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inmyownlaine · 1 year

Text

John Murphy x Reader: Only Me

Warnings: Weapons, threatening death, cussing, angst

Word Count: 1494

Part: 1 2

Series: Enemies to Lovers Trope

Summary: Murphy’s kind gesture in the bunker has thoroughly interfered with your cold attitude and you couldn’t be more upset. Confronting him only makes it worse, causing his friends to jump in on the insults. However, Murphy reminds them that only he gets to talk to you that way. No one else.

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You wanted to tell. Never in your life did you think you would want to divulge such insignificant information. Surviving was not about the pitter-patter of your heart. It was about keeping it intact, protecting it with layers of armor, shooting anyone that threatened it.

The only problem was you didn’t have anyone to tell. Which, of course, confused you. So what if you were a tad vindictive? And callous. Maybe even bitter. But only just a smidge! If people couldn’t look past your absolutely awful qualities and see the sliver of graciousness that oozed through one singular pore then that was their problem.

So instead, you let it burn inside you. The secret festered and boiled, creating a bubbling sensation in your stomach, like a rancid potion in a rusty cauldron. It was enough to spend the majority of your lunchtime stabbing at the food instead of eating it. Imagining that it was Murphy, wishing he had never been kind to you. If he had just left you alone, you wouldn’t feel this way.

Then you could stab him in peace, rather than feeling the twinge of guilt for pretending the fork was going through his pale skin.

A trio of girls walked by. You watched dreamily, a curled fist resting under your chin. Their long locks of hair billowed behind them, cascading in waves down the middle of their back. Even with their dingy clothes and dirty nails, they paraded down the pathway with pouty lips and sultry stares.

But they smell awful you thought, nose wrinkling in disgust. And their hair had to be just as gritty, if not worse, than yours. They weren’t any better than you. They just had the confidence to pretend.

You straightened your back, realizing how deluded you were being. Their portrayal was all fake. They had to put on a show. But you? Your iron fist on every single person, item, and decision was irrefutable. Everyone did what you said, when you said it. Whether it was from fear or anger, you couldn’t care less.

Swiping the hair from your eyes, settling it behind your ear, you regained the part of you before the bunker. All it took was diving into a good, old-fashioned passtime of yours. Comparison and judgment made the world go round. And besides, everyone needed it. How would they ever know their place?

Yes, things were starting to fall back into place.

And then Murphy trudged into the room.

You hunched over, captivated and breathless at the fluency of his steps. His shoulders followed in graceful tandem, swinging in time with his hips. Murphy was poetry in motion. Of course you could tell, being such an avid consumer of Dickinson and Keats.

Not.

You averted your eyes, coming face to face with the endless woods; silence and nature being your only two companions. This was how you preferred it. The trees never questioned you. The cloud never made you feel inferior. A beautiful hush never broke your heart.

This is how you preferred it.

Right?

The sides of your head started to pulse, like the kick from a pistol. It reverberated and rang across your entire forehead, down the ridge of your brows and inside your eye sockets. Nothing was going to solve this except your sleeping bag.

You tossed the leftover food over your shoulder and pushed off the ground. Although, your plans had some competition. With Murphy sitting in your path, chatting to a few of his equally disturbed friends, he was unknowingly fighting the bed for your attention.

This was going to be the easiest thing you’ve ever done. It was as simple as placing one foot in front of the other, acting like you never noticed how incredibly gorgeous he looked with his fresh new wounds, and traveling to the only destination you intended. Everyone knows that sleeping is more important than boys.

You swerved around his group, desperately battling the urge to see if he was watching you. If he even knew you existed.

“Look away,” one of the boys suggested. Fair enough.

“Wasn’t even looking,” another replied. Okay, that was a little much.

You cocked your head in their direction. A snide remark just itching to escape your dehydrated lips, but catching behind your teeth. You couldn’t even form the words to be rude when Murphy was in your line of sight. And he wasn’t even doing anything. Just sitting, minding his own business, and definitely not worrying about you.

But that didn’t matter. Murphy was like…

God, you needed to read poetry.

Ew, what?

“Need something?” Murphy questioned. His eyes were like - they were blue - like - blue…berries! And the way his hair fell past his eyes, parted down the middle, was - attractive. But like, a lot. The shoulder pads on his jacket were spiky. There. That was all the description anyone needed of him.

And really the only thing you could provide.

“Not from you,” you snapped. But then you thought about it. “Actually, yeah. Stop inserting yourself in my life.”

“I’m - not?” he said slowly.

“You’re in my way. Always.”

“Since when has that been a problem for you?” Murphy jeered. “I thought you liked a little challenge. Speaking of which, I think you’re overdue.”

“For what?”

His blueberry…His eyes shimmered with mischief. It reminded you of the glint that reflected off his favorite blade. One that your throat had grown so accustomed to. A sinister thought sprouted in the recess of your brain as you found yourself wishing he would, just to be pressed against you. To touch you, breathe down your neck, make every hair on your body stand at attention.

Would he notice that you would inhale deeply? Not out of anguish, but just to take in his full scent. That his warmth would be the cause of your rapid heart instead of the adrenaline of near death? You might even expose yourself further, rolling your head to the side, trying to lay it next to his cheek…

“Looks like you already know,” he said to you.

“Try me.”

Murphy began to rise, but the boy to his left stuck out his arm. This caused a red alarm to set off in your mind, blaring and flashing with urgency to take action. Without hesitation your gun was aimed, looking down the sight. Murphy didn’t seem too impressed, shoving the hand away.

“I’ll take care of it,” his friend offered.

“Not a chance,” Murphy told him.

“Come on, man. We could end this right now. All of us. We could kill her and no one would bat an eye. No one would care. We might even get a reward.” He chuckled as he said the last part, smug and reckless. He didn’t deserve poetry. He was every bit of phone directory. Useless beyond imagination, full of information that exactly zero people cared about. Just as worn down as the revolting yellow pages, yearning for a time when someone would find convenience in his miserable existence instead of immediately tossing him to the side with all the other nugatory things.

“Quit,” Murphy demanded.

His friend didn’t understand. He scoffed at Murphy, copping an attitude while his tongue grazed over his teeth. “I don’t get you.”

“There’s nothing to get. Just shut up.”

“I’m not saying anything you wouldn’t say!”

“That’s the point, jackass,” Murphy growled. His voice rasped, like the crunching of large gravel. Every single microscopic entity that occupied your body zinged off your bones, your veins, your skin. You felt a flush starting at your toes, crawling up to your face. In the pursuit of playful threats, Murphy made you feel visible. Which, turns out, was not the best look on you.

“You don’t get to say those things to her. Only me. Got it?”

Got it. Got it, bad. Murphy wanted to say something else to you, but there was no time. If you couldn’t outrun your feelings, the least you could do was outrun him. Try to place as much distance between the two of you before you started replacing all the knife scenarios with his hand.

God. Murphy could slam you against the wall with no trouble. Those slender fingers would grasp your neck, digging in his nails so hard they left crescent moons. Splotches of purple and blue would appear around them, painting a stunning portrait of the nighttime sky in the shape of his hand.

He would be proud of it, too. After all, it’s not too often that an artist creates a masterpiece. Let alone one that he could perfectly replicate repeatedly, and for the canvas to never tire of the same patterns and colors.

It was too late. There was nothing left for you to do. And there was only one person that could fix this now. You burst into Clarke’s tent, startling her enough to make her draw her gun. “I need to know poetry. And you’re going to teach me.”

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In my feelings, per usual. Massive shout to ryaniq.aep for creating edits that make my heart soar. Season one Murphy is too much to handle.

Look forward to the third part of this little trope series soon! I hope it’s okay that the reader is more on the chaotic side, I’ve actually really enjoyed writing for someone a little devilish. Their internal thoughts kind of crack me up.

Xx Lainey

#john murphy #writing #love #the 100 #john murphy fanfic #the 100 fanfiction #john murphy imagine #john murphy x reader #john murphy fic #the 100 fanfic #the 100 x reader #the 100 imagine

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inmyownlaine · 1 year

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John Murphy x Reader: Enemies to Lovers Trope

Warnings: Weapons, threatening death

Word Count: 2075

Part: 1

Summary: After taking cover in the underground bunker, you find yourself trapped with your sworn enemy. As time trails on, you realize the two of you will have to stay there till the coast is clear. The worst part? There’s only ONE bed 😮🤯

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He hated you. More than anything or anyone. In fact, if he were given the option to be pushed off a cliff or spend time with you, he would jump on his own accord and do a backflip on the way down.

