Mei at the front passenger seat. Mark has managed to hide away a get-away car for any situation like this if it happened, it’s a hidden road from the cornfield on the edgy shortcut to the left, hidden by many fields and trees. Mark hops to the front seat, jamming open the keyhole of the car with a knife, the engine roaring as he started it open to work.

As Mark was busy getting the car ready to go, Mei hears the police distance chatting as they found Mei’s blood trailing. The urge to call out was unavoidable, her lips parting to yell out, but no voice came out. The kindness Mark outdid earlier conflicts Mei’s urge to call the so called help.it was as if this was a push and pull game, where Mei cannot tell who is bad or good anymore.

The car drives off safely before the police could find them residing in it, finding main land roads, leaving the countryside. The doctor had no idea where she was heading, but it was everything unknown. Harsh rain drops dubbing against the car roof and windows overstimulates the silence shareholding between the driver and passenger;

Mark’s head turns on its heels, looking down at the girl whimpering as the bleeding dirty foot came in view on her lap. “Argh..” Mei breathing heavy and sweating out the raindrops down the forehead . He turns his attention back on the road.

“Don’t touch it,” He firmly states, Mei pausing her incoming actions as she looks at the criminal questioningly. “You have dirty hands, it will give you an infection.” Mark continued. Mei leaning back into the seat as the lips let out a passing “Oh… right.”

She awkwardly mumbles, twiddling with the thumbs unable to think of anything to say. Did she even have the right to speak to him? Probably not. At this point the thin line between kidnapper and hostage was slim and unable to be foretold by anyone. No one would tell you even if you paid them. A kidnapper wouldn’t save a mere hostage, if anything, the first thing they would do is focus on themselves and leave the kidnapped victim to die. Or, the other option would be to kill them and make a run for it.

Mark didn’t do any of those options. Why? Mei was questioning him, questioning his intentions, motive, behaviours. Analysing this situation became a wandering headache in the Sahara desert, where her brain starts to fry up and melt.

She was the greatest doctor overseas in China and United States, now in her current hospital work as well. But she cannot find the answer to Mark Lee. It’s a first in a million years where someone left Mei bamboozled. In these situations only time could tell your so desperate answer.

The drive took longer than Mei wanted it to be, but it was understandable because it’s totally not like they are fugitives at all.

Leaving the car in the local parking lot, the two made their way into an ancient hotel, with pillars and wooden decorations become tactless in the local eyes. Mark chose the lowest rating as well, Mei could only imagine the amount of rats and smell she will meet today in this building.

Mark carrying Mei to the room inside, not wanting the girl to step on the ground with a wounded foot. He might be a murderous mafia who is the most wanted killer on loose worldwide Korea, but he would spare sympathy for Mei. Only her it seems. Mark shown not much reaction to Chenle being arrested, either.

The girl sits down straight with the back flat as her foot was lifted by Mark who went to get the first aid kit quickly. She’s seated on white silky bed sheets and an okay bed, it’s not bouncy but it’s not soft completely— Mei wouldn’t complain though. It’s the best thing so far in this dammed situation. It’s survival or nothing.

She wrapped her arms around herself, her skin chilling from the unforgiving storm raining down on them for hours on ends outside, the cold corrupting the body heat and killing it ruthlessly; teeth clattering against each other, tongue curling up to the mouths roof, saliva thickening in process.

If Mei was completely honest, Mark was the worst cold she has ever experienced in her life. He is the folding calamity, a freezing fairytale that stops people on tracks shuddering goosebumps and giving people frostbites once someone challenges him utterly, ending horribly their life with a signal look. The man below her with wet bangs, round lifeless soulless grey eyes and ice stone skin; is carefully treating the leg wound by bandaging it up as well as cleaning it to insure no infection was guaranteed, something a kidnapper would never be expected to do, to their hostage.

Those dangerously unreadable eyes scale up to see Mei, the woman who was utterly soaking with a white see-through visible shirt moulding into the skin, exposing everything in front of him so carelessly. The onyx hair sinking flat, only leaving the baby hair strands puffs out. The chattering lips who move on their on, were purple-ish blue fading in white. Slanted tired eyes watching him back cautiously. Mei’s black eyebags indicating to Mark that she wasn’t sleeping whatsoever at the farm house. Not even eating.

Muscular scarring hands slowly move to remove the glass shred from the soft small foot, each movement earns Mark a gruelling cry following by winces. Seemingly Mark shows a hint of smiles that caught Mei’s hissing expression withstanding the quick burning pain.

“What are you smiling at?” Mei croaks out, scowling once she takes back her feet folding it on the lap to watch the bandaged leg.

The man nevertheless were apathetic and bore, bandaging the foot and then dropping it back down as he begins to tidy the aid kit back in the red and white crossed box. “At you, who else would I be laughing at Hm?”

“You’re a sadistic asshole.” Mei spat, the words running in through one ear and out the other, all riling Mei up. Mark was horrible. He was confusing most of all, and she hates it so much. Mark laughs a little, with his voice running deep and silent. “Tell me something I don’t know, doc.”

Mark looking up at Mei with a sheepish evil smile, eyeing Mei from those two boiling glaring eyes representing a small dumb sheep in front of him. To the man, she was a harmless fly. To Mei, he was a mad man running wild needing to be stopped.

He hears Mei’s silence loudly, as Mark trails standing up. He walks across the room, those tough shoes he wore echoing on the wooden floor in the hotel room causing a large croak to be heard once he stops, putting the aid box down on the table. He spoke, challenging in mocking terms to Mei. As if he was degrading Mei’s psychology skills to be weak and unable to work on him ever. “Come on I’m waiting, analyse me like you always do.”

As if he was invincible, he thinks. Mei stares deeply in the man’s dead forbidden eyes, she drifts softly in a hushed voice to answer him. “You care about me.”

Mark lifts his chin up amused mockingly at the evaluation she said, how hilarious right? Him caring for Mei?— The man croaks out a deep chuckle curling forward to Mei who was on the bed gripping the edge of the sheets nervously. Suddenly, Mei feels like that calm observant behaviour shifts and Mark becomes a dark shadow haunting her.

“I don’t.” Mark coldly reprimands. “Do not mistake my kind gesture as a way to think I care for you.” Mei let’s out a scoff, not believing Mark.

Mei begins speaking calmly, somehow that gets under Mark’s skin the most. When she is as calm and still as a meerkat, observing him like a hawk. “Do you know what the first stage of grief is?”

Mark stood quiet and Mei hums out with a half eating smirk. The silence loud, and the tables turned. Mei was pushing the right buttons now. “Denial. You are simply in denial, that’s what everyone in denial says Mark.”

