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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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twirlywhirlywriting · 7 months

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What Would I Do Without You?

I finally did it!!! This was definitely a challenge for me as a writer. I am mostly used to female submissives so this was a huge change! I hope you all like it, I worked really hard on it! Here you go, my loves, submissive John Murphy!

Title: What Would I Do Without You?

TAGS/WARNINGS: 18+ Minors DNI, Smut, Sub!Murphy x Dom!/Reader, Reader’s POV, Fem Reader, Use of Y/N, Cussing, Soft Dom, Mistress Kink, Obedience, Reassurance, Strip Tease, Kissing, Praise, Fingering, Oral (f receiving), P in V (unprotected), Orgasms, Soft Edging (literally one time), Handjob, Slight Mess, Aftercare, Mentions of Love

The first thing that I need to point out before telling you anything, is that John Murphy is mine. He is the love of my life, he is my best friend, he is my baby. He’s my submissive, my fuck toy, my good boy, just mine. I know that when you look at us, we seem like any other “power couple” who are really just giant assholes who don’t care about anyone else but each other. But really, he’s just trying to give the people what they want, and well, I can’t help myself from being protective of him and his feelings.

The only reason he is being so forceful in making everyone take off those stupid wristbands is because no one wants the fuckers who put us down here to follow us. We don’t deserve to be prisoners. We are lucky none of us are 18, otherwise we’d all be dead anyways. But they put us on this dropship without our permission. They are the ones who didn’t know if they were killing us or not. And now we have the entire Earth to ourselves. The last thing that any of us want is for those stupid assholes to follow us down and take control again, or worse, call us criminals again. We deserve this whole goddamn Earth to ourselves, we were the ones who were going to die for it if it turned out to be uninhabitable anyway.

Most people understand this and are happy to take off the damn wristband-tracker-whatever the fuck they are. If everyone on the Ark thinks we died, they won’t follow us and we will finally be free. But Clarke and her stupid boy toy followers are making things way harder than they need to be. They’re being dicks to John, my John. I can’t stand it.

“Stop it, Murphy! Everyone, you have to stop taking those off, the Ark has to know we’re alive!” Clarke screams at John over the fire. Maybe he is being a little bit intense, not letting anyone get dinner until they allow him to remove the wristband. But it’s for their own good! How can that bitch not see that?

“No one wants the Ark to know we’re alive, Clarke. We want to be free. We deserve to be free.” He retorts, then turns to everyone, “Do you want to be the Ark's prisoners again? For doing nothing? For saving their asses and getting nothing in return?” He yells, and everyone around boos at Clarke; she and Wells look like they’re about to pop their top.

She grabs a piece of meat anyways and starts eating, then glares at him. “No rules, right? Screw you, Murphy.” His eyes look like he’s ready to kill her, but I know that look. When he looks murderous, he’s really just sad, or scared, or something. Maybe angry too, maybe a bit murderous, but mostly sad. And that makes me fume.

I hand my food to John and stand up. Yanking the food back from Clarke, I step right up to her and get in her face. “You know you can’t do that shit. Chaos is good, but you’re just being fucking stupid. He’s helping people, whether you realize it or not. You, Wells, and Finn can all just go on your merry fucking way and find your own food. We’ll get your wristbands later.” She looks like she’s about to throw a punch, but Finn stops her and pulls her away. I’m still fuming, who does she think she is? Finn is right, she is a fucking princess. Wells and Clarke think they get to decide all the rules just because his Daddy and her Mommy are in charge up there. Well, they’re fucking wrong.

As I sit back down, John gives me back my food. We are both still so pissed off at the whole situation, and not just because of right now. Clarke and those stupid boys are always getting in John’s way. They truly think they can lead us! While I sit here thinking about how fucked up it is, John grabs my hand and brings it up to his lips, planting the softest kiss. I know he’s trying to calm me down, even though he’s just as mad as I am. He’s so fucking sweet. He could be ready to kill someone and when he looks at me or touches me, it is always so soft and loving. He treats me like a queen no matter how he feels.

I smile at him and when I catch his eyes, I can tell he needs a break. He is trying so hard to keep his cool in front of everyone, but I can tell the frustration of the day and that encounter is getting to him. I quickly shove the last bite of food into my mouth and lead him to our tent with his hand in mine. I’m going to take all of his thoughts and make them melt away, I know just what to do.

The second we get inside, he asks, “Am I doing something wrong?” and I shake my head and smile at him, staring into his gorgeous blue eyes. You may think he likes to take charge with the way he acts around other people, but you’d have it all wrong. He needs the release of not having to make choices. To listen to someone else for a change, have someone else be responsible for him when no one is watching.

“No baby boy, nothing wrong at all. You’re perfect.” I kiss him on the lips, then kiss both of his cheeks, and when I look into his eyes again, I can’t take it. He’s just so hot, standing there and waiting to react to my every move. I kiss him again, harder this time, moving my hands up under his shirt a little to glide my hands along his stomach and chest. He grabs me by my waist and kisses me back deeply, stifling a small moan. I know he wants me. I grin and look up to him, putting my hand on his cheek softly. “What does my good boy want, hm?”

He bites his lip and looks into my eyes, knowing just the right words to say. “I want to make you feel good, Mistress. I just want to feel you all over me. I want to feel you on my hands, my lips, my tongue, I want to please you with every part of me.” It’s hard for me to keep my composure when he says such yummy words.