And you couldn’t stand to be around him. You would rather spend your time eating soggy bread, walking in wet socks, or ripping band-aids off your bare skin. Anything was better, more preferable, than seeing his face.

If the two of you weren’t spitting insults at each other with vitriol and pure malice, you were physically harming one another. There was nothing amiable about the shoulder check he delivered on a daily basis. Likewise, your perfectly placed foot was not in jest. Especially when he would trip over it and go tumbling to the ground.

It got to the point where you couldn’t walk alone. He would grab you by the arm and slam you against walls, knife to throat, as he chuckled menacingly in your ear. “You know how easy it would be for me to kill you?” he would always ask.

And he couldn’t sit with his back to you, or else he’d find the barrel of a gun nudging his temple, and you with an itchy trigger finger. You’d deliver a smug little smile, pushing it further and further into his head. “And just like that, all my problems would suddenly go away,” you would always comment.

Yet, neither of you actually did anything. It was the sheer adrenaline, the barbaric action, the thrill of it all, that led you to behave so irresponsibly. The bruises and cuts and words would not stand in your way. No amount of concerned teenagers or useless pep talks would interfere. Nothing.

Being this wicked was a lonely road. You felt like a great white approaching a school of herrings. Wherever you went, there was an immediate scatter. Active avoidance upon sight was recommended. But you were the best shot, bar none. It was the only reason anyone allowed you to have a gun.

Or tag along on their excursions.

In front of them, of course. So everyone could clearly see exactly what you were doing. The wave of terror you caused was oddly devine. You didn’t live to torture others, or to be feared by the masses, but it was such a wonderful feeling to have some sense of power. So you sashayed with pride, lips puckered in a confident pout, leading them steadfast through the unknown forest.

The chatter behind didn’t phase you in the slightest. They were probably gossiping about their childish crushes or bantering with inside jokes. Neither of which concerned you or piqued interest.

That’s when the most grating, most vexatious voice muttered in a not-so-low tone, “Such an easy target.”

There was no hesitation. The gun was already in your hands as you spun around, aiming it directly at him. Everyone gasped, ducking for cover.

Except for him. He encroached your perimeter, arms tightly crossed against his chest, practically begging to be sprayed with bullets. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “That’s cute.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you warned him.

“Or what?”

You sneered. “I’ll finally grant you your wish. A chance to see your father again.”

He laughed aloud, minimizing the distance with every arrogant step he took. With a final act of provocation, he willingly placed his forehead on the muzzle. With both his hands in the air, mocking surrender, he glowered at you through slacked eyelids. “Then do it.”

A foghorn rang out across the woods. You removed the gun from his head and pointed it into the trees. An outbreak of panic coursed through the unit as they frantically asked what to do. Some didn’t wait for a response.

Half of the unit bolted towards the dropship. The other half formed a circle, guns outwards and ready for open fire. It became clear that you weren’t going to be battling someone, but rather, something.

It started as a mist in the faraway trees, consuming the trunks with thick smoke. Then it started to grow in every way, wider and higher, before all that seemed to lay before you was a rain cloud. One that made your skin itch, made your throat close. It was then you knew you had only a single option.

“Run!” you screamed, taking off after the others.

He was right beside you, matching step for step. It had been a while since death brushed your lips, leaving a poisonous sting, invigorating your will to survive. So much so, that the idea of tripping him (for old times sake!), tickled at your brain.

“What is that?” he yelled out, elbow covering his nose and mouth. He didn’t offer any indication, but you saw it, too. A silver wheel was bolted atop a thick metal hatch. You didn't have time to wonder about the specifics. Nor did you have the time to grimace when your hands accidentally touched; first when spinning the wheel, and second upon opening the hatch, revealing a ladder into dark descent.

“Go!” he urged you. You didn’t think twice, stepping onto the ladder and hurrying down, rung by rung. The hatch slammed shut, followed by labored grunts as he tightened it back to its original state and then some. With the abrupt overtake of darkness and the narrow pathway, you felt extremely claustrophobic.

He continued down the ladder as you froze, catching up to you in a matter of mere seconds. He stomped haphazardly, boots barely missing the tips of your fingers.

“Don’t step on me,” you warned him.

“I’ll do what I want.”

Knowing full well that he would love nothing more than to squish you beneath his weight, you pressed on till your foot met the dirt floor. It was pitch black as you fumbled around in the darkness, feeling around for any type of lantern, flashlight, or match box. He trampled behind you, presumably following suit.

“What could be worse than this?” he mumbled.

“Um, what?” you scoffed.

“Wasn’t for you to hear.”

“Cool. So you wanna climb back up the ladder and take your chances out there?” For the first time ever, he didn’t have anything to say. You took that as a victory, further twisting the knife. “That’s what I thought. Shut up.”

Ten minutes had passed and no progress was made. From what you felt, however, you could tell there was a wooden desk with a chair, a broken lamp and a dining table set. Whoever created this doomsday bunker obviously made it to be their home. You couldn’t imagine living your entire life underground, fearful of the dangers above. You stopped short when you realized you had done the exact opposite; lived your life above, fearful of the dangers below.

“This is no use,” you finally said.

“You really didn’t find anything?” his voice spouted back.

“And you did?”

There was a loud plop, followed by numerous rustles and the quiet zing of a zipper. It dawned on you that he was digging around in his backpack and the insides of your stomach burned. If you had been searching for a light this entire time, and he willingly allowed you to make an ass of yourself, it was over for him.

“I swear, if you pull out a flashlight-”

But his face illuminated with the glow of an LED light, revealing his arrogant expression. “What?”

You couldn’t even begin to convey how livid you were. Your fingers balled up into tight fists, and you had half a mind to swing on him. He pointed the light in your direction, blinding you before chuckling.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” With that he pressed on, exploring the rest that this space had to offer. You didn’t want to figure out anything more. All you wanted was the fog to pass so you could leave this hellhole.

However, you didn’t know how long that would take. Hours? Days? The thought of being with him that long made your head ache. So instead, you flopped back on the hard mattress, staring up at the low ceiling.

“What are you doing?” he questioned.

“What does it look like?”

“It looks like,” he started, “you think you’re taking the bed tonight.”

“Not really a thought. I’m here and I’m on it,” you said.

“Comfortable, are you? Not worried I’ll kill you in your sleep?” he asked.

You simply shrugged. “Who says I won’t get you first?”

The banter had gone on long enough. His face flushed as he approached you, looming over your body with his disturbing presence. You tried to act like you weren’t scared. Yet the thought of him actually hurting you wouldn’t escape your mind. If he really wanted to end it all tonight, he could.

“I’m not sleeping on the floor,” he informed you.

“Well neither am I.”

“Don’t make me do this.” You gritted your teeth. Your gun was too far away from you. This would have to be a grappling game, one that you would surely lose. Especially if he kept his knife tucked into his pocket.

“If you’re not going to sleep on the floor, and I’m not going to sleep on the floor-” He stopped abruptly and just looked at you. You looked back, not understanding what he meant.

“Scoot over,” he finally said.

“Ew, no!” you exclaimed.

“Do you have a better idea?” he snapped. “You want to kill each other over a sleeping spot or you want to make it out tomorrow?”

The answer was obvious. You huffed and wriggled to the far end of the bed, nose brushing the metal wall in an effort to distance yourself as much as possible. With your arms crossed and eyes clamped, you imagined this wasn’t happening as you felt his side sag under his weight. He repositioned himself multiple times, frustrating you further, but finally made a decision and laid down quietly.

What would they say? What would you tell them? This was beyond humiliating, it was mortifying. To be laid up next to a person you openly abhorred was not good for your reputation. You had to make sure he knew the boundary and that it would never be crossed.

“You tell no one.”

“I’d say the same thing,” he replied, “but you don’t have any friends to tell.”

“I hate you.”

“I hate you, too.”

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You awoke to a void. It took a second to remember where you were, rubbing your eyes furiously to try to adjust. There was a foghorn, some eerie clouds, an abandoned bunker- oh!- and your absolute worst nightmare sleeping beside you. It all came rushing back and you found yourself grimacing, hoping that you would be able to leave soon.

You pulled the blanket closer to your chin, itchy wool scratching the bare skin on your arms. That had always been your least favorite texture, which was a great parallel to the current situation, where you were trapped with your least favorite person. Of course, every single item and event and circumstance had to be undesirable.