He croaks out a hiss grabbing Mei to stand up from the bed and face him in middle of the room. “Don’t trick me into believe such things.” Mark shouts, hand holding the wrist tightly, but the woman tugs back pulling the wrist as she grips forward her own hand back. “If you don’t why would you save me from that field when I was hurt? A kidnapper wouldn’t do that to their so-called-hostage. In fact, it wasn’t even an option. Until you made it become an option in the situation.”

Four glaring eyes staring right at each other, their breathes fighting with each oxygen intake was blown out with the nose. Their bodies closing the space slowly as well as pulling. It was a game of tug for them. A staring contest for them. Everything was a fight between them. Mark couldn’t believe those words but the more she explains it, the more he understood it. But his heart buried it deep and his ego was controlling him the most.

Ego. Ego always won. “Oh don’t let that act fool you, Miss Huang. I thought you were smarter than that,” Mark slowly jeers insultingly, running a hand down Mei’s soft cold skin from the jaw and down letting his finger lift the chin up. The condescending cocky expression killing Mei mentally and physically. Suffocating her. “I saved you for my own entertainment. If you weren’t satisfying my damn needs I wouldn’t hesitate to blow a bullet in you and leave you dead in that field.”—

Mark was met with a harsh but quick strike from a small hand, printing itself on the white skin on the man’s face. With Mei’s effort, she lifts her hand retracting it back, as Mark stands astounding with anger fuelling the body like an engine needing gasoline. The woman breathes heavily, the rest carrying by silence in the room.

Taking time to come back into reality. “Stop fucking hitting me.” Mark urges out like a last warning straw, pulling Mei’s face in a hold as he leans down to smash his lips on hers.

His face so close to hers that Mei could smell the fresh rain and field scent fragrance intoxicating her system, then a tongue entering past the teeth wrestling past her own to dominate it right away. Mei wising this was a dream yet there was a hint of welcoming him once the hands relax pulling Mark by his clothing collar and hair, tugging it within excitement. It was a shame, but she couldn’t catch a glimpse of Mark who was kissing her so aggravatingly and powerfully, the situation arouse Mei in sinful ways she did not wish to analyse. The fact that a heating conversation, a slap could cause Mark to react this way.

Little does Mei know this was just the beginning of their Psycho Love.

Masterlist to Psycho Love.

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Smut in the next chapter <3

@onyourhyuck please refer from translating, plagiarising and copyrighting my work, thank you!

Reblog, Like, Share, Comment And Follow Me For More~ it helps so much with my fanfics <3

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growup-thatbeautiful · 2 years

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Series Masterlist

taglist: @ya-khochu-umeret (anyone else feel free to join!)

Warnings: violence, anxiety, death, graphic descriptions of violence, nightmares, language

A/n: i’m like so tired of defending my billy love 😭😭and completely not ready to go back to school, but here’s an update lol

Chapter three: you’ll be alright

Billy’s foot taps anxiously on the cold linoleum floor, the only sound in the room beside the shifting of the rubber-suited peacekeeper at the door. He’s been watching the clock as it ticks forward, time moving in spurts of closed eyes and counting to ten.

When he woke up this morning, it wasn’t to the sound of rain like the morning before. No, he was forcefully woken up by the blare of an alarm and the lights clicking on. Breakfast was a rushed, uncomfortable event, the reality of today settling into each of them when Billy and Heather were told to hold out their right arms in order to insert the trackers that let gamemakers keep tabs on their location. Afterward, they were escorted to the hovercraft in order to take them to wherever the arena has been built this year. Every year it's different, from tundras and rainforests to islands and rolling hills. Billy doesn’t know what he wants it to be. All of his thoughts seem distant and fuzzy.

Goodbyes to Hopper and Dmitri had been rushed and frantic with whispered advice and teary compliments. Neither one of them said anything about seeing Billy again, which he appreciates. If they don’t have expectations, they can’t get let down. It’s what he would do if he were them.

Ever since he’s gotten into this room, no one besides the silent peacekeeper has entered. The white-tiled wall is starting to blur together, and the crack in the ceiling is starting to look like a girl in a dress. Time, as a general concept, has lost its punch after being in this room. He’s guessing that’s the point, though. Might as well start the mind games as early as possible.

Billy’s not going to give in to the madness yet, though. He passes the time playing with the necklaces around his neck, silver and gold charms jingling against each other.

He’s leaning his head back against the cool tiles of the wall when the door opens with squeaky hinges and heavy boots enter. “How’re you doing, killer?” asks a familiar voice.

Kali walks over to him somberly, examining his current state, splayed across the chair, legs outstretched. “How was the wait?”

Billy stands up, his chair kicking on two legs as it’s pushed backward. With quick footsteps, he paces around the room and says, “I swear, I’m going to fucking run out that door if-”

“If what? They don’t put you in the arena right now? Come on, Hargrove, don’t pull that empty threat shit on me. Appreciate safety while you can,” says Kali, brushing his anger away with a brush of her ringed finger. “Now, do you really want to spend your last moments in this lovely room sulking and puffing?”

Billy sighs and nods, settling back into the chair. “I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” she says easily. “Put this on and then I’ll give you my thoughts.” Clothes are shoved into his hands, and Billy is pushed into the corner of the room. He does as he’s told, donning the thin black cloth. It’s fairly similar to the athletic material he was given for the practice days, but this time it comes with a thin black jacket.

“So, I would say, based on the thin material and jacket that you’re going to be going into a fairly temperate environment, so not too much rain or cold, which is good. There’s not a lot of sun protection gear either, which I would count on meaning trees or some other shade.” Billy doesn’t know how knowing this is going to help him, but he appreciates the heads up anyway. “They gave me these for you.” From a box in the corner, she produces a pair of brown spiked boots with rubber soles and a glossy layer of paint.

“Hiking boots?” he asks, running his hands over the thick laces.

“Bingo,” she confirms. “Hopefully whatever rocks or uneven ground they have planned offers some shelter, which is what I would recommend going for first. The first night is going to be the hardest to make it through because that’s before the careers remember that they can die too.” He takes the boots and laces them onto his feet, leaving his ratty cracked leather ones under the chair for someone to burn. “Tell me honestly now. How are you holding up? You’re heading into a lot.”

“My headspace’s been better,” Billy says, running a hand through his hair and rubbing at his eyes. “But I’ll hold up.”

“Yeah,” agrees Kali, tapping him on the shoulder awkwardly. “I’m sorry it has to be like this.” Billy sees the strength in her eyes and the pain hidden beneath a layer of darkly colored makeup.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, it just is,” says Billy. He can’t keep the sadness out of his tone, laced with anger and spite. There’s no way he can change his situation, no reason to be angry at this point. It’s done, and it doesn’t matter that it hasn’t started yet. Best care scenario, he wins and goes home with even more nightmares.