“And you can have me. But not yet. Sit on the bed, for now you only get to watch.” He immediately obeys, sitting on the bed with his eyes glued to me. I slowly take off my shirt, much slower than normal, feeling his eyes look over every inch of my stomach, my ribs, my tits, my collarbone and neck, and finally my face again. With my pants, it’s the same thing. I turn around this time though, giving him a full view as I bend over and let him watch every part of my ass and legs become exposed. I peel my underwear off too, giving him just a quick peek of my pussy before standing up and turning around again.

Instead of letting him touch me like he asked for, I smirk at him, trailing my hands up my stomach and start squeezing my tits, then trailing my fingertips around my nipples until they get hard. I love watching him practically drool, watching his pants get tight, his hands grabbing onto the sheets to stop himself from leaping up and grabbing me.

I move a hand down my stomach, across my hips, parting my legs just enough to let my hand slip between them. I keep one hand squeezing my tit and sometimes pinching my nipple, letting the other hand glide along my slit, then I start to slowly rub my clit. I lean my head back and moan, wondering just how much this is killing him and enticing him to watch. After maybe a minute or so, I pull my hand back up, stare straight into his eyes, and lick the wetness off of my fingers. His face flushes, and I ask him, “What is it? Do you want a taste too?”

He stumbles over his words as though he couldn’t get them out fast enough, “Yes, Mistress, please let me taste you.” It makes me feel so warm inside when he says these things. Of course, I’ll give him what he wants. I walk towards him, put a foot up onto the bed to give him a better view, and slide a single finger inside of myself. When I pull it out, it’s glistening. It’s fucking teasing me to do this too, but I love seeing how much he wants me.

“Open.” I demand as I put my finger up to his lips, and he does so immediately. I slide my finger in his mouth, and he is happy to suck my finger clean. “Good boy, you are so patient. You get to touch me now.” I lay down onto the bed, “Whatever you want to do to start with, baby, you earned it.”

He climbs on top of me, kissing my neck oh so gently, it almost tickles. He works his way down to my chest, and as he does so, his kisses become more erratic and have more pressure. He gets to my tits, and uses his tongue to circle my nipple, using a hand to follow suit on my other nipple. I close my eyes to fully enjoy the sensations, combing my fingers through his hair as he does this.

After a little bit of this, I feel my wetness and the tingle of desire a bit too intensely. “Okay, I need you on my pussy, right now.” The end of my sentence is almost a growl, I didn’t realize how fucking wet I was until it hit me like a brick wall and I couldn’t wait a single second longer.

“Yes Mistress, of course.” He scoots back on the bed, wetting two of his fingers using my own juices, sliding one in and pumping a few times before adding the second. He starts kissing my clit, just warming me up as he continues to slowly pump his fingers in and out, just barely curling his fingers up at the last second of every thrust, only a whisper of a touch to my g-spot. Even with how soft he’s being, my breathing quickens. He’s not one to need too much direction on exactly how to please a woman. He doesn’t start off too fast, and he definitely knows where all the good spots are. Whether he’s naturally gifted, or if he’s practiced, I’ve never cared to ask. He’s all fucking mine and that’s the only thing that matters to me.

“You’re doing so good, baby, you’re such a good boy for me, that’s just right.” I coo at him, making sure every second that he knows just how good he’s making me feel.

His kisses on my clit slowly turn into kisses with tongue, and that turns into pressing his tongue into me with the tiniest of suction of his lips, letting go with a tiny pop every time. As his kisses change into this, his fingers start working faster, and the second he feels my g-spot swell, he starts fully curving them into that wonderful “come here” motion as he pumps them in and out of me. His tongue gets faster as well, consistent stimulation with suction every few seconds, it’s perfect. I grip the sheets with one hand and his hair in another, unable to control how loud or often I’m moaning. I can barely talk anymore, but I mumble out a “Good boy, just like that!”

It only takes a couple of minutes before my orgasm comes to the brink, my legs shaking and the world around me practically spinning as I hit my peak. When it calms down, I grip his hair tighter and pull him up to me in a sloppy kiss, both of us breathing heavily. “Am I making you feel good, Mistress? That was good?” He asks me, and my heart melts. He is probably the only guy in the world to make a girl cum that hard and not be full of himself about it. He wants reassurance that he’s doing things just how I like them. Fuck, I love him. He is going to be mine forever, I swear to God.

“Yes, you are doing so good, baby boy. I’m going to keep you mine forever. Understand?” I look into his eyes so that he knows that isn’t just pillow talk, that he really is mine. Forever.

He nods with more enthusiasm than I’ve ever seen, and responds with the same seriousness in his voice that I had in mine. “Yes Mistress, I’m all yours, forever. You own me.”

I give him one more kiss before switching our positions so that I’m on top of him now. “I need you to be inside me now.” I say as I slowly ease myself onto him, groaning as I feel the fullness inside of me. “It’s my turn to watch as you feel good, baby.” I say soothingly, before adding sternly, “now don’t you dare look away. I want to look into your eyes the whole time I’m making you feel good.”