The knotted threads at the end of the blanket were tangled, so you took it upon yourself to separate them out. All the while you reflected, yet again, on your predicament. Your fingers worked tediously, preferring to sort out these problems than address your own.

With one knot being completely relenting, you found yourself thinking how it wasn’t this tangled when you fell asleep. In fact, you didn’t recall having a blanket at all…

Your eyes widened as you slowly rolled over, just enough so you could look over your shoulder. It was too dark to see. Your hand reached to Murphy’s side, touching him lightly. You felt the same scratchy wool instead of his leather jacket. It became apparent that his back was to you, but closer than it previously was. And the blanket you despised so much was covering you both.

You didn’t know what this meant. No one had ever been kind to you before. You weren’t the least bit surprised. All you caused was chaos and misery. No one owed you anything. Murphy, least of all. Yet he took care of you, tended to a single want instead of treating you like a monster. Like you were nothing less than human.

“Thank you,” you whispered into the shadows. He didn’t respond. And for once, you found yourself wishing that he would.

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MAJOR shout for the TikTok, I saw it and couldn’t stop thinking about it. Created by the100babe, captioned: read flags looking green. Can’t disagree 🥴🥵

Xx Lainey

#john murphy #writing #love #the 100 #john murphy fanfic #john murphy x reader #John Murphy angst #John Murphy fic #John Murphy imagine #the 100 fanfic #the 100 imagine #the 100 fanfiction #the 100 fluff #the 100 x reader #the 100 love

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inmyownlaine · 2 years

Text

Murphy’s Law: John Murphy x Female OC

Part: 4/?

Word Count: 1969

Warnings: Blood

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“The best of us can find happiness in misery.”

The next morning brought sunshine through a low fog. It was Marlow’s favorite type of weather. Warmth through the dense cold. Something she personally connected with.

Sleeping in the same area as Murphy was more stressful than she would’ve liked to admit. She felt like they had a good rapport. Yet she couldn’t help but to keep her gun within arm’s reach. Murphy was as unpredictable as they came. He wasn’t going to hurt anyone else on her watch.

The gooseberries provided little to no nutrition. She felt the pangs in her stomach, both from lack of food and dehydration. She didn’t know how much longer the three of them could live. Even though Murphy’s help was appreciated, he was another mouth to feed. It was hard enough with just Raven.

Tough choices would have to be made soon. Either that, or they find a way to survive. Right now. Today.

“Up already?” Murphy’s groggy voice reverberated through the air, bouncing off the metal walls. It caused Marlow to flinch. “And on edge? You just woke up.”

“Yeah,” was all she could think to say. It was another day of figuring out some way to live. But first, she needed to check on Raven. That is, if Raven would even let her.

She was still asleep and paler than ever before. Marlow could already feel the sting of tears welling up. She didn’t know what else to do. Between the food problem and the Murphy issue and the Raven situation; it was too much to bear.

Marlow sniffled and rubbed her jacket sleeve under her nose. She abruptly rose and bounded out the dropship door. Tears streaming down her face, breathing shallow and rapid. Why would anyone ever choose to be a leader?

“Hey!” Murphy exclaimed, running behind her.

“Please go away,” she begged, holding her hand out to face him. Trying her best to signal that he needed to leave.

“Are you going to find food?”

She couldn’t believe he would even ask that at a moment like this. However, it did give her an easy out. To give herself some time to cry and recollect. “Yes. Just, stay where I can see you. Okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed.

Marlow started her job. Allowed the salty droplets of her tears to water the roots and stems. She held nothing back and kept her distance from Murphy. As unashamed as she was to be upset, she did not want Murphy to know. He would hold it over her until she died. He would know how incapable she was.

After a couple hours, and only a few berries to show, Marlow called it a day. It was discouraging and depressing and disappointing. Murphy noticed her heading back to the dropship and followed in suit.

“What did you get?” he asked.

“Just some berries. You?”

“Berries. A couple mushrooms. A root. Maybe? You think we can eat this?” Murphy displayed everything he had in both hands. Marlow wanted to be kind, but the day had not been kind to her. In a tone more venomous than usual, she questioned his motives.

“Why are you helping me?”

Murphy took a single step back. Studied the expression on Marlow’s face. He was just as taken aback by her attitude. His lips pulled down, the corners quaking under the pressure of holding himself together. His voice cracked as he spoke.

“I don’t want to die alone.”

“Oh,” she exhaled subconsciously. Like he had just sucker punched her in the gut. Her tender heart ached with empathy. She never wanted to be this cruel again. It was impossible to read someone’s mind. To know what they’re going through or where their mind was.

She decided it was always best to treat people with warmth. No matter their intentions. No matter what they have done. Even Murphy deserved compassion. In the end, he was just a human. A teenager that made really poor choices.

“You won’t,” she finally assured him.

Murphy tried his best to lighten the mood. “Die alone? Or just die?”

“Either,” Marlow said softly. “And I know that you know we can eat those. You’re smart.”

“Maybe Pike slapped some sense into me.” Marlow covered her open mouth with her hand. But Murphy raised his eyebrows. “You were supposed to laugh. It was a joke.”

“I don’t know about that one,” she giggled nervously. Murphy smacked his lips together and proceeded towards the dropship.

Marlow fed Raven and checked her bandage. She imagined it would be twice as bloody, but was pleasantly surprised. The blood spot had increased, but not as steadily as the previous days. A little warmth through the dense cold.

Marlow did what she could to tend to her. However, with the limited supplies, she grew frustrated at her lack of care.

“Everything okay?” Murphy asked.

“Not really,” she confessed. “There’s no medicinal plants. Raven’s in pain. I have no more wraps. I’m just at a loss.”

“I can’t fix the plants and pain problem,” Murphy started, “but I do have some bandages in my bag.”

A wave of relief crashed over Marlow. Even though there were issues to solve, at least this was one less thing. “Could I have one?”

He responded by rifling through his belongings. Once Murphy found it, he tossed it her way. Marlow unwrapped the old bandage and applied the fresh one. She thanked Murphy enthusiastically and tied it off. Right over the wound to decrease the amount of blood flow. He didn’t say much.

When all was said and done, Marlow smiled at the work she had done. The miniscule victories that she accomplished made her proud. They had to; it was all she had anymore.

“Murph-” she began to say. When she looked over her shoulder, he wasn’t there. Marlow had spent only twenty-four hours with Murphy. Yet in this small amount of time, she learned a lot about him. Specifically that he liked to disappear.

Marlow went off to find him, but didn’t have to go far. He was on the ground, leaning against the exterior of the dropship. He held a slightly stained rag to his face. One they had brought with them when they crashed.

“Murphy?”

He let his hand fall. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing?”

“Just trying to- get this crap off my face,” he told her.

“Could I help?” she offered. He thought about it for a few seconds. The tension suddenly became incredibly awkward, but Marlow tried her best to brush it off. Finally, he nodded his head.

She took the rag out of his hand, surprisingly wet, and sat across from him. “Did you use your water?”

“I know it’s dumb. But it’s so itchy.”

“Then it’s not dumb. You have a reason,” she said simply. She carefully pressed the rag against his scabbed cuts. Globs of blood were crusting over, particularly on his forehead and cheek. And she thought both of his eyes might be swollen.

Marlow told him to close his eyes. He listened as she cleaned above his brow. Swiping softly back and forth, dried flakes cascading like autumn leaves and winter snow. Two things of which she had never witnessed in real life.

She moved her fingers to a clean part of the rag. Rather than continuing to wipe his blood, she started to wash away the grime. Murphy’s brows furrowed, but she paid no mind.

“I was really young when I met Monty. He was right down the hall from me. We grew up together. Him and Jasper and I. Although, I never felt as close to Jasper. He was a little more impulsive. Definitely liked to cause more mischief than I preferred.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Murphy asked.

Marlow rolled her eyes at his impatience. “It was a Tuesday when I found out Monty had been put in the Sky Box. The funny thing is- I already knew what he was in there for. Before anyone had even told me. Because I had warned him. So many times.

“It just took one mistake. He remembered it a million times. He forgot once. And he was punished for it. It felt like all the air had been sucked from my lungs. I really didn’t know what I was going to do without him. He was in my life for as long as I can think of. Losing that wasn’t an option.”

Murphy smirked as she scrubbed his chin. “Don’t tell me you got in trouble on purpose.”

“Maybe,” she chuckled. “My parents- they weren’t the greatest. Monty was- is- my family.”