With a hand on his arm, Kali leads him to a platform in the corner of the room where he’ll stand to be raised into the games. She puts a ringed hand on his shoulder and looks into his eyes. “Give ‘em hell, Hargrove. I’m rooting for you.” She steps away and a glass wall comes down from the ceiling, encasing Billy on the pedestal. The glass is smooth and thick, and when Billy reaches out to touch it, it’s cool against the pads of his fingers. Kali nods at him from outside the glass, mouthing good luck.

From somewhere, a speaker announces to him that he has ten seconds for everyone to clear the room before the platform raises and Billy is inserted into the arena.

He tries to say goodbye through the glass, but Kali is facing the other direction and walking out of the room. The peacekeeper doesn’t let her look back.

He’s left alone in the room on unsteady feet and with hands that shake. Underneath his boots, the ground pushes him upwards towards the ceiling. Right before he’s about to hit his head, it opens up and he’s hit with streaming sunlight and the sound of birds singing. As he gets closer to the top, he can see a green meadow dotted with white wildflowers. In the center of the meadow, there’s a shining metal structure shaped like a giant cornucopia, supplies stacked throughout the hollow inside. The further away from the cornucopia the worse and less frequent the weapons and food get, but in the middle, there are weapons of all kinds, swords and knives gleaming in the sun. They’re piled high and intimidating.

Billy remembers Hopper’s words, whispered into a hug. “There’s going to be a place where they put all of the weapons and supplies. Don’t go for it, it’ll be a bloodbath. Run, as fast as you can, to wherever there’s shelter.” Shelter. On the edge of the meadow, there is a green forest with tall trees that grow taller into the depth of the arena. That’s the best he’s going to get.

The whole arena fills with the voice of a gamemaker. “Welcome to the hunger games. You may step off your pedestals in sixty seconds, starting now. Sixty, fifty-nine...” Billy decides to tune out the countdown, at least until the numbers get close to zero. There’s no reason to stand there and listen when he can use the time to plan.

Billy sees a backpack not too far away from him and starts planning. He has forty-five seconds. He looks around for Heather but doesn’t see her. That means she’s probably on the other side of the cornucopia, blocked from his sight by the metal structure. They can meet in the middle, then he thinks they should be able to continue on together through the woods.

That is if they can make it to each other. Billy knows that this part of the game is brutal, commonly referred to as the bloodbath. The weaker tributes don’t make it far past this point usually, but Billy’s not going to let that happen. He won’t die on the first day.

The path to the backpack is fairly straightforward and evenly distanced between him and the girl next to him, he just needs to get there first.

Twenty-seconds. His mind wanders briefly back home, with the rickety bed and moth-eaten blanket. The garage, where everyone knew each other’s names and let Billy take off early to pick up Max. That old transport where he would take Max. Screaming matches with Max when they were the only ones home that would end in slammed doors and then peace after ten minutes of cooling off.

All of those things will be gone in ten seconds. Gone with his name read over a speaker. Gone when a canon sounds and announces the death of Billy Hargrove or when a crown is placed on his head.

He’s not going to come out of this the same person. He sees flashes of the future, horrifying images of him drunk in a lonely house, broken bottles, and the smell of mildew in the walls. He sees himself having to come back to the Capitol year after year and take some poor kids to their deaths. And that’s if he wins.

Ten more seconds flash by like the images in his mind. He’s not going to let those things happen to him. If he dies, then he’s already succeeded.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t really want to die.

The count hits one and the buzzer goes off. Around him, the others start to move, sprinting in all directions. Billy takes a breath and does the same, jumping off his platform and rushing to the backpack. Billy dives for it before anyone else can get to it, shoving the brown-haired girl out of the way. The impact of his shoulder against the ground is jarring, but it grounds him. Focuses him.

He looks up from his position on the ground and sees the same girl lunging toward him, arms outreaches towards the backpack. Using his knees digging into the ground for leverage, he throws himself to the side and, while she’s getting back on her feet, scrambles away, stumbling towards Heather.

When he looks back to see if she’s still chasing him, he sees her on the ground, blood pouring from a wound in her chest. Her movements are jerky and aborted, struggling to get back on her feet. She falls face forward and lays still.

He allows himself a moment of horror before he trips over himself, throwing the backpack over his shoulder. Heather is still behind his sights, but he continues his progress in her direction.

The grass is dewy and slippery underneath his boots, and some of the others seem to be struggling to gain their footing. They’re getting struck down one by one in various gruesome ways. Cut through the heart. Shot in the eye with an arrow sticking out. Beat to death with a rock.

Blood turns the wildflowers red. Billy keeps running towards Heather, a single goal that holds him away from panic and terror. There’s a ringing in his ears, that covers the sounds of screams and moaning pain. It might even be covering up the sounds of his own ragged breathing. He doesn’t know. All he can hear is a continuous, shrill noise.

He passes bodies, more than he’s seen before. Kids, staring wide-eyed and lifeless up at the blue, cloud-pillowed sky. The only thing he can do is keep moving forward. Towards Heather. Towards the only thing he recognizes out here.

In the distance, Heather’s familiar loose curls come into Billy’s sight. There’s someone next to her, coming towards her. Billy doesn’t think she sees the other person, because she’s looking at Billy and stepping toward him.

Without thinking, Billy sprints towards her. He has to get there in time.

Three steps away. The glint of a knife shining in the sun. Heather gasping, eyes flying wide open. Blood on her hands. Billy’s lunging to get to her.

Heather pulls the knife out of the other boy and he crumbles to the ground. For a second that seems to last a lot longer, Billy and Heather stand opposite him and stare at the unmoving form. Their eyes meet, Heather’s scared and immense. Billy’s scared and hardened.

With their hands grasped tightly between them, Billy and Heather run towards the forest on the edge of the meadow.

The ringing in Billy’s ears has calmed to a dull white noise that lets him hear his own breathing. It’s rattling and unsteady edged with hysteria and sobs. He thinks Heather is trying to tell him something, but he can’t tell. All he can do is follow where she leads, her hand guiding him deeper into the woods where the light dims.

Green forests pass by, sunlight streaming through the leaves. Heather walks a step behind him, spear strapped across her back. Gone is the easy banter, the jokes, and the laughter. Anything they had, any hope, is gone, stripped away by the death they just witnessed.