He bites his lip and nods, almost immediately moaning as I start riding him, slowly at first, moving my hips up and down, then back and forth, then a mixture of them all, in a circle. I love watching the sweat slowly build in his hair, watching the muscles on his chest and abs clench as I make him feel so good. I place my hand on his chest to give me better leverage to go faster, faster, and stop right as I see he is starting to get closer to his orgasm.

Disappointment flickers in his eyes, but only for a moment, he knows I’m never going to fully deny him. He’s too beautiful and perfect to truly be mean. I lean down to give him a kiss, before whispering into his ear. “Now, you’re going to make me cum again. I’m going to stay still, and you are going to fuck me like this, exactly how I tell you to.”

“Yes Mistress, I want to make you cum on me. Please tell me what you want.” He begs and I groan quietly, he’s too fucking good.

I straighten back up and tell him to start off slow, which he does. He keeps his hands on my waist to help him gain leverage, and I trail my fingers along his chest and tell him constantly how good he’s doing, how much he’s pleasing me. I tell him to go faster, then to slow down, then to go deeper and harder, then faster, then slow again. He follows along with my words perfectly. I like to work myself up to the edge, not too fast, I want to enjoy every moment of this. But when I notice he is getting a little tired, I tell him to speed up and fuck me as hard as he can.

My nails dig into his chest as I cum, my head falling back as I moan and my legs squeeze against his sides, making it harder for him to continue fucking me but he pushes through. When I look back down at him I smile at his flushed face, “Stop, baby. You can stop. You are such a perfect fuck toy. Now it’s finally your turn.”

I start riding him again, keeping up with the quick pace and making sure I’m going all the way down, pushing all of him inside me with every hip thrust. I love watching him pant and whimper as he gets close to the edge. “Mistress, please, I-I-I’m close!” he says with urgency, and I get off of him and immediately jerk him off, keeping the pace as I watch him cum all over himself, biting my lip as I watch.

“Look at what a mess you’ve made, baby.” I tease, making him blush a little bit but he knows I’m not mad. I just love watching him make a mess everywhere, especially on himself. I quickly grab a rag and clean him up, first wiping the sweat off his brow and then cleaning up his chest.

I lay down next to him, propping myself up on my elbow. I kiss him all over his face, a million times practically, whispering in a soothing voice “You are such a good boy,” and “You did such a wonderful job,” and “It’s all over now baby, I love you so much.” and “I’ll be right here to care for you, always.” in between the kisses being peppered all over his face. He snuggles into me, and I am happy to hold him, regulating my own breathing in order to help him regulate his.

I stroke his hair, humming softly in a soothing lullaby I forgot the words to a long time ago, every once in a while kissing the top of his head. After a while, he looks up at me and asks, “Did you really mean it, that I’m yours forever? Because.. I want to be. I always want to be yours, Y/N. Always.”

I smile back at him, my heart melting all over again. “Whatever would I do without you, John? I love you.”

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unchartedcloud · 4 months

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Final Chapter: My Only Wish (This Year)

On the eve of Christmas, Lexa has one last chance to tell Clarke how she feels. Bullied by her children to make a movie-worthy confession, the innkeeper discovers whether there's any magic in a Christmas wish.

“Okay, okay. Well what is this that’s so important that it couldn’t wait?” Clarke picks apart the wrapping paper. “And was worth risking your life?” “That’s putting it a bit dramatically, don’t you think?” The little white box beneath the sky blue paper is nothing special; it isn’t branded, bears no pattern, and isn’t even tied with ribbon. It’s just a small, plain box bought from the stationary store however many months ago and happened to fit the two inch long, diamond-shaped red key tag nestled inside. That is branded, with the golden logo emblazoned on every one of the Polaris’ key tags…but this one, unlike those, has a C in place of a room number. Clarke lifts it delicately from the box but doesn’t say anything. Lexa gulps, unable to read the look on a face hidden by hat and curls, and compulsively starts to explain: “It’s symbolic. That is to say…” Blue eyes, the color of a bright winter sky, look up at her, and any success she’d had at sorting out her words evaporates immediately. Gods, what is she doing here? How did she let her kids talk her into this?? “I know it hasn’t been that long, but Clarke…” Her heart hammers in her chest. In truth, she’s already done the crazy thing. What could she possibly lose now? “I would be most honored if you came to visit again, even after you came to say goodbye. So take this as a promise that you will always have a room at the Polaris.”

Read on Ao3.

#clexa #clexa fanfic #clexa fanfiction #clexmas23 #the 100 #the 100 fanfic #the 100 fanfiction #clarke griffin #lexa woods #commander lexa #holiday au #hallmark au #my fic

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damn-stark · 1 year

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Aftersun

Bellamy Blake x Grounder!femreader

Summary- A man from the stars and a closed off Azgeda assassin with the heart of gold. Life on earth has always been ruthless, there’s never been a chance to look up at the stars that shine above and just daydream. It’s always been kill or be killed, that’s the rule to survive. Albeit what happens you run across a man from the stars? A single man from Skaikru named Bellamy Blake? Will he show you how to live and love for the first time, or will he be someone else you have to kill?