It had been a while since she thought about him. With Murphy occupying most of the space in her head, she had a break from worrying about him. There was still a huge mystery to be solved. She felt guilty for not thinking of him more.

“So what did you do?”

“Jaha’s door. I-,” Marlow began. She was interrupted with Murphy’s manic laughter. He scrunched his body up, hands gripping onto his stomach. Marlow couldn’t believe how delighted he was to hear this news. She also couldn’t believe that he knew how to laugh this hard.

“That was you?” he bellowed.

“Guilty,” she joked. It was the only wrong thing she ever did on the Ark. However, it came from a place of good faith. It might have even been how she really felt at that moment. How dare he take away her family? They were children. They were going to make mistakes. Instead of teaching them how to recover, Jaha insisted they face prison time.

So she snuck out of her room. Went to Jaha’s door with her paint set and wrote on it. Left her handprint for good measure. There was no assuming who it was. And they found her quickly after that. She woke up to a pounding door and the barrel of three guns.

“I don’t know what I was expecting from you,” Murphy said. “Something tame. I guess that’s not too bad.”

“Not as bad as arson, huh?” she teased.

“Not nearly.” They locked eyes. Murphy looked much better. Not like the brute he was when she ran into him. He sounded better, too. Like he had some hope for the future. Like he might be able to recover from his past.

That all changed in a matter of seconds. A group of men came bounding through the brush. Marlow noticed most of them immediately, hopping up from her spot and dashing to the first recognizable face.

“Bellamy!” she yelled, throwing her arms around his neck. He hugged her back with the same energy, swaying from side to side. “I can’t believe you’re alive!”

“What’s going on?” he asked suddenly. Marlow pulled back. She didn’t understand.

“What do you mean?”

“Why is he here?” Bellamy growled, gesturing towards Murphy. He had his hands up in surrender, but that didn’t stop Bellamy. He ran at him full force and tackled him at the waist. They both landed on the ground and started rolling around.

Marlow joined in, pleading with the two to stop fighting. She tried her hardest to pull Bellamy off, but she was no use. Kane, however, was extremely helpful. Or so she thought.

“Arrest them,” he commanded after he successfully separated them.

“What?” Marlow inquired, bewildered by the crass demand.

“They can’t behave like animals.”

“That should be the least of your concerns. Someone is dying in the dropship!”

Kane signaled to his men to check the dropship. Among them, Finn’s familiar face appeared. Marlow gave a pitiful wave as he went to save Raven. The remaining soldiers took the young boys and shoved their hands behind their backs.

“This isn’t fair.”

Kane squinted. Murphy and Bellamy were marched away as he said one simple sentence. “You are not in control anymore.”

──────────────────────────────────────────────────

The rest of the fanfic:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

#john murphy #john murphy x oc #john murphy fanfic #john murphy fluff #the 100 fanfiction #the 100 fanfic #the 100 imagine #The 100 #john murphy imagine #love #writing

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inmyownlaine · 2 years

Text

Murphy’s Law: John Murphy x Female OC

Part: 3/?

Word Count: 1472

Warnings: None

────────────────────────────────────────────

“It doesn't matter how you feel, life is just a Ferris wheel. It's always up and down.”

The minute Murphy set foot in the dropship Raven scurried away. She balled herself up in the corner, fending for whatever life she had left. It pained Marlow to see her so afraid. She wasn’t one to back down from anyone. However, she was left defenseless and on death’s door. There wasn’t much more she could do.

Raven’s eyes darted between Murphy and Marlow. For the first time in weeks, she managed to mutter out a feeble, “Why?”

Marlow expected Murphy to reply sarcastically. That’s why she remained on the offense, saying her peace before he could get the chance to. “He needed help.”

Raven just glared in response. She needed help, too. And Murphy was the reason. “I can’t keep doing this by myself. Please, understand. We need him.”

“Yeah, you need me,” Murphy added. Raven’s jaw clenched, a clear sign of annoyance and disappointment. Marlow put her head down, ashamed that she let Murphy get the better of her.

Embarrassment taking over, she made a quick decision. Anything to remove Murphy from this situation and leave her be. Even if it was briefly.

“If you’re going to stay with us, you have to work. Raven can’t do much, so I’ve been scavenging and defending.”

“I’ll defend,” he said without missing a beat.

“Not a chance,” Marlow told him. “I’m not leaving you with Raven. Alone.”

Murphy smirked. “What? You think I’m gonna do something to her?”

At a loss for words, Marlow’s shoulders slumped. “What do you want me to believe?”

Murphy gave her a hard look before sauntering to the ramp. But it was nothing compared to the fire that Raven was shooting in her direction. Marlow began to approach her, guilty for her choice. Knowing the gravity that weighed on this single action.

Raven scoffed in response. It caused Marlow to stop abruptly. They were at a standstill; no words, no noises, no nothing. Yet Raven’s eyes said everything.

“I’m sorry,” Marlow managed to get out. She couldn’t handle being hated. Whether it was by her best friend or her worst enemy, it was hurtful either way.

“Go away,” Raven said harshly. Marlow nodded curtly. Tears burned her bottom lids as she took a shaky breath. Now was not the time to make amends. If Raven would ever forgive her for this, it would have to be down the road. Maybe when they were settled. When they were safe.

“I love you, Raven Reyes. I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.” With that, Marlow headed towards the forest. Murphy was already leagues away, kicking at the fallen leaves. He didn’t look particularly interested in getting food.

“Murphy,” Marlow called out.

He stopped kicking at the ground and directed his attention to her. His blue eyes shining against the contrast of his bloody face. Something Marlow had only noticed now. “Yeah?”

“Wait up.”

────────────────────────────────────────────

With the dropship in eyesight, the two walked in endless circles. Keeping their chins down, searching for anything edible. They had taken survival courses while on the Ark. In fact, it was one of Marlow’s favorite subjects. She knew Murphy couldn’t say the same.

Their instructor, Pike, had taught them everything they could ever need to know. How to make medicine with herbs, what animals were poisonous, and what types of mushrooms they could consume. Marlow never thought, in a million years, that she would have to utilize this information.

In fact, she never planned on being detained. Too young to be floated, but not too young to be ripped from her family. Not too young to be a test subject. She didn’t have the capacity in her heart to hate anybody. But the council members were close.

It was Murphy’s yell that snapped her back to the present. He continued rambling profanities, sucking on his pointer finger. In a fit of rage, he kicked the small bush. Marlow couldn’t help but to chuckle at the useless action.

“You sure like to kick things.”

“It makes me feel better,” he snapped.

“Thorns?” she guessed.

“Only a million of them.”

Marlow studied the shrub closely. Though it didn’t require much examination. It was easy to see the prickly magenta fruit dangling between the leaves. Without much knowledge on the subject, one would probably stay away. This had to mean only one thing.

“You know your plants.”

“Not well,” he responded.

“Well enough. You just forgot about the stem. Just as prickly as the fruit.”

He didn’t say anything, much to Marlow’s dismay. She started to pick the gooseberries and place them carefully in a pouch. Murphy wiped his finger on the pocket of his pants and pressed on without her.

Once Marlow was done, she stood upright. A gentle smile crossed her face as she thought of a compliment for his unknown skills. But she quickly realized that he was gone. She spun in two full circles before full panic set in.

“Raven?” she screamed. There was no answer. She shouted Raven’s name again before taking off at full speed. If anything happened to her, Marlow could never forgive herself.

Marlow was halfway to the clearing when she saw Murphy in the corner of her eye. Unassuming and unaware, lying against a sturdy log. He was sharpening a stick with his pocketknife, inspecting the point he had made.

She let out a sigh of relief and headed towards him. He continued with his task, acting as if she weren’t there.

Marlow plopped down beside him and crossed her legs. She could sense that he still didn’t want to talk. So instead, she picked at the blades of grass until the ground was bare. With the rich soil now exposed, she began to draw with her fingers. Creating meaningless shapes and letters.

She spelled her name over and over. Marlow Malus Madigan. Tried to remind herself who she was. Wanted to remember where she came from. It was the only thing that she owned right now and the only thing that was hers.

“Your parents named you after apples?” Murphy mocked.

“I don’t think that was their intent,” she answered. “Besides, how would you even know that?”

Murphy shrugged. Tried to act nonchalant about it. He stabbed at the dirt with his makeshift shiv and shoveled divots.

“You paid attention in class,” she finally said.