The sound of cannons fills the air, a booming eulogy to the kids who died within the first minutes of the games. Eleven shots were fired. Eleven kids dead. Thirteen left. “Let’s stop up there by those trees. We should figure out what supplies we have,” suggests Heather dully, stepping in front of him and leading him.

“Sure,” he agrees. There isn’t much else to say. They sit down in a small grove of trees, back against the bark. It digs into the thin fabric at his back and scrapes his skin. It’s grounding. Calming in a way only pain can be.

The contents of the backpacks are dumped into the floor, scattering across the dirt. With all of the food combined, they have a few packs of dried meats and not much else. as well as two water bottles, a hunting knife, some rope, and flint.

“Not too bad,” Heather says, riffling through the food. “But we shouldn’t eat soon. There needs to be a balance between keeping our strength up and wasting food. These are high in protein, which will help, but I wouldn’t count on using these alone. At some point, we’re going to need more.”

“Yeah,” Billy agrees, content to let her talk through it. “Sounds good.” There’s only so much to say.

“Should we do something?” Heather asks uncertainly, repacking the backpacks methodically.

“Fuck if I know.” Billy grabs one of the knives and twirls it between his fingers, testing its weight and tucking it into his backpack.

“Language,” chastises Heather absentmindedly. “Remember what they told us. Killing each other is okay, but cursing is a no.” Sarcasm drips from her voice as she picks at one of her nails.

“Right. Makes sense. Sorry, guys.” Billy looks at what he hopes is one of their hidden cameras and gives it a thumbs up. “I’ll keep the language to a minimum.” Everyone watching knows it’s a lie. He won’t. Somewhere, Hopper is sighing and reaching for a bottle.

“I guess we might as well keep walking,” Billy says, but it sounds more like a question. Heather takes his hand again and they choose a direction. The only noise is the soft sound of leaves rustling in the wind. There’s no trace of any other tributes around them, and Billy doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse. It certainly doesn’t help his paranoia.

They settle into an easy rhythm, their steps in sync. Billy leads ahead of Heather, who covers their steps as best she can. The ground is spongy and muddy in some places, and Billy has a suspicion that they won’t make it out of here without some heavy rain.

He’s not sure how much time passes, but the sun settles low in the direction they’re coming from, seeping the woods in golden light.

“Billy,” Heather says weakly from behind him. He turns around slowly, question on his lips, but it dies as soon as he sees the blood on Heather’s lips. “Run.”

He doesn't want to run. What he wants to do is rush towards Heather and try to stop the blood pouring from her throat, a horizontal red smile above her collar. It won’t work, he can tell she’s already lost too much, but he would try it anyway. The wet, gasping noises coming from her don’t sound promising either, but she’s looking at him with her blue eyes dull of terrified propelling. He wants to close his eyes against the shape of her lips mouthing the word please, but he’s helpless to look away. With the last shaking breath, Heather’s body goes limp in the arms of her attacker, no light left in her eyes.

Billy’s eyes flick up to the girl holding onto Heather’s body. Her bright red hair and manic laugh give her away as the career from District One. Without ceasing her laughter, she kisses Heather’s slack face and runs her hand through the blood covering Heather’s body.

She doesn’t stop smiling as she approaches Billy slowly, Heather’s body dropping to the ground with a sick thud. “You’re Harrington’s boy. You don’t know how lucky you are that he already claimed his stake on you. I’m Shine.” She holds out her blood-covered hand for him to shake, shrugging when he doesn’t accept it. “You’ll probably want to remember that name.” With a wink, she starts to walk away, humming as she licks the blood off her fingers. The three other tributes with her follow behind, snickering at Billy’s dumbstruck expression.

“Oh, and Hargrove? You might want to find good old Steve before tomorrow because there’s only so long we can wait. I look forward to seeing you again, whether you’ve shacked up with Steve or not,” she calls over her shoulder, sending him a vicious smirk.

It’s easy to let anger control him now because if he doesn’t, grief is going to consume him from the inside out. He knows from too much experience that anger can hold him upright for a while.

First, though, he takes slow steps toward Heather. Her arms are cast outwards, her legs at awkward angles from when Shine dropped her. Stifling a gasping sob, he gets down on his knees next to her and cradles her in his chest.

No tears fall from his eyes, but he clenches them tightly shut anyways. They’re not going to make him cry, not that easily.

Not that anything about this is easy. Dropping Heather’s hand isn’t easy, and neither is laying her head down in the leaves, tucking the blood-soaked hair away from her face.

Billy’s on his knees, begging with cracked lips for her to come back, hunched over, bending like a tree in the wind. But he knows he can’t stay here, out in the open, where anyone can see him. Where he can wind up just like Heather.

Billy’s heard people say that, in death, people wear expressions of peace, that they find peace in the last moments. It’s bullshit, he realizes now. The dull brown of Heather’s eyes isn’t peace, it’s absence. Just because she isn’t biting her nails or bouncing her leg doesn’t mean she’s at peace. Billy saw her expression before she died, and it was a far cry from calm.

This isn’t peace.

The light has long since faded, dusk draping the forest. The trees flutter, dark emerald jewels brushing against each other and against Billy. He takes one step at a time, no destination or plan. Billy does know that he can’t stop moving, he has to continue the pace. There are horrors behind him, ones he wants to push further away from. Heather’s body isn’t there anymore, he saw the clawed hand reach down and carry her away, but her blood still stains the leaves.

It’s somehow more peaceful without the brazen and noisy presence of light. He can let his thoughts slip away like the moonlight between the branches, push them out with even breaths and measures steps.

As he’s walking, the gentle sound of rushing water fills the air. Billy follows the sound and comes to a small clearing. Multi-colored wildflowers decorate the bank, clear water tripping over rocks and turning sharply to the opposite direction. It’s beautiful, he recognizes. Stunning and comforting and so very gentle. It doesn’t belong here.

There’s a small cave off of the river, hidden enough if he covers the entrance with some of the vines and leaves laying around the river. It won’t work in the daytime, but under the guise of darkness, he thinks it’ll be okay for a place to sleep.

Not that he’s going to get any sleep. Not while there are people out there, waiting to do to him what they did with Heather.

Brown eyes and brown hair. A striped dress. Blood-stained cheeks.

Heather’s gone. Billy dimly recognizes this, in some part of him, but the rest of his brain fights to catch up. It helpfully supplies images, a repeating cycle, of her eyes losing their light, losing her fight. Of blood dripping from her throat and down her shirt, creating a sticky mess.

He wasn’t there for her. She was right there, steps away from him, and he couldn’t save her. He could just stand there and watch the life drain out of her, not moving to help her. For how much he’s always prided himself in never backing away from a fight, today, he wasn’t able to do that. Not until it was too late.