Season 3

#fanfiction #damn-stark #Aftersun #the 100 #the 100 fanfiction #the 100 fanfic #Bellamy Blake x fem!reader #Bellamy Blake x grounder!femreader #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake x you #bellamy blake fanfiction #bellamy blake #the 100 bellamy blake #bellamy blake x y/n #Octavia blake #Clark griffin #Monty green #azgeda #fanfic series

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topazy · 7 months

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The fierce and broken

Pairing: Raven Reyes × reader

Warnings: Mentions of smut, swearing

Chapter: 3.01

Soon as the door to your room is closed, you peel the sweaty vest top from your body and toss it to the side. The whiteness of it had long faded into a light yellowish stain, no doubt due to your body dripping of sweat at the end of each shift and the stour that seemed to constantly cover everything in Arkadia.

“Hey.”

You turn around to see Raven coming out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel. Although she’s smiling, you can tell she’s in pain by how her jaw tenses. It was a short distance between the bedroom and bathroom, but it took a lot out of her to walk it without her brace. Since the explosion at the dam three months prior, the pain in her hip had increased, but Raven was in denial about how bad her injury was and was refusing to talk about it. She sits on the edge of the bed, the wetness from her long hair dripping onto the bed. Although she was smiling, Raven appeared exhausted.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine, just tired.”

“Raven,” you sigh. Your girlfriend was the most stubborn person you’d ever met, and point blank refused to admit how much pain she’s in while walking. You step in front of her and ask, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

She grins, “well…” She hooks her fingers into the loop of your jeans and pulls you forward. “I can think of a couple of things that might help us both feel better.”

“Raven,” you moan as she starts to rub at your groin, putting pressure on all the right places.

She pulls you down and captures your lips with hers. She unclasps your bra, pulls it off your shoulders, and then tosses it to the side. Raven kisses your neck down to your breast and wraps her lips around one of your hardened nipples. She reaches for the zipper on your trousers, but you catch her hand. “Slow down, Reyes,” you giggle. “I need to shower before we go any further.”

She smirks, “I can join you.”

You do your best to plaster a smile on your face. Your girlfriend was the most beautiful person in the world to you, and we wanted her to join you in the shower, but we’re worried she’d hurt herself without her brace. Knowing that mentioning the pain in her leg would only piss Raven off, you kiss her on the lips and say, “You could or you could get comfy in the bed while I quickly wash the medical smell off me.”

Raven pauses slightly but shuffles up the bed. “I’ll wait, but don’t be long. You know I hate waiting.”

You both laugh at her response before quickly going for a shower.

—

You kiss Raven's bare shoulder. She was leaving soon to travel to Sector 7 for a mapping mission, but the thought of her going scared you since it was so close to the ice nation border.

“What’s wrong?” She asks.

“I just… This is going to sound stupid, but I feel things have been going well for so long. I guess I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Raven brushes your hair out of your face. Since Mount Weather, you had become inseparable, Murphy was gone, Jasper was constantly wasted, and Bellamy was still trying to find his role in Arkadia since he was no longer a leader. You had developed a fear that something terrible would happen and you’d lose Raven as well. The only time you were focused on anything else was when you were working or training with Bellamy.

Raven sighs softly. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“No,” she snorts. “But we can get through whatever bad shit happens as long as we have each other.”

—

You spent most of your day tending to minor medical issues, including coughs and colds, removing stitches, and dealing with contraception. You had been so busy that you hadn’t had the chance to find out exactly what had happened to Jasper on the mapping mission. Octavia only told you that they ran into three ice nation warriors, and Jasper made the situation worse, resulting in Raven and Miller killing the warriors to save their people. Hearing what happened made you feel physically sick.

Octavia also told you that the Ice Nation was looking for someone called Wanheda.

Seeing Jackson about to follow Abby, who was chasing a drunk Jasper out of the medical bay, you call out to him. “Jackson, hey!"”

He looked more stressed than usual and had large bags under his eyes. “Something wrong?”

“We are running short of supplies.” You pull a list and hand it to him. “I went through all our stores earlier, and we are dangerously low. We only have enough stitches for two minor cuts; there are hardly any painkillers left.”

You had reported this to Abby days prior, but she was so preoccupied with finding Clarke that she hadn’t noticed. Jackson rubs at his face. “What else do you still have to do?”

“I have four more implants to remove, but nothing to replace them with.”

“Okay, once you’ve finished, I want you to go around the camp and pull all the resources you can together. I’m going to need to talk to Kane about organizing another supply run. Thanks Alba.”

It looked like you’d be working another late night.

#the 100 #raven reyes x reader #raven reyes x you #Raven Reyes #the fierce and broken #the 100 fanfiction #raven the 100 #the 100 smut #the 100 x reader #raven reyes smut #raven reyes/reader #raven reyes/you #Raven Reyes x fem reader #the 100 fanfic #Raven Reyes fanfiction

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asleepingtiger · 11 months

Text

New Fic!

Walking Among Wolves

Chapter One - New Moon

Enjoy this snippet.

Anya and Lexa were still discussing the future plans, once they feel a relationship forming between the grounders and Skaikru they hope to set off to Polis.

“I think we’ll take some of the Skaikru with us, Markus, Clarke and Octavia. I believe they will be a good representation for Skaikru.” Lexa disclosed to Anya.

“I think that is a good choice, I do have a request for someone to join us.” Anya began.

Lexa turned her attention to Anya, surprised by the request, “who do you request?”

“The mechanic, Raven Reyes. I think Ryder could help her.”