“What else was I going to do?” he commented. “Might as well learn something if I had to be there.”

“But I thought after- well you know everything that-.” Marlow petered off as Murphy raised his head. Stared her dead in the eyes. It frightened her if only for a moment. Almost like he was challenging her to say the next thing.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she said softly. In her mind, there was never a reason for an adult to behave that way. Especially to a child. It didn’t matter if Pike was pressured. It didn’t matter if he was their only chance for survival. It was his responsibility to remain in control.

Granted, she knew Murphy could be difficult. And maybe they didn’t care about his teachings at the time. While she understood the demand to be heard, the urgency to take their situation seriously, Marlow would never condone Pike’s actions.

“I heard you,” he told her. “When that was happening. You and Octavia and Jasper. You were all telling him to stop.”

“It scared me,” she admitted. “And then I thought ‘Why should they expect any less from us?’. Look at the way we’re being treated. That’s what we know.”

“Yeah, it’s messed up.”

She mentally agreed. But even with all the physical abuse he obtained that day, Marlow was most worried about the emotional damage. Of course, she heard about the boy that set the officer’s courts on fire. That gossip didn’t die down for at least two weeks.

She never knew why. “That was wrong of him. To tell everyone about your parents.”

Murphy stiffened up. The vein in his neck bulged as he pushed himself off the ground. “We’re not talking about this.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she said quickly. Trying to tell him as much as she could before he walked off again. “But I want you to know you didn’t deserve that. And no one should have heard.”

The vein only got larger, bobbed up and down as he avoided conversation. Once more, he said nothing. He started towards the dropship, leaving Marlow yearning for a single connection. Wanting to sympathize with his choices. Or at least have a better understanding.

That would all have to wait for now. She couldn’t push him to open up. Just like she couldn’t push Raven to forgive her. With that in mind, she pushed her feelings aside and followed him.

One day. Maybe one day, he would find the strength to talk to her.

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The rest of the fanfic:

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

#john murphy #john murphy x oc #john murphy fanfic #the 100 fanfiction #the 100 #writing #john murphy fluff #john murphy fic #the 100 fic #love

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inmyownlaine · 2 years

Text

Whoever Made the Hair Choices in The 100 Pilot...

I just want to talk

#first of all how dare you #the boys were too powerful and they knew it #john murphy #bellamy blake #The 100

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inmyownlaine · 2 years

Text

John Murphy x Reader: With Me

GIF//

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1039

Part: 2/2

Might want to read: Please Stay Part 1/2

Summary: Murphy has miraculously recovered from his bullet wound. He doesn’t remember much about the attack, but he does remember something much more important. ──────────────────────────────────────────────────

It was lunchtime when you heard the news. Jackson ran to your room just as you were getting ready to leave. You ran upon hearing the words, leaving Jackson in the dust. The doors flung open as you bolted in the medical bay, startling Abby.

She gave a soft smile as you hastened your way to the back. It was where all the recovering patients were meant to go. Murphy was the only one.

And there he was. Slightly upright in a tilted bed. Breathing deeply through the tube in his nostrils. New IVs placed in his arms. Shirtless except for the bandage covering his gaping wound.

You gathered yourself quickly before entering the room. A sting of tears hitting your eyes as you approached him cautiously. Murphy’s eyes flicked in your direction. Even in his fragile state he heard every single movement.

“Hey,” he greeted weakly, lifting up two fingers in an attempt to wave. His eyes were barely open but they brightened at the sight of you.

“Hi,” you replied breathlessly. Tears fell down your face as you sat on the gurney beside him. You had waited so long for him to wake up. To be able to say anything to you. Now that he could, you were at a loss for words. Not for lack of conversation, but in awe at how incredible he was.

You had visited Murphy every day since the incident. You ate breakfast right beside him. Told him stories in the afternoon. Accidentally fell asleep while rubbing his forehead. But the last time you saw his blue eyes was when they were rolling in the back of his head. Bloodshot and strained.

You couldn’t believe he pulled through.

“I’ve been out for a while.”

“A couple weeks,” you told him.

“So they say,” he responded, the sign of a smirk threatening to appear.

Looking over him yet again caused another wave of sadness. You could remember a time when Murphy was sturdy and unmoving. Taking on the world by storm and barrelling through anyone in his way. All you could think of now was how feeble and helpless he appeared. And it was because of you.

“Oh, Murphy,” you cried, burying your face in the palms of your hands.

“I’m okay,” he insisted.

“You’re not. And I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” he asked. “If Abby would let me out of his damn bed I’d be doing cartwheels right now. I feel great.”

You laughed in spite of the shame. A nice, deep hole to burrow in sounded perfect right about now. But you couldn’t leave Murphy like this. And despite your failed attempt to keep him alive, you knew he didn’t care. He was just happy that you were here.

“Come here,” he told you, motioning lightly to his bed. You crawled in beside him, ducking under the many contraptions hooked to his body. Moving carefully and thoughtfully so as not to hurt him. Your head finally found its resting place on his shoulder.

You would never tell Murphy, but this wasn’t the first time. There had been many sleepless nights that you laid beside him. Apologizing and sobbing and blubbering until the sun rose in the east. Leaving his sheets covered in pure sorrow.

None of those nights felt good. Not even comforting, like they were intended to. They just got you by. It was nothing to how you felt right now. A wave of relief crashing over you like the morning tide. You could breathe. Murphy was going to survive.

Murphy’s pale lips pressed against your head. His hand painting circles on your upper arm. “I don’t remember what happened.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” you said gently.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But there is one thing…”

You hoped he couldn’t recall being shot. Gasping for air. Being carried into the infirmary. All the pain he experienced, you wished for it to be washed from his mind.

“You told me you loved me. Right before I left,” he whispered.

You nodded your head against his skin. “I did. And you said it back.”

“If that’s the only thing I can remember,” Murphy sighed, wrapping his other arm around you. “I’m okay with it.”

There was so much more to be said. Lots of time to make up. But Abby walked into the room with Jackson in tow. He carted in bandages, medicines, and syringes. You cringed at the sight of them.

“Sorry to interrupt, but it’s time to give him his medicine,” Abby said.

“I think I’m fine,” Murphy told her, catching sight of an especially large needle. You chuckled as you pushed off the bed, hopping onto the floor.

“Not quite,” Abby replied. She started to put on her gloves while Jackson prepped the surgical tray. Upon sight of the vials, you realized they were putting him to sleep. You assumed he needed his wound cleaned out and his lungs scanned. Not to mention the other various injuries he sustained that needed to be tended to.

You watched as they placed a mask over his nose and mouth. It clouded on contact with Murphy’s breath. And though you knew he was in capable hands, an unreasonable fear creeped over you. One that convinced you he might not wake up again.

“Bye, Murphy,” you muttered, blowing him a kiss. Mouth quivering as you tried to fill your head with positive thoughts. But really the only thing you wanted was to be here with him.

“I love you,” you proclaimed for the second time in your life. As you felt it roll off your tongue, it felt heavier than it did the first time. Loaded. Almost like it meant even more.

Murphy reached out for you. His hand brushed against yours. Trying hard to grasp onto your fingers.

His eyelids fluttered, fighting the urge to go under. He opened his mouth slowly, just getting out a few words before he left you once again.

“You saved me,” he spoke softly.

“Abby did,” you admitted, a light blush appearing on your cheeks.

“I promise. It was you.” He swallowed heavily, letting his head drop to the side. Murphy let out a loud exhale before falling once more into a deep sleep.

#john murphy #john murphy fanfic #john murphy imagine #john murphy fic #the 100 fanfiction #the 100 fic #the 100 imagine #The 100 #john murphy fluff #the 100 fluff #love #writing #john murphy x reader

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inmyownlaine · 2 years

Text

You Guys I Am Sorry I’ve Been Talking A Lot But

I need you to see this old Pinterest board I made that is just, chock full of Murphy/Richard Harmon pictures that I specifically labeled

✨ 𝑀𝓊𝓇𝓅𝒽𝓎 𝒜𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓉𝒾𝒸 ✨

Please tell me why these were just sitting in there...

I don’t know what angle I was going for but honestly mission accomplished.

Also, I can’t take this dude seriously in that last picture.

Thanks, bye.

#ill go now #john murphy #richard harmon #the 100 #idk #i am so tired #i have work tomorrow and its 2 am #thats probably how this board was started #murphy aesthetic

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inmyownlaine · 2 years

Note

Fingertips is so great!! I love how concerned John was about the reader even though it was just a scratch! It was so sweet!!