His thoughts spiral further, allowing no room for self-grace, the fickle and peculiar subject. Without respite, he punishes himself thoroughly from the confines of the rock walls. Flashes of who Heather was haunst his memory. Her laugh, loud and unapologetic. Her smile, wide and cunning. Her immediate acceptance of his bad graces and her willingness to move past his bad moods. Not a lot of people had the strength to do that. Most people call it quits and assume what they want to: Billy’s an undeserving and crude asshole who doesn’t need anyone else. Somehow, she saw past all of those walls he put up, the ones that look like steel but are really made of paper. She was his candle out here, providing just a little bit of light in the utter darkness that surrounds him.

Billy is interrupted from his self-destructive thoughts by the sound of footsteps outside his cave. Running on pure instinct, he grabs the knife from his backpack and crouches low to move around the entrance of the cave, hiding as a shadow against the wall. As quietly as he can, he moves aside the makeshift curtain and peers through the opening.

Stumbling through the foliage and crashing around, Steve Harrington curses and looks around him, a hand covering his mouth. He’s carrying a backpack smaller than Billy’s and holding what looks like a large stick.

Logically, Billy knows that he should turn back towards the security of his cave and hide there until Steve passes. But Steve is alone and obviously freaking out a little bit, and Billy is in the same situation. He doesn’t have a friend anymore, the only person he knew is gone and not coming back.

Billy can’t be held accountable for his actions when Steve is right there, no one else is there to stop Billy from standing upright and holding his arms out to his sides. “Am I dreaming, Harrington, or is that you?”

In an instant, Steve has the stick in his hands, raising it by his head. He must realize who Billy is, because he cautiously responds, “Yeah, yeah, it’s me.” With narrowed eyes, Steve looks Billy up and down, his gaze softening at the red eyes and shaking hands. There’s not much Billy can do to hide that. “You’re not looking too good, Hargrove.”

“You don’t look so hot yourself. And I’m not in the mood to fight, so if that’s what you’re looking for, find someone else to be your plaything,” drawls Billy, grabbing his knife from where it was shoved in the back of his waistband. He won’t throw the first punch at Steve, but he’s not going to roll over either.

“It’s not- I’m not like that,” insists Steve. To prove his point, his hands drop to his sides, his posture still laced with tension but more relaxed. The bat drags on the ground where it dangles from his fingers.

“Oh, then you’re my angel,” Billy says dryly, leaning back against the wall of the cave. “Come to rescue me from the rest of your kind? That Shine girl is a menace.”

Heather’s blood on her hands. A sharp smile and bright red hair. That razor-edged laugh that came at the worst time.

Steve winces and takes a step toward Billy, his hands outstretched, reaching for him. “There’s nothing I can say to get you to trust me.” It’s not a question, thankfully, because Billy doesn’t have the brainpower to come up with an accurately snarky response. “So I’m going to show you. Look”-Steve sets down his bat on the grass, handle towards Billy-“I’m unarmed.”

“You’re also fucking insane,” Billy snaps, “if you think I believe that you don’t have any other weapons. I know for a fact that you can probably kill me without that at all.”

“I won’t,” promises Steve, taking another step towards Billy.

“Is that why you called dibs on me? Yeah, I heard about that. Want to explain what the fuck that means, pretty boy?”

You’re Harrington’s boy. You don’t know how lucky you are that he already claimed his stake on you.

“I don’t remember agreeing to be yours,” Billy grits through his teeth, standing up straighter as Steve gets closer.

He would give anything to be Steve’s, even if it was just for a moment. But based on the way Billy’s still holding his knife, he doesn’t think that it’s going to happen.

“I didn’t want anyone else to kill you,” Steve finally admits, raising the bat. In an immediate reaction, Billy draws the knife from behind his back and puts it to Steve’s throat, with no real intention of doing anything.

“Woah, calm down, killer. I’m just putting it away.” Steve demonstrates, raising the bat again to put it in the pouch of his backpack. Kali’s smile dances in Billy’s head. Killer. Does Steve know that she called Billy that? The thoughts are forced away when Steve’s voice returns hesitantly. “You want to take the knife away from my throat now?”

Billy does, with slow movements. The knife finds its place back in his backpack and he lets go of the thin material that makes up Steve’s shirt. “I don’t want to kill you either, by the way,” he admits. In his head, it’s monumental. This admittance, this honesty, doesn’t come easy. Not when the world is watching him and judging him however they seem fit. They could see this as a weakness and it might even be the thing that gets him killed.

But Billy can’t keep his wits around Steve. Not when he smiles like that, with big brown eyes and runs his hand through his hair, messing it up even more. Billy really hopes Steve isn’t perceptive, because he knows he’s doing a shit job at hiding the way his own mouth ticks up at Steve’s reaction

“So, we aren’t going to kill each other?” Steve asks cautiously. Hopefully. Hair falling into his face. Billy has to suppress the urge to move it back into place. He focuses on the question and pretends that he isn’t affected by the color of Steve’s cheeks. He didn’t know flush could be that pretty. He didn’t know anyone could be as pretty as Steve, but here he is.

“No,” responds Billy shortly. “Not today. I have better ways to spend my time than fighting with you, no matter how tempting the thought is.” It’s very tempting. Billy thinks he would pass out on the spot.

“Good,” breathes Steve. He must realize how close they actually are to each other, pressed together by the previous aggression because Steve clears his throat and steps back. Billy mourns the loss of his heat, despite the warmthof the air.

“We should sleep,” Billy suggests, giving Steve a reprieve from sarcasm and snippy remarks. “I’ll take first watch.”

“No fucking way,” laughs Steve, hands on his hips. “I’m not stupid.” Billy knows that, but he also knows that there’s no way he does anything to hurt Steve.

“I thought we established that we aren’t going to kill each other,” counters Billy, leaning against a tree. “Pretty boy, I won’t hurt you while you get some rest. I’m not a villain.” He hopes it’s the truth. Based on the look Steve gives him, it might be. Steve looks exasperated, yes, but also fond.

“I know that. Or, at least, I try and believe that.” Steve says it like he’s making sure Billy knows. Then, he narrows his eyes and points at Billy “You don’t make it easy, though. I mean, you had a knife to my throat a few seconds ago.”

“I thought you were going to bash my brains in with a bat.” There’s a moment of silence in between them, tension and challenge in the air. Billy relishes in it, wants to live in it, just on the edge of uncomfortable that has him on alert.

“That’s fair,” Steve finally concedes, holding his hands up in surrender. “You can take the first watch.”

“Well now I feel bad about not trustnig you,” complains Billy. Steve grins at him, looking way too pleased. “You asshole, you did that on purpose.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.” Leaning in and whispering conspirately, Steve asks, “Did it work?”