Lexa looked over at Raven who was walking with a clear hindrance, “I think he would help, sha.”

Anya relaxed in her seat and caught Raven looking over at her. Lexa noticed this and addressed Anya in regards to her request.

“Is there more to her injury as to why you request her to join us in Polis?”

Lexa was aware of the glances that the pair threw at each other, she hadn’t said anything, she was aware that Anya isn’t one that commits and she felt partially responsible for that. Having chosen Anya to be her war general left her to be unavailable to be close with someone.

“Heda, I see her pain. I want to help.”

Lexa looked at Anya and considered what she said, “it’d have to be her choice, if she accepts, you’ll be solely responsible for her. I’ll hold a meeting with Clarke, Abby and Markus. I won’t have you attend, understand?”

“Sha, Heda.” Anya gave her commander a respectful nod then left her seat leaving Lexa alone.

#anya and raven #lexa and clarke #ranya #clexa #the 100 fanfic #read on ao3 #Raven and Anya fic #clexa fic #walking among wolves fic #au/canon #au: walking among wolves

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probably-voldemort · 7 months

Text

whiskey in a teacup

a clarke x murphy fic - rated T

Murphy was going to die. Any day now it was going to happen. He hadn't really come to terms with dying in a creepy lighthouse basement. He's always thought he'd have a more exciting death. But he had an unlimited amount of whiskey and a stomach that hadn't tasted even a crumb in days, so it wasn't like he was really sober enough to put too much thought into how he was going to die.

And then he starts hallucinating Clarke, who is convinced she's the one hallucinating him, and suddenly dying drunk in a lighthouse bunker isn't as boring a way to go as it had once seemed.

Written for Round 1 of @troped-fanfic-challenge's Troped Timeloop event! Shoutout to @thelittlefanpire and @dylanobrienisbatman for hosting! Always a super fun time!

[link in reblog]

#the 100 fanfiction #the 100 fanfic #the 100 fic #clurphy #clarke griffin #john murphy #clarke x murphy #troped #troped timeloop

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alannacouture · 10 months

Text

I am nothing if not an equal opportunity Bellarke Holiday fanfic writer. If I wrote a Mother’s Day fanfic, then of course I wrote a Father’s Day one. So I’m tempting you to come read it with my Bellarke Father’s Day moodboard. Fingers crossed it works 😉

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owl127 · 1 year

Note

Dear owl, I’ve been watching 21 jump street (the one with Jonah hill) and I was laughing so hard at the scene in which he ducked the captain’ daughter without knowing, the captain finding out and the conversation afterwards at the office, would you mind making it clexa ? One of them fucked the other who’s the captains daughter ?

(Next)

Clarke burst into the locker room with a toast in her mouth and hair like a messed-up halo from a disgraced saint.

"Shit, shit, am I late?" She mumbled between dry bites of toast, and both Octavia and Raven looked at each other. Raven was tying her ponytail while Octavia finished the last touches of her simple makeup.

Raven glanced at her watch, a half-smirk forming as she met Clarke’s eyes. "Not necessarily, why? What’s wrong with your hair? I thought you were on patrol last night."

"Is that a hickey?" Octavia butted in as Clarke undressed to put on her uniform, half of her toast still sticking out of her lips.

"I lost my watch." Clarke’s voice came from under her shirt; the hurried dressing was not helping with her hair. "I wasn’t sure."

When she managed to swallow her toast and put on her jacket, Raven and Octavia had rounded her like hunting ospreys, their smirking lips twitching with the hunger of curiosity.

"You got some, didn’t you?" Raven probed and offered a hairband.

"She totally got some," Octavia added, her painted nails counting the hickeys until Clarke closed her police officer uniform to cover them. Red blossomed across Clarke’s cheeks, and she licked her lips, focusing on her belt.

"Who got some?" Anya joined their little circle, her sharp eyebrows raised as she smelled the blood in the water.

"Clake got pussy last night!" Raven raised a hand to high-five Clarke, who rolled her eyes but didn’t leave her friend hanging.

Indeed, a reason for celebration, since it almost never happens."

"Hey!" Clarke finally managed to adjust her belt, frowning at Anya. "I’ll let you know I went down on her for two hours." A proud grin flashed on her face, and Clarke stood a little straighter.

"Noice," Octavia said, and Clarke responded to that high-five with more enthusiasm.

"Yeah, right."

"No, no, Clarke is a pussy genius," Raven defended her roommate. "Once, this girl kept trying to break into our apartment only to get head. She backed away when she learned we were on the force."

"That was a stalker. The girl from last night..." Clarke took a deep breath, smiling to herself.

"Noice," Octavia repeated.

"She’s gorgeous," Clarke continued, as the group made their way out of the locker room and into their precinct. "Like, she looks like a fucking model."

"Who looks like a model?" Lincoln joined the retinue in the hallway.

"The girl Clarke banged all night," Octavia answered, to Lincoln’s "Noice."

"She claims she went down on her for two whole hours," Anya said as they stopped at the kitchen for coffee.

"Two hours?" Lincoln gasped and looked wide-eyed at Octavia.

"I can give you tips later," Raven said, filling up her cup with black coffee.

"I was drenched down to my boobs." Clarke waved her hands from her mouth to her chest, her nails grabbing at her collarbone. "And the strap... Fuck, I want to see her again."