Oh my goodness, thank you! I was a little worried about that one cause it was...spicier...than usual. But I think that whole beginning bit balances it out.

I do see Murphy being extremely protective and concerned about his girl considering everything he has been through. He's a defender through and through.

Thank you so so much for the comment!! :) I am so glad that you enjoyed it and found it to be sweet. That was my original intention but, it kind of strayed from there... ❤️

#john murphy #the 100 #love #writing

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inmyownlaine · 2 years

Note

Marry Me is wonderful! The little things Murphy would do to let the reader know he liked her were so cute and so sad considering he knew she’d be an outcast if people knew he liked her.

“You glared at the people who were supposed to be supportive and working towards a functioning community. Yet here they were, deliberately making a fool of someone, acting as if the thought of someone enjoying his presence was unfathomable.”

That part was so sad but SOOO GOOD!! Especially when Murphy hung his head down! You capture his character so well!

Okay, there are so many things I want to say about this but first and foremost, thank you so much for this comment. Saying that I capture his character well is such a huge compliment and I appreciate it so much. I try my hardest not to stray from his comedic-sarcasm and mannerisms. Though he can be gentle and sweet and loving, we all fell in love with that smart ass mouth of his.

Marry Me is definitely one of my favorites. I really felt that one and I tried to find subtle, not greatly overused ways that Murphy would show his affection towards the reader. I think if he had a thing with someone from The 100, he would be more secretive about it. At least until he received his redemption arc.

Anyway, thank you a million times over. This was so kind of you to say and I really took this to heart. Thank you so much for reading my writing and taking the time to send me this! ❤️

#john murphy #the 100 #love #writing

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inmyownlaine · 2 years

Note

Your John Murphy preference kisses was absolutely adorable!! The routine kiss was the cutest thing I’ve ever read! I love John Murphy fluff! 🥰

Thank you so much!! I plan on doing a couple more preference kisses in the future. I like how short and effective they can be!

I especially liked that one :) Routine doesn't have to be mundane, but rather sweet and comfortable.

John Murphy fluff is superior. Of course, he makes writing it so freaking easy!

Again, thank you thank you thank you! It makes me so happy when people enjoy my writing ❤️

#john murphy #the 100 #writing #love

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inmyownlaine · 2 years

Text

John Murphy x Reader Mini Series: My Favorite T-Shirt

GIF// SONG//

Part: 2/5

Warnings: Angst

Artist: Jake Scott

Summary: Murphy finally gets the chance to tell, and show you, how he feels about you after you calm him down from a nightmare.

────────────────────────────────────────────

You were putting your hands up under my shirt, making fun of the way I was breathing...

Murphy’s home was now yours. Ever since he mustered the courage to ask you to stay, you found the bravery to never leave. Whether thunder boomed overhead or the heat sweltered into the night, you found yourself laying beside him. Wrapped up in his blanket wearing one of his shirts.

And just like every night, when the sun finally went down, the two of you stopped talking. Took your places in his bed. Back to back, just a sliver of space in between. Both of you nervously lying in the darkness, questioning what the other was thinking. Worrying about boundaries. Obsessed with the thought of each other. But never having the boldness to ask.

Your eyes had just closed when Murphy let out a panicked yell. Bolting upright, scrambling around in the bed. Trying to figure out where he was. You sat up beside him, reaching out blindly. You caught his shoulder and gripped it gently, sweat transferring to your palm

“Murphy,” you said lightly. He only breathed heavily in response. “It was just a dream.”

He remained in silence as he composed himself. Slowed down his breathing. Ruffled his hair. Shifted uncomfortably back and forth. “Aren’t dreams supposed to be- nice?”

“There are good and bad dreams. Was yours a-”

“Nightmare,” he interrupted harshly. It caused your lips to curl inward. Embarrassed for not calculating the severity of his imagination.

“About what?” you asked.

“This- wonderful place,” he mocked. “I can’t even escape it when I sleep.”

You felt strongly that the time was now. To make a move. To let Murphy know how you felt about him. How he made you feel even with all the turmoil happening around you. He deserved it now more than ever.

“I know what you mean,” you admitted. “I used to have bad dreams all the time. About being killed. Or tortured. Or just- being scared.”

You could feel him staring at you. Wishing more than anything you could see his face. To gauge how he felt. To tell you whether you should keep going or stop altogether. It would either give you the confidence to press forward or continue to hold it all in.

“Used to?” Murphy pressed.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Before you.”

Murphy shuffled closer to you. His bare leg faintly pressed against yours. A delicate, yet intimate gesture, that insisted you go on. To tell him everything that once weighed you down, only lifted by his own calloused hands.

“You mean that?” he questioned.

“When we landed on the Ground, I tried my hardest not to fall asleep. I’d just lay awake in bed, stuck with my thoughts. It was scary enough in real life but to relive everything in your consciousness-” you rambled on, remembering how painful it had been to be separated from your family. To find out that you had been sent here without knowing the possibility of surviving. That in everyone’s eyes you were nothing but a delinquent child.

That all changed in a split second rain storm. “But when you invited me to stay, I didn’t have to watch my back. And for the first time in months, I actually slept. With no gnawing feeling of being watched or hunted. I just let myself be. It was the best I had felt in a long time.”

You couldn’t tell what Murphy was doing. There was a break in conversation as he mulled this over in his own muddled brain. He had not felt safer with you. In fact, he felt a larger burden to be a protector. To have his guard up in case anything threatened to hurt you.

But he did feel important. He went from someone nobody wanted around to the only person you wanted to be with. And though that meant giving up some type of comfort, he would do it every single time. It was worth it to be loved through someone else’s eyes.

Of course, he couldn’t help but acknowledge the same feeling he held when you had first stayed over. Letting his mind wander to uncharted waters. Wanting nothing more than to trace the dimples in the small of your back. To count every single mark and blemish that coated the length of your spine. He knew he could do it forever and never get tired. He would just simply start over.

And that shirt. It was his favorite by far. But not because of the way it looked on him. It was everything about you. The way it fell just past your thigh. How it draped across your body like an ancient goddess. Hiding the frame of your body yet hugging to you in every perfect curve.

Murphy started first by lightly running his hand down your arm. You gasped sharply, but didn’t shy away. Reciprocated with a dancing of fingertips across his thigh. He could hardly hold himself back as he dove towards you. Smashing your lips together in a fevered guess. One that he made correctly.

He kissed you hard. A pressure that took off the anxious build up in the depths of his stomach. Trying his best to convey how long he had been concealing his feelings. And how relieved he was to finally get it out.

Murphy pulled away and set his forehead on top of yours. Breathing heavily, you squinted in the dark. Attempting to catch a glimpse of any facial feature. It was in vain as he nudged you gently to the side.

You rolled over and placed your hands under your cheek. There was no way you were going to sleep now. A smile plastered across your face as you reveled in the moment.

Without warning, Murphy wrapped his arm around you. Slid his hand underneath the hem of the shirt you were wearing. Played around with it before committing. Finally placing his hand on your hip, causing a cold chill to travel throughout your body. A harsh exhale escaped as it reached your throat.

Murphy let out a laugh as he buried his face in the back of your head. “What?” you asked, slightly embarrassed by your actions. Hoping he didn’t catch it.

“Nothing, nothing,” he assured you. “Are you cold?”

“Stop,” you whined, drawing out the word as long as you could. Turning into the pillow to try and hide from him.

“I’m just concerned. You’re shivering like you’re cold but you’re breathing like you ran a marathon,” he teased.

“I’m going to bed now.”

“Yeah, good luck. Sleeping when you’re bothered isn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world. I would know,” he said.

You couldn’t help your curiosity. Rapid fire images of unchaste scenarios flicking through your mind like an old picture film. Murphy being bold made you bold, too. Gave you the strength to play right along with him. “Meaning?”

He let out one more laugh before yawning. Tightening his grip on your waist. Melding perfectly into your body. Leaving you with a simple line that sent tingles shooting like fireworks.

“There’s a reason I sleep with my back to you.”

#john murphy #writing #love #john murphy fanfic #the 100 #john murphy imagine #john murphy x reader #the 100 fanfiction #john murphy fic #john murphy love #good god this gif

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inmyownlaine · 2 years

Text

John Murphy x Reader Mini Series: Shirt

GIF//

Part: 1/5

Warnings: None

Artist: The 1975

Note: I am trying out something new, not sure if it has been done or not. But regardless, I noticed a couple of songs I was listening to had a shirt as their main theme. So I decided to make a mini series of Murphy and reader’s relationship using lyrics with the word ‘shirt’ in them. I’m going to go through the whole spiel: the dating, the breakup, the makeup. It’s gonna be a good time.