Billy sighs and glares at Steve, blinking at him before responding. “Maybe. You can take first watch, but if you kill me while I sleep I’m going to haunt you.” What a way to spend eternity. It doesn’t sound half bad.

“Deal. You’ll be my guardian angel.” That’s not exactly what Billy meant, but he’s perfectly happy for Steve to take it that way. “Lead the way to our home for the night.” Billy takes Steve’s hand in his, which is completely unnecessary and mostly to see the way Steve falters and blushes.

He adds on a “Anything for you, pretty boy” just to see the color turn a more furious shade of red.

Together, they crawl into the space between the vines and enter the darkness of the cave. When Billy chose the cave, he hadn’t meant for two people to be sleeping in, so it’s a tight fit, their legs mixed together, crossing and on top of each other.

“You should get some sleep,” Steve whispers to Billy, their shoulders bumping against each other, back to the cave wall.

“Okay,” he says quietly. The atmosphere presses his eyes closed, gently coaxing him to sleep, Steve’s soft tone lulling him further. His head drops to Steve’s shoulder with a tired sigh and his knees come up to his chest, making him as small as possible. Like this, he feels small, like a creature huddeling close to something warm. It’s easy to curl into Steve’s heat and breathe in the smell of dirt and sweat and something sweeter.

Just as he’s about to drift away when someone reaches over and tucks his hair behind his ear. It’s the barest breath of touch, but the place on his cheek where he was touched burns. It feels like Steve’s brush of a touch leaves a mark behind, red and screaming. Billy doesn’t have a mirror, so he can pretend to wear Steve’s mark as long as he wants to.

With Steve’s body pressed up against his side, thigh to thigh, Billy falls into an uneasy and fitful sleep.

Something is chasing him. He doesn’t know what it looks like, doesn’t know what it is, but he knows he has to keep running or it’s going to get him. Take him into its jaws and tear him apart.

It started with him in the woods. He was by himself, calling Heather’s name and then calling Steve’s name, knowing that neither of them could reach him here. He screamed until his voice was scratchy and raw.

That’s when he notices how quiet everything else is. There are no crickets chirping happily away, despite the evening light. The leaves are still in their place, no rustling of animals in the branches. It’s eerily silent in a way the forest never should be.

He can’t help his morbid curiosity. There should be noise, and he wants to know why there isn’t. His thoughts of being alone were replaced instantly by questions and a need for answers.

The sound of twigs crunching underneath his boots is the only noise in the darkness, not even his breathing registering in his ears. In his focus, he doesn’t notice how strange it is, how his movements seem to be in slow motion, shrouded in impenetrable darkness. The sky is without stars, without a moon. A shiny, black hole.

Then, he feels it. A phantom presence at the back of his neck, like eyes watching his movement. All at once, the silences is overwhelming and menacing, opressing him, forcing his knees to buckle and his hands to shake furiously.

Billy tells himself that if he doens’t turn around he can’t see anything, logically, so he grits his teeth and stares straight ahead into the pit black chasam on the forest. When did it get so dark?

“I swallowed all the light,” a voice says, deep and scratchy, coming from all around him, like the darkness itself is talking. “I killed everything good in the world. That’s why you’re left, lovely. I can see the horror inside you, waiting to escape, and I can help you. I can make them bleed, the people who hurt you. You want that, don’t you?” Billy can’t breathe. He hears the words, they’re being spoke directly into his skull, and he hates that some part of his keens at the idea of hurting Neil and the others like him. But the bigger part of his screams and drowns against the oppressive voice, the darkness.

“You’re so beautiful, William,” it coos, and Billy feels something against his back, something living and freezing cold. “Or- yes, you go by Billy, don’t you? Billy, such a pretty name. I have plans for you, my Billy.” That’s when Billy starts running. He wants to push it behind him, run from the words, the terrible words. He has a sick feeling in his stomach, nausea filling his head.

“Why are you running?” it laughs, still as close as before. “You think that’s going to save you from your purpose? Your destiny?” Images flash through Billy’s mind without his permission. Max, her bones broken and sticking out, blood pouring from her eyes, laying alone in a field of blue flowers. Susan, locked in her room at their house, covering her ears against the angry banging at the door, sobbing and pleading for him to go away. His mom, her smile too sharp and her eyes meaner than he remembers them being, her blond hair tinged at the end with blood. Heather, as she was when he left her, but she’s standing up and walking towards him, jerky movements like a puppet on a string.

Finally, Steve. Steve, turning slowly in a circle, his weapon raised, eyes set in determination against something. Something hits him from the side, and Billy realizes with horror that it’s him, knife in hand, bringing it down over and over again through Steve’s chest. Steve, asking why with hurt eyes and a pained gasp.

Billy doesn’t know how he’s still running, but his feet are moving on their own accord, steadily rushing him away from the darkness, but it’s all around him. He can’t escape. The voice comes back, rising in volume steadily, shaking the ground beneath him. “You and I, Billy, we’re children of pain, raised on the blood of others.”

Billy thinks he shouts something, some sort of protest, but the voice continues, strength rising against Billy, darkness caving in on him like a wall. “Together, we will make the world scream.”

“Billy. Billy.” Steve’s voice, coming from all around him, sounding like it’s through water. Dimly, he thinks about whether Steve would travel through water for him.

The ground is shaking underneath him, an earthquake that rattles the teeth in his skull and crosses his eyes. Trees blur and grow taller around him, caging him in. There seems to be a low, haunting noise coming from them. His ears sting and when he reaches up to touch them, his hands come back wet with blood.

“Wake up. Billy- shit- wake up please.” Steve’s voice breaks through again, just as loud as the trees. “It’s a nightmare, nothing more.”

The voice cackles with delight, and Billy slams down into the ground. “Go to your Steve,” it mocks, “He’ll make everything okay for a while. He’ll make you forget for a moment with those brown eyes of his.”

“But, my lovely, remember that you’re mine. All the time you give to him, it’s not yours to give. I’ll make him pay for keeping you happy. Things like us don’t get happy endings. You’re going to break his heart.”

Billy jolts awake with sweat streaming down his face, eyes adjusting to the dark shapes of the cave, Steve pressed to his side, arms around him.

“Hey rockstar,” Steve greets softly, releasing Billy. He offers an explanation with averted eyes. “You were kicking.”

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Billy whispers, heavy with emotion. Steve’s relieved smile is worth the effort. Billy can’t make himself smile, though, not with the darkness still lingering in his mind. The voice rings in his ears. They still ache from the memory of the voice that tore at his eardrums and bled him dry. Absently, he reaches up and touches them to make sure they’re still there. Or to make sure he’s still awake. He doesn’t know.