"The monster strap?" Raven’s question was still echoing in the kitchen as they heard someone clearing their throat at the entrance.

"What is this commotion about?"

They startled to attention by the sharp voice of their captain. Indra was known to be a hard leader but fair, and her officers nodded in respect, with mumbles of "good morning, Captain" floating around, but silence fell into the open kitchen area as Indra went for her own coffee.

"So?" she insisted, her pins shining as she lifted her mug. "What’s so important on a Wednesday morning?"

"Clarke got laid." Raven pointed at the furiously blushing Clarke.

One eyebrow raised, Indra walked until she stopped in front of Clarke. "Is that so?"

If the floor could open up and swallow Clarke, she would have gone willingly.

"Claims she went down on her for two hours," Anya added unhelpfully, and Indra’s second eyebrow joined the first.

"Well done," the captain said, looking Clarke up and down. Indra added a single pack of sugar to her mug and walked away, her low boots clicking on the linoleum of their downtown precinct.

For a single moment, no one said anything. Then, like an uprising volcano, the group erupted in gasps and laughter.

"Holy shit! She never says ‘well done'! She didn't say ‘well done’ when Anya made Sergeant!" Octavia yelled, jumping in place. "Fuck yeah, Clarkey!"

"You must have destroyed that chick, Clarke!" Raven joined Octavia in the yelling, and even Anya was chuckling.

"All right, all right! I got laid; it was epic; now let’s get to work."

"We need more details!"

"Raven no," Anya pleaded as they made their way to their desks.

"I mean, two hours?" Lincoln frowned at his coffee.

0000

"Sergeant Anya."

Anya felt a chill down her spine. She lowered the report with her stamp and met the eyes of her captain.

"I have a job for you." Indra didn't have to specify that it was off the books. Anya saw the vein popping on her forehead and the hard set of her jaw, all signs that Indra was out for blood.

The door of Indra's office closed softly behind her. Even though the blinds were open, Anya knew when discretion was necessary. Without another word, Indra dropped a golden watch on her desk, making a rare show of a grimace as it landed with a hard click. Slowly, Anya took it, its chained wristband unfolding like a golden wave, the cracked display the only sign that it had seen its time.

"I need you to find the owner of this watch."

Anya waited for an explanation, but none came.

"Ma'am?"

"It's a personal matter."

Anya pocketed the watch. "Anything as a lead?"

Indra's lips rose to one side, showing a glimpse of teeth in a silent growl. "I found it in my daughter's apartment."

Anya tried to keep her facial expression neutral, ordering her eyebrows not to jump out of her face.

"I'll keep you updated." As she left the room, the chill in her spine bloomed into a full shudder.

Some poor fool would be in a lot of trouble.

0000

It happened on a Tuesday afternoon.

Clarke had sneaked a power nap in the break room along with some stretches since she had spent the night at Lexa's. Again.

She made fresh coffee with a little smile on her lips, lost in the thought of Lexa. Clarke needed to focus on work, but it was an herculean feat with the memory of how softly Lexa had whispered her name when she came under Clarke's fingers, her voice breaking against freckled skin. Lexa was the full package: smart, beautiful, funny, and, for whatever reason, she seemed to tolerate Clarke. They haven't been out much, but enough for the seed of hope to take root.

With that same little smile, Clarke walked to her desk but stopped in her tracks.

"Hey, you found it!" She rushed to Anya's desk, coffee slouching in her mug, and saw Anya raise her eyes from her computer screen.

"Found what?"

"My watch!" Clarke picked up the watch on top of the reports, shaking her wrist for her hand to slip into it and click it in place. "It used to be my dad's."

Clarke missed the point when Anya was staring at her, mouth open, dark eyes wide.

"Wait, wait, wait..." Raven rolled her chair next to Anya's. "Isn't that the watch for the guy who fucked—" A sharp elbow on Raven's ribs made her stop. "Wait, wait," she continued, rolling away from Anya's range. "No way." While understanding made Anya mute, Raven jumped from her chair, her face a myriad of emotions but settling on ecstasy. "No fucking way!"

"What's this raucous about?" Indra opened her office door to the commotion; Anya was tight-lipped, and Raven pointed at both Indra and Clarke.

"Clarke, you're so fucking dead!" Raven laughed, and Clarke felt unease settle in her stomach. As a reflex, she shook her hand, the watch rattling on her wrist.

Indra saw the watch, and her face closed like the sky before a storm.

"Ohhhhh!" Raven was having a field day. "Captain! You said 'well done' to Clarke for fucking your daughter!"

The entire precinct had stopped to watch it now, and while surprise was the dominant reaction, Clarke felt her soul leaving her body, watching the scene unfold under her as if that wasn't her life.

Because soon she wouldn't have a life, if Indra's face was any indication.

"Oh my God..." Octavia butted in while chewing on a doughnut. "Did you really fuck Capitan's daughter, Clarkey? With your monster strap?"

"Enough."

The mumbling and laughter stopped under Indra's command.

"Griffin, in my office."

"You dead." Raven placed a hand on Clarke’s shoulder, tsking quietly. "I need to start working on a new roommate advertisement."

"Are you wearing kevlar? You might need it." Octavia continued to eat her doughnut as Clarke took each step under the grace of a merciful god, unaware she had the strength.