────────────────────────────────────────────

And my shirt looks so good when it’s just hanging off your back

The pouring rain had ended the night early. A sudden downpour that forced both of you into Murphy’s tent. It was closer and he insisted, running beside you with his leather jacket over your head.

You let out a shriek as you entered the canvas shelter, trying to scream out your discomfort. Murphy chuckled at this as he bent over. Taking both his hands, he shook out his wet hair.

“So cold,” you commented, running your own hands up and down your bare arms. A tense shiver caused your entire body to roll. Murphy noticed as he glanced at you between the hanging strands. Beads of water dripped to the floor as he pointed towards his dresser.

“You can wear one of my shirts,” he suggested.

“Oh,” you replied. “Um. Okay. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, sorry!” you corrected quickly. He stood upright. Watching as your head bounced back and forth between the decision; from the dresser to the tent flap and back again.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said.

“You didn’t. I just-” you stammered. “Could you- like- turn around or-?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I-”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted.

Murphy put himself in the furthest corner. Nose mere inches from the canvas. He wondered in this moment, as he had others before, what you looked like underneath. Imagined the curve of your spine. The freckles that splattered your shoulders, overspilling towards your neck. And what about the rest of the birthmark you accidentally revealed the other day?

His body ached. You were right there, exposed. Answering all of his questions. Yet he held restraint. Granted you with the privacy and right to your own body.

If ever you felt the need to share with him, you would.

“Alright,” you announced.

He took in a deep breath before facing you once again. You innocently tossed your damp shirt to the side of the room. The small movement caused the neckline to fall off your shoulder. You innocently ignored it.

Murphy couldn’t tear his eyes away. Studying your every move as you crossed the trampled forest floor. Followed your hand as it gently peeled back the tent flap. Lost his breath when you sighed at the neverending rain.

The uncovered part of your back facing him. Rising and falling, Littered in goosebumps from the bitter wind. All of this in Murphy’s shirt. Of which, he had to admit, looked much better on you. Even if it wasn’t quite doing the job.

“You should stay,” he mumbled.

A beat of silence passed. “What?” you finally questioned.

“You should stay here. At least until it passes.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder. He was still soaked. Making sure that you were taken care of before him. Not even complaining that he hadn’t gotten the chance to dry off.

A smile broke across your face as you nodded and said, “Okay.”

#john murphy #writing #love #john murphy fanfic #the 100 #john murphy imagine #john murphy x reader #the 100 fanfiction #john murphy fic #john murphy love #mini series #the 1975

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inmyownlaine · 2 years

Note

Hi! I really like your writing! Are you still going to write those ideas you posted in July? I'd really love to read those

Hi! I am always working on them...Sometimes I just lose steam. Or even, I don’t enjoy it as much and decide to rework it. Honestly, I don’t want to post anything I haven’t put 100% of my heart into. They will come out at the exact right time they are meant to :)

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inmyownlaine · 2 years

Text

John Murphy Preferences: Kisses

GIF//

Part: One

Warnings: None

Note: I love preferences. Love them dearly. But my heart really only belongs to one 100 boy. So instead of creating a preference kiss for everyone, I just made a lot of kisses for Murphy. So I guess...He’s the preference...

He would be okay with that.

────────────────────────────────────────────

Routine: Murphy stuck his forehead out as you walked past. You stopped in your tracks. Took a double take with a cocked eyebrow. Murphy side eyed you in response. Hmm? He asked. Curling his lips innocently inward. Seemingly confused himself. Why’d you do that? You questioned. What? He faced you now. Hands crossed and resting on his lap. Relaxed and at ease. A demeanor only held when he was with you. You stuck your forehead out. You told him. Oh. He said simply. A light rouge covered his cheeks. You just always kiss me before you go. You covered your mouth with light fingertips. A giggle escaped, causing Murphy to roll his eyes. Don’t make fun of me. You leaned forward. Touching his forehead gently with your lips. He closed his eyes. Let out the smallest sigh. I’m not. You assured him. You pulled away with a grin. I’ll see you later. He smiled back. Even gave you a tiny wave. Not if I see you first.

Gentle: Murphy laid on your lap. No other sounds but crickets chirping. The fire crackling in front of you. Water crashing against the shore. It finally seemed peaceful. There was a moment to inhale deeply. With nothing sucker punching you mid-breath. You studied Murphy’s face. Fingers lacing in his hair. Taking in the curve of his nose. The profound inset of his eyes. The fullness of his lips. Features you had seen day by day. Yet here you were. Admiring them as if you had never noticed before. What? Murphy asked. Nothing. You smiled. Running your thumb on his hairline. Grazing his forehead lightly. You look beautiful. Even more than usual. He added. You felt the same. Something about this moment. How rare it was to be consumed in each other. No interruptions to force you running off. Or fighting to the death. I love you. You told him. I love you. He said back. You leaned over. Barely touched his lips with yours. Hovered over him as he rolled his shoulders. He pushed your hair back. Tucked it behind your ear. Stroked your jaw before saying Kiss me again. Longer this time.

Rushed: Gunpowder and smoke filled the forest air. Murphy took cover beside you. Underneath the trunk of an overgrown tree. Slimy moss dampened your hands and clothes. It hid the sweat forming all over your body. You couldn’t do this. You wanted to live. But you wanted to leave even more. Murphy glanced at you. Noticing the shallow breathing. Realizing your anxiety in a split second. He took hold of your hand. Squeezed it once. Catching your attention. Hey. He practically whispered. You got this. You sucked in your cheeks. Bit the insides raw. Tasted blood as you said I don’t think so. He let out an exasperated chuckle. You don’t really have a choice. Shrieks and cries continued ever on. Loud thumping noises as bodies hit the ground. You were coming to terms. That could be you. You can do it. Murphy assured you. I’ll have your back. You stared him in the eyes. If he would give his life to protect you. If he was going to stand by you through it all. You would absolutely do the same for him. There was no turning back. And there was certainly no leaving him behind. Okay. You agreed shakily. Wobbly legs started to stand. But he grabbed you by the collar. Pulled your shirt to him. Met your lips in the middle. It practically missed. Just grabbing the left corner. But there was no time for another as he jumped to his feet. You followed suit. Firing away as Murphy protected you at all costs.

Goodbye: Murphy’s arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Wet lashes fluttered before meeting your eyelids. Lips pressed harshly together. Trying to leave his imprint before he left. To etch himself into the cracked skin of your lips. Borderline uncomfortable and hard, yet desperate and endearing. There were parts of him that he couldn’t take. He tried to leave them here with you. To lay it all on the line. But you knew it wouldn’t be enough. No matter how long this lasted. No matter how much he loved you. He would be gone. So you threw your arms around his neck. Told him goodbye the best way you knew how. Suffocated yourself with the scent of his skin. His shoulders slumped as you pulled away. He didn’t say anything. He simply nodded and turned around. Footsteps echoed as he distanced himself from you. A final goodbye until you met again.

#john murphy #john murphy imagine #The 100 #the 100 imagine #love #writing #one shot #john murphy fic #john murphy fanfic #the 100 fic #the 100 fanfic #john murphy love #john murphy x reader #preferences

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inmyownlaine · 2 years

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I find it so difficult to find what I want to read, do you have a masterlist or navigation? :(

I just made the masterlist! Thank you for the suggestion :) I don't think I realize how much Murphy content I've made to sift through.

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inmyownlaine · 2 years

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John Murphy Masterlist

Fluff:

Carry You

Warrior

More Than Goodnight

Marry Me

Falling For You

We Should Make Out

Whump:

Please, Stay

Promises

I Wasn’t Going to Wait

With Me

Smut (mainly light):

Fingertips

Bold and Offended

Photos

Fanfic:

Cages: Chapter One

Cages: Chapter Two

Cages: Chapter Three

Murphy's Law: Part One

Murphy's Law: Part Two

Murphy’s Law: Part Three

Murphy’s Law: Part Four

Mini Series - Shirt:

Part 1

Part 2

Enemies To Lovers Trope

Only One Bed

Only Me

Preferences:

Kisses: Part One

Moodboards:

Holy Trinity

Soft

Murphy’s Love

Reader’s Love

Forgiveness

Demons

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inmyownlaine · 2 years

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John Murphy x Reader: Please, Stay

GIF// MOOD MUSIC//

Warnings: Supposed death, blood, surgery

Word Count: 1636

Part: 1/2

Summary: Murphy has been wounded while on a mission. Bellamy rushes him to the medical bay for treatment. It is now your job to save his life...Your boyfriend’s life... ──────────────────────────────────────────────────

“We need help!” a gruff voice yelled, barreling through the medical doors. You jumped slightly, startled by the sudden urgency. The door slammed behind the group of people who were now placing a body carefully on the emergency table.