There’s blood on his hands from his ears. Just like in the dream. The cave, previously warm with their body heat, feels frigid all of a sudden. “It was real,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

“What?” Steve asks, concern in his voice. “Billy, it was just a dream. It seemed like a pretty bad one, but still, a dream. That’s all it can be.”

“My ears are bleeding like the did in the dream.” Spurred on, he checks his hands. There’s dirt underneath his nails, but that was already there before. But in his palm, there’s a shallow cut that he remembers getting in the dream from a rock when he fell. There are scrapes on his knees, freshly bleeding, like he banged them moments ago. “So is my hand, and my knees.”

“You were flailing a lot,” offers Steve, but he sounds less sure this time. “It could be from that.”

“Steve, I get nightmares all the time, but never anything like that before. I would remember that.” Billy can still feel the darkness around him. Being close to Steve helps. His warmth, his breath against Billy’s neck, his arm still holding onto Billy’s.

“What- what was it like?” Steve asks hesitantly, almost drawing away from Billy. He’s stopped by Billy clutching onto him with a vice-like grip, keeping him close. He’s not ready to deal with being alone, no matter how many people are watching.

“It was that feeling when you close your eyes and don’t want to open them because you’re scared something is there, but it was a place full of that. Like, it didn’t matter if I closed my eyes, because I could still feel something there. Something made only of darkness. Something evil. It was all around me, no matter how fast I ran away.” Steve hums to show he’s listening and slowly wraps his arm more securely around Billy, moving Billy to where he’s curled into Steve’s side. Billy admits softly, “It showed me things. Images of people. You were there too.” Billy can feel Steve’s questioning look, but Steve doesn’t say a word. Other than the slow movement of Steve’s fingers lazily running up and down his arm, he doesn’t react at all. He just listens as Billy continues. “In the dream, if it was a dream, I hurt you. I think I hurt a lot of other people too. Whatever it was that was there with me said that I was horrible and dark, and it was so easy to believe it.”

Steve stops his movement and brings his mouth as close as he can to Billy’s ear, words low and comforting. “I don’t know you that well, Billy, but I know you aren’t evil. If you were, you would have killed me a long time ago. You’ve had the chance.” His words are true, but Billy can’t bring himself to believe in them, no matter how good they sound coming from Steve’s mouth.

“You were the only thing that could wake me up,” Billy says instead of answering Steve’s assertions. “I heard your voice and everything was easier.”

When Steve responds, it’s with murmured confessions. “I only wanted it to stop. You looked so scared and so, so alone. You were pale and it was even worse when you stopped trashing around. You went limp in my arms and I thought for a second that you were gone.”

“You’re not going to get rid of me that quickly,” Billy says, smiling to himself. Steve was worried about him. Steve cares.

Billy’s not sure what he expected, but it wasn’t this. Maybe they’ll go back to arguing tomorrow, maybe distrust will come back with the sunrise, but right now? Right now, Steve’s arms around him feel like home. He’s safe here, in their little cave, far away from everyone else at least in spirit. There’s no trace of any other tributes in sight; they really are in their own world.

“Just- don’t do that again, okay?” Steve asks, sounding exhausted. Billy can feel the way Steve is lax against the wall of the cave behind him, almost struggling to keep upright.

“Alright, I promise,” he whispers into Steve’s neck, breathing deeply. In and out. Count to 4, hold, count to 4. It would be easy to fall back asleep, it’s what he should do, but he can’t seem to make himself want that. “I can stay up for a while. You get some sleep, you look tired.”

“Wow, thanks,” Steve responds, but there’s no edge to his tone. “I take back everything nice I’ve said in the past minute.”

“It’s too late for that, I’ve already heard you. My ego might never recover,” Billy warns gravely, grinning to himself.

“Fuck you,” Steve mumbles, his head falling on top of Billy’s. Billy takes it as an opportunity to curl up tighter against Steve, cherishing the steady heartbeat he hears under his chest. The pulse at Steve’s wrist, strongly thrumming away under his fingers. The even breaths tickling his hair. Signs of life that Billy’s going to hold on to and listen for while Steve sleeps. “‘M not sure how good of watch you’ll be able to keep if you’re cuddling me.” Asshole. Billy’s grin grows wider and he pinches Steve’s side. Steve accepts it without comment.

“Get some sleep, pretty boy. I’ll be here when you wake up.” For once, Billy is going to keep his promise. He’s going to be here for Steve, waiting with bated breath for the moment he opens his eyes and remembers where they are.

Hopefully, Steve will let him stay as long as they have together. Hopefully, Billy’s last glimpse of life is into those pretty brown eyes.

“Night, Hargrove.” Steve already sounds like he’s asleep, dreamy and far away. Billy sends a prayer to someone that Steve doesn’t get any nightmares.

“Goodnight, Harrington.”

Billy’s voice is a lot fonder than it usually is. He blames it on the nightmare.

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sydneekomspacekru · 3 years

Text

Time Traveling ~ Emori x Fem!Reader ~ Part 2

Inspiration: Part 2 because I love the new mood board

Summary: The year is 2042. The Coronavirus is still running rampant. Your adoptive mother, Becca Franko, has discovered time travel, and she and her colleagues need someone to travel to the future to collect the vaccine. Of course, as always, you are her lab rat. So, you are sent to the future. Just much farther than originally planned. Turns out, the show "The 100" that your mother was in (and you never watched) revealed her plan for A.L.I.E. and simultaneously predicted the future. Now, you've got no way to get back to your era, but, the thing is, you aren't sure that you even want to.

Warnings: Shy!reader, fluff, language, all of the warnings from The 100, (eventual) light smut, flirting, cocky!reader too for some reason A/n: Okay but the quote in the top right corner makes me so soft, like it fits perfect with the story😭

Previous | Next

It was getting late again, the sun was starting to set and you were starting to feel the effects of having no food. You walked next to Murphy and Emori, you and Emori trading off every now and then - despite the red haired man's protests. He didn't like that the two newcomers were having to do less manual labor than the rest.

You didn't talk to each other much while they carried the cart, it was too straining for them to focus on words and pulling the cart. Instead, you decided to talk about things in the past. "There was this one place, back home, it was called Braum's. My mother would always have it shipped to us, all the way up in D.C. It cost a fortune, but vanilla bean was my favorite and she wanted me to have the best." You smiled at the memory, it soon turned dark though. "Even though she never treated me the best." You mumbled.

"What... do you mean?" Emori was able to get out.