"Sit. Close the door." Indra motioned to one of the chairs in front of her desk, and Clarke obeyed robotically.

"Captain, I—"

Indra turned the photo on her desk, which was always facing her, so Clarke could see the picture. A younger but nonetheless beautiful version of Lexa smiled at her between her loving parents—Indra, smiling for a change, and a man twice her size with a bear that couldn’t hide his grin.

Fuck, Clarke thought, and realized it wasn't a bad last thought.

"Have you had intercourse with my daughter?"

A high-pitched noise like the beginning of a whimper escaped Clarke’s throat, and she gulped it down.

"I had no idea that Lexa—"

"Don’t say her name."

"I had no idea that she was your daughter."

"That is clear." Indra turned the photo around, and the lack of Lexa’s face made the least of Clarke’s courage vanish.

"I can request to move precincts. I, I can clean the rec room for a month, for a year, Captain, I had no idea—"

Indra raised a hand and stopped Clarke’s pathetic rambling. She looked sharply out the window and saw the entire precinct pretending they were not watching the conversation. Raven didn’t even pretend to be busy with anything else, her eyes jumping between Indra and Clarke as if she were watching a tennis match.

"Close the window," Indra ordered, and Clarke followed with stiff fingers. She shook her head at Octavia’s thumbs up as the blinds clicked in place. She turned around and sat on the chair again, though Indra remained standing.

"Alexandria is my only daughter." She picked up the photo again, her thumb caressing the dark wooden frame. Her face hardened as she stared at Clarke. "I do not take lightly people talking about her as if she’s not a respectable woman."

Clarke swallowed nothing. "I didn’t mean to—" Indra’s hand stopped her, her palm steady and open.

"If your intention is to only toy with her, you drop it right now. I can get you in jail tonight, Griffin; don’t push me."

"No, ma’am," Clarke agreed, and she had never been more certain of anything in her life than the fact that Indra could pull through on a threat.

"You’ve been seeing her multiple times."

It wasn’t a question, and Clarke didn’t try to deny it. "Yes, ma’am."

Indra took a deep breath, breaking the most intense eye contact of Clarke’s life. "She’s been happier lately." Sharp, dark eyes found Clarke again, and an unnamed warmth spread through Clarke’s chest. "Don’t screw this up, Griffin. You’re dismissed."

0000

"That wasn’t so bad," Clarke said as she walked to the garage with Raven and Octavia at the end of their shift, and the two shared a glance. "I thought she was going to shoot me."

"I’m pretty sure she thought about it," Raven said as she stopped next to her car. Octavia kept walking to Lincoln’s Honda.

"Wait…" Clarke stood between the rows of cars, the usual change-of-shift rush around them. "Where’s my car?"

"See you at home, Clarkey!" Raven closed her window, starting her engine.

"Wait, where’s my car?" Clarke looked around. "You could at least give me a ride!"

"No can do," Raven said as the window closed. She shrugged as she drove away. Lincoln stopped his Accord next to Clarke, with Octavia leaning into his lap to poke her head out of the driver’s window.

"It’s in the city’s impound garage, southwest. They open on Thursday at 9."

"What?"

"Captain’s orders," Octavia completed, crawling back to the passenger's seat.

"It’s 11p.m!" Clarke protested. "Just give me a ride!"

"Yeah, we can’t really do that. And I think they’ll charge you a double fee to get your car out. Sorry." Lincoln did look apologetic, at least.

Clarke watched them drive away with a frown.

One hour later, a black Jeep pulled over in the garage with the tinted windows closed. Clarke squinted her eyes at the driver’s seat. An exasperated Lexa opened the door, motioning for her to come in. "Quick, she can’t see me!" Lexa whispered, and Clarke jumped into the passenger's seat.

Lexa drove away quickly, checking the rear-view mirror as they turned the corner around the precinct.

"So," Clarke started, drumming her fingers on her bag. "You knew."

"Only after the second time," Lexa said, eyes focused on the road. "Are you mad?" Her deep green eyes shone under the traffic lights, and Clarke knew right then and there that there was nothing Lexa could do to make her mad.

"No." Clarke reached for Lexa’s fingers and lifted them up to kiss her knuckles. "I think the captain’s plan backfired."

"I can convince her to release your car."

"Or you can give me a ride tomorrow?"

A familiar, sharp gaze found Calrke. "Do you really want me to stroll in and drop you off? Your car might be the least of your concerns if that happens."

"Better to take things slow, then."

Lexa bit her lip, white teeth teasing supple skin. "I like it slow."

And that was how Clarke lost a car but won a girlfriend. (Next)

#ask the owl #clexa #clexa fanfic #I had a lot of fun with this one dear anon #and I also like how you call me dear #:3 #prompts #keep them coming #comedy?#I tried #clarke griffin #lexa the 100 #the 100 #the 100 fanfic #fanfiction #drabble

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witchthewriter · 2 years

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒍𝒇

🌿🌳🌿

a/n: angsty asf, do you like my moodboard? It looks like Raven and Lexa are arguing - I feel pretty impressed with myself tbh lol. Thank you for the request - sorry it took so long to get to!

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

SUMMARY: You hadn’t been married to Raven for long, but you knew you would do anything for her. Her life comes before your own. One day she risks it and a fight ignites. Words are said and lines are drawn. Did Raven go too far?