The man’s pain could be heard through gritted teeth and heart-wrenching moans. Although it was awful to hear, this is what made you love your job. The fact that you could help others on such a serious level made you feel like you were doing your part on the Ground. You were advancing these people to a better future and ensuring their health and safety. Nothing felt better than that.

You put on your gloves quickly and spun around to meet the eyes of your new patient. Instead, you caught the gaze of Bellamy, who shook his head gently. His mouth opened and closed, obviously at a loss for words. In the corner of his eye, you saw a tear glisten.

“Abby?” he asked softly.

“She’s with someone else,” you replied, frightened at his reaction towards you.

“Maybe you shouldn’t- is there any way she can-,” he stammered, taking small steps in your direction. Anxiety crept up your throat as you made a mad dash to the injured man. Bellamy jumped in front of you, making his shoulders large and sticking his arms to the side.

“Please don’t,” he begged.

“Bellamy, who is it?” You stood on your tiptoes, craned your neck, tried to maneuver around the open spaces he was creating. Bellamy stopped them all, forcing you to stay in front of him and remain confused.

“If someone is dying, I have to help!” you exclaimed.

“I can’t let you.”

“You’re not my boss,” you said strongly. “Now let me do my job or else I won’t

have one to do.”

Exasperated, Bellamy dropped his arms. He looked away from you, rubbing his chin. He let out a nervous chuckle before saying, “I tried to help him. I wasn’t fast enough.”

You pushed Bellamy to the side, standing over the writhing patient. Upon seeing who it was, your body began to shake. So many noises were building in the bottom of your chest, but they didn’t dare escape. Your breathing became labored as you used the edge of the table to steady yourself.

You always knew this was a possibility. It was practically inevitable with him fighting on the frontlines and you stitching everybody up. However, now that you were facing the situation head-on, it was more horrifying than you could have ever imagined.

John Murphy was wheezing for air, blood pulsating from his upper left chest. His skin was pale and his veins were dark blue. Sweat covered every inch of his body even though he was cold to the touch. Murphy was struggling for life. You were watching him lose.

“What happened?” you asked frantically.

“He got shot in the chest. It was some type of guerilla attack. Nobody noticed until he took one,” Bellamy responded.

You didn’t reply. Instead, you began searching for a clean rag. There wasn’t enough time to completely sterilize the area. Given how long it had taken them to get here, Murphy’s lung could have already begun to collapse.

You rushed to his side, pulling his shirt up to his neck and exposing the gaping wound. As you desperately attempted to mop up the blood, you could feel your throat begin to tighten. Hisses escaped Murphy’s body as he tried his best to breathe. The blood around the bullet was foaming pink and red. It was possible, truly and honestly, that you could lose him at any point.

Waiting for Abby was no longer a choice. He needed surgery. And he needed it immediately.

“Bellamy, do you see those gloves over there?” you questioned, rushing towards the oxygen tank.

“Yeah,” he responded, already heading towards them.

“I need you to put them on and apply pressure to the wound.”

“Can’t we close it?” he asked, although he was already slipping them on.

“It wouldn’t matter. I have to perform surgery.” You took the cylinder wrench from the sliding drawer and turned the oxygen valve. Just like Abby had taught you when you first studied under her.

She didn’t warn you about the fumbling hands and the watery eyes. The pressure of another life resting heavily on your shoulders. The urgency that your body couldn’t quite catch up with. Nothing you did was fast enough. Not when Murphy’s life was on the line.

You connected the tubes to the tank and hurried to Murphy’s side. As gently as possible, you placed the facemask over his nose and mouth. Once secured, you started to prepare the IV and anesthesia to operate. All the while, you prayed to any god that would hear. Wished upon every shooting star. Hoped against all hope. There were already so many good people taken. Don’t take Murphy, too.

Nobody needed him more than you. Not an omnipresent being that lorded in the sky. Not the ghosts of his past that haunted his existence. Not the souls that passed into the unknown. Nobody was going to take him from you. No one was going to keep him as their own.

You inserted the IV and started draining the anesthesia into his body. This gave enough time to prep the small metal tray: a scalpel, chest tube, and dressings for sutures.

“How much longer?” Bellamy cried, his hands drowning in a sea of red. The cuffs of his long sleeve shirt were tinged with blood. A steady stream flowed down the side of Murphy’s chest, splattering Bellamy’s combat boots. But they were nothing in comparison to the pool collecting on the floor.

“Now,” you told him.

Bellamy let go of the sucking wound and made his way to the sink. You paid no attention as he left your field of vision. With your own gloves snug on your hands, you picked up the scalpel and made a small incision in Murphy’s chest. The sound of cutting flesh made your teeth grit together.

It was the same skin that you were pressed against only hours ago. His chest was covered in goosebumps as the night air whisked around your bodies. Heaving in and out as he placed gentle kisses on your neck and collarbone. Heart pounding when you looked him in the eyes and told him, for the first time, that you loved him.

Now it was barely pumping. His skin was lifeless. And the heaving of his chest was an endeavor to live.

“Stay with me,” you begged, inserting the chest tube into the incision. He didn’t respond. “Please. God, just stay.”

The tube had just started to drain fluids from Murphy’s lungs when his body went stiff. He started to convulse on the gurney. His cold, clammy skin flinched against yours in an effort to stabilize the loss of blood.

“No,” you muttered. In your own state of shock, you remained rooted to your spot. Your ears began to ring as you watched the scene unfold in front of you. He needed more care than you could provide for him.

You promised that you would always keep him safe. You assured him that you knew what you were doing. You were so confident in your abilities before this moment in time. He was dying and all you could do was stare.

“No,” you found yourself repeating. Your knees buckled beneath you. They crashed to the floor. Blood sprayed from the contact, leaving droplets on your arms and face.

Two muscular arms wrapped around your waist. They dragged you from your nightmare, smearing the carnage along the way. It was leaking from your clothes, following you towards the large metal door. Taunting you. Reminding you of everything you couldn’t do.

“No!” you screamed, fingernails digging into Bellamy’s clasped hands.

“Abby is taking care of him,” he said firmly.

“No!” you continued to cry out. Elbows thrashing into his taut chest, slapping your palms on his upper shoulders. Anything that you could do to fight your way back to Murphy. To fight this battle for him.

“Don’t take me!” you sobbed. You let your body go limp. Bellamy stumbled forward in response to the dead weight. Your tears hit his arm as he steadied himself. With one final thrust, he hurled you in the air.

“Bellamy,” you pleaded, watching Abby rushing around Murphy’s gurney. His body was still. Her hair was wildly framed around her face. She glanced up at you for only a moment. But that was all you needed to know.

Abby’s shoulders fell as she shook her head. Your entire world crumbled at your feet.

There were no words. Nothing could be said to explain how you felt. Nothing could bring Murphy back to life. So instead you clawed at the door frame. Your fingers curled around the edges, scraping along them as Bellamy pulled your body away.

Your wails prevailed. A deep, guttural sound that had never escaped your lips. Formed from the pressure that the pit of your stomach had created when it dropped. If sounds could save him, yours would have done it.

“Y/N,” Bellamy said. His voice was cracking in tandem with your cries as he lowered to the floor. The doors to the medic room closed as he sat you in his lap, clutching your body close.

“It’s going to be okay,” he tried to assure you. Though you felt his own tears running down your forehead. He took deep, even breaths through his nose. An honest effort to stay in control.

“I- can’t,” you cried, burying your face in his neck. He squeezed you tighter than before. Comforting you as the hallway light flickered.

Once.

Then twice.

Then no more.

As the dark of night swallowed both of you whole.

#john murphy #john murphy imagine #writing #love #The 100 #john murphy x reader #john murphy fanfic #the 100 fanfic #john murphy fanfiction #john murphy fic #the 100 imagine #the 100 x reader #the 100 fanfiction

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