"I was always her test subject. I was made a nightblood before she was, and even though I perfected it, it was terrifying. Then she sent me here, even if I was scared to death. I begged her not to, but she paralyzed me, and sent me against my will. Not to mention the fact that she was always holding it against me how she got into Harvard at ten, and I just now earned my degree in forensic science." You ranted, it felt good to get it out. You never realized the resentment you had for your adoptive mother, yet you had.

"That's-"

"Nou kom op closer nau!" Someone came up over the hill, holding a large weapon. Everyone froze, you stepped closer to both Murphy and Emori out of habit. Even though you hadnt known either of them for very long, you felt safer with them than you ever did your mother.

You looked in panic over to Emori, she had set the cart down.

You heard someone tell Jaha to watch out. You heard guns cock once again.

"Non move."

And at the same time, "Hold your fire."

In the chaos, you saw Murphy and Emori move. Your stomach dropped. She had a knife to his throat.

"Everyone," she yelled, the concern on her face was now gone. She avoided looking at you. "Put your weapons and supplies in the cart and nobody gets hurt."

You froze, you didn't know what to think anymore. You thought you could trust this girl.

"If we give you our supplies, we'll die out here." Jaha called, hands raised up near his head.

She cocked her head, "If you don't, you'll die right here." She pressed the knife harder into Murphy's neck, you felt tears prick at your eyes. You held them back.

"Do as she says," there was grumbling. "Now." You started to put your water cannister into the cart, sniffing as you did so. You were going to die. You were going to die in your own vomit, with dry skin and an empty stomach.

You glanced back at her, just enough to see her shake her head slightly.

You backed up, and hid the cannister back in your jacket.

"Emo yu don eni techi?" You heard the man yell, you realized that their language, Trigedasleng as Emori had told you, was just a sort of broken English.

"Oso'll diga au." She yelled back to him.

"How's your faith holdin' up chancellor?" Murphy scoffed, and Emori tightened her hold on him.

"Shut up," she snapped.

"Unwavering." He stepped forward. "You don't want to do this," he addressed both the man and Emori now.

"Stop walking." She seemed nervous. Maybe it was just wishful thinking but you thought maybe she didn't want to do this.

"We all came out here searching for a better life, same as you. And we can find it, if we work together."

She hesitated. "Thanks," she looked at you and quickly avoided eye contact. "But no."

"Emori, hos op!" You looked up at the man on the horse, he was starting to turn it away.

You laughed, betrayal laced through it. "At least your name was real. God knows nothing else was." You spoke loud, you wanted her to know you were angry.

"Now," her voice shook slightly, "Everyone back away from the cart, and get on your knees. Now!"

"Do as she says." Jaha commanded when no one moved.

"You too." She told Jaha, but was looking at you. Her stare was hard, she had finally dropped the act. You were bitter. And angry at yourself. You let yourself trust her, and she robbed you all, and left you to die. You actually thought she was a good person. You had felt safe with her. You scoffed, dropping down to your knees. You saw something white flash in your right pocket. The one that hadn't had the button in it. You hadnt noticed it before. You would have to check after they left.

She made Murphy sit on the ground like everyone else, and you heard him saying something to her. But you couldn't make out the words.

She whispered something to him, and brought the end of the knife down on his head. You let out a yelp. How could she be so cruel, she was just your friend. Or, you thought she was.

It was night again. You had been sitting on the ground next to Murphy for hours. You had looked in your pocket as soon as they left. It was your iPod. You were elated. You had your headphones in your back pocket, and you had been listening to music the entire time Murphy had been out.

He started moving, and you called Jaha over. He shook him, "John," he opened his eyes, pressing a fist to his head. "Come on, we gotta go." Murphy coughed.

"There he's up, it's about time." It was the red head that talked fast again, you rolled your eyes.

"Quiet Caspian." You were right, it was Caspian. "You alright?"

"If he's not we're leavin' him here."

"I'm okay," he said, and Jaha helped him up.

Caspian let his hands fall to his sides, making a slapping noise. "It's time to go home."

"And where exactly is that?" Jaha turned back to him.

"Sir," for a guy as rude as him, he sure was an ass kisser. "I know you're trying to take us to a better place. But look around, we've got no food we've got no water. No idea how to find it." Caspian shook his head as he spoke.

Murphy walked over just as you were about to speak. "Due North."

"What?" You asked.

"She said due North."

"What is due North, John?" Jaha turned to Murphy, a smirk evident on his face.

"She was talking about the City of Light." He glanced over at you.

"Did she say that?" Caspian raised an eyebrow, skeptical of his trustworthy.

"No." Caspian squeezed his eyes shut and turned away from you guys.

"Did she say how far North?" Jaha settled in his spot, on his walking stick.

"No, she didn't. But she wouldn't be sending us there if she didn't know we could make it." You rolled your eyes.

"Who's this? The liar and the thief that knocked you out?" You had to agree with him on this one. You hated it. But he was right. "Sir I hope you are not considering this."

Jaha ignored him. You stayed quiet, you weren't part of their group and you felt out of place trying to persuade Jaha one way or another. "John, we have no weapons and no rations. If we go North and you're wrong. Then all of us will die. If we turn back now, we live."

"So that's it, we've reached the point of no return. You just give up?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't not say it either."

He looked at the sky. "That," he pointed, "is the North star. After you." He waved his hand in front of him. Murphy started walking, and gestured for you to follow. You sighed and followed him.

You heard Jaha giving some speech to the remaining, and tuned it out. Seven people including you out of the thirteen (also including you) hiked on.

"I believe this is what they call having faith, John." Jaha called.

He shook his head, "Nah, just got nothing better to do."

You walked up yet another dune, Murphy had ben tugging you faster and faster along. Ahead of the group. "Emori, she said something else too."

You shook your head, rolling your eyes. I must be a broken record, you thought. "Oh yeah, what else did she say?" You let out a dry, heartless laugh.

"She told me to tell you she was sorry." You stumbled. He was waiting for your reaction.

"Yeah, I'm supposed to trust the liar. She deceived both of us." You hissed at him, the rest of the group was catching up. "She made us think she was our friend. And then she killed us, she killed us. We're dead, Murphy. Death is the only thing in this world that is completely permanent. Do you understand that?"

"You're just bitter because you have a crush on her."

You sputtered out a reply. "No, no I don't." You swallowed, taking out the water bottle, pulling him to your side. You were shoulder to shoulder. "Here, there's a quarter of it left and I'm not too fond of sharing it with five other people." You took a drink, and passed it to him. He just raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, you don't. How'd you manage that, then?" He smirked.

"Want a drink or not?" You shook the water, it sloshed inside. He shook his head. You shrugged and stuffed it back in your jacket.

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