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

Lexa had considered all options before acting. Of course, she did, she was the Commander, and her actions were watched by thousands of eyes. But when it came to you, her sister, her level head disappeared.

The ground was wet as she entered her sister-in-law’s tent. Raven was sitting on the cot, her head in her hands. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she sat unhumanly still.

She took in the scene before her. Some of your things had been messily vacated; maybe not obvious to a stranger, but if one looked hard enough, they would be able to see the missing pieces. You had packed your things quickly, your vision too blurred and mind too unfocused to remember everything.

It hurt to see Raven like this, but her sympathy did not extend far.

“Raven,” Lexa’s voice was commanding, and she didn’t care if now wasn’t the time for gentleness. “Y/n is staying with me until you fix things.”

Raven looked up at Lexa, and her eyes were red yet still piercing. She still wore the makeshift ring that was crafted for her marriage. And in that hand clutched a pendant. One that she created for you, one that you never took off. Not even to bathe, not when you went hunting or swimming.

It felt cold in Raven’s palm.

“You told her you didn’t love her-” Lexa could feel herself becoming more agitated with every word she spoke. Heat spread from her cheeks to her neck and stomach.

“No no, my words came out wrong. I-” even then Raven couldn’t form a coherent sentence. They were the first words she had spoken since you left, hours beforehand.

“So how are you going to fix this?” Lexa cut to the point, as she felt pricks of irritation on her skin.

All Raven could do was shake her head, the tears showing no signs of slowing down. And they weren’t just tears of sadness, but ones of cold anger; the type of emotion where you knew the situation was dire.

So Lexa continued to pack up your things. With every item she picked up, Raven felt like a dagger was being plunged into her chest.

“I am sorry,” Lexa muttered, picking up the last of your things.

And with that, she left the tent.

𝐒𝐢𝐱 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

Raven’s mind was racing as she walked into the makeshift throne room. You were gazing down at the city. Eyes flickering back and forth at the people below. You could see so much from up here - from the sunrise, to the people walking the dirt street.

You let out a sigh. Your eyes felt swollen, and your neck felt bare. The tears never ceased at night, because during the day Lexa had you doing duties. And that’s why you now stood behind the throne. Waiting for your sister.

You heard a cough behind you.

“Lexa, I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes, where have you been?”

Raven didn’t wait for you to turn around. “Sorry the horse wasn’t coopoerating. And I haven’t been outside of camp for a while. I misjudged the trek.”

You spun around, eyes wide and lips parted.

“Hi baby,” Raven said sheepishly.

It was silent for three heartbeats. And then you growled, “Hi baby? Hi? Baby?”

Your nostrils flared. Eyes narrowing. Lips peeling back behind your teeth. It was true what they called you. Gon Wamplei. Of Death. You did not have a fiery temper, nor did you explode in anger. You were cold. Known for your stone-like savagery. You weren’t just the Commander’s sister. But apart of her advisors, she came to you when harsh blows needed to be dealt.

Raven didn’t move. Because she knew all of this. She knew who you were. Where you came from. What thoughts you had and how you operated.

You were a survivor. And no one could judge you for that.

“Why are you even here?” You demanded, silently going over the wall around your heart for cracks, for any signs of weakness.

“I came to- to apologise.” You took in Raven’s appearance. Her hair was tangled, her eyes bloodshot, and dark circles rimmed the brown iris’.

You swallowed deeply before speaking. “You, you said you didn’t love me.” The same pain you felt six days ago engulfed your chest. And swore in your head. You must have used timber for those walls rather than steel.

“It was stupid. It was so stupid of me to say that. I didn’t mean it. Y/n, please -” Raven’s words came out in a rush. Her body sprang forwards, her hand gripping your arm. Tears formed in her eyes. Those eyes that you looked into and swore to love forever. Even after death.

“I just don’t understand how you could say that to me.” You so badly wanted to hold Raven, to press your lips against your own. But what she had said stopped you. You truly did not understand how she could say that to you.

“I was scared,” Raven started, her head hanging slightly. Her shoulders drooped as she spoke. “I was so afraid that of losing you that I said the one thing that would make that happen. I’ve never felt good enough for you. You deserve someone better. Someone that wouldn’t treat you like this.”

Your eyebrows rose in confusion. “There is no one better for me? No one out there-” And you pointed out the window, “- that would understand who I am.”

Raven stepped closer and wiped a stray tear from your cheek.

“You are the greatest thing that has come out of Earth.” She cooed.

“You are my wife and I should have done better. I will do better. Just please come back home.”

The throne room felt so big, and yet so small at the same time. It didn’t feel like the room where you spent hours arguing with other groups or making terrible decisions. It was now the room where you and Raven made amends.

You nodded.

And Raven placed something cold in your hand. Turning it over, you looked at the necklace. The heart that Raven had shaped and crafted for you. It was one of a kind.

A small smile tugged at your lips. You looked at your wife, and rested your forehead against hers.

“Don’t you ever risk your life like that again, you hear me Reyes?”

Raven closed her eyes and leant into you. “I fucking promise. I love you.”

You wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and pressed your lips on hers. “And I love you.”

Without speaking, she took the necklace from your hands and tied it around your neck.

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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.

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

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.”

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

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

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