The 100 Imagines & Preferences

Not the day |John Murphy

Request for Marvel15Winchester

Prompt #21: "Ignore the blood, it's not mine."
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"He's not going to fucking do anything Bellamy." Jaw locked, voices raised. Bellamy stood before you, gun held tight in his hands, but you damn well knew he wouldn't act with it. "Murphy just got back into this camp, he's not going to mess that up." You emphasized each word, hands clenching at your sides.

"And I should take your word? Murphy is a murderer, you should get out before he kills you too-" before you could stop yourself, you drew your fist back, colliding with his jaw. Bellamy stumbled slightly, pressing his hand against his face, eyes boring into you.

"Go float yourself Blake." You breathed, turning on your heels and storming away. Your feet carried you towards the walls, the spot you and Murphy had snuck out of together time and time again. A thousand thoughts ran through your head, and you knew you needed out before you did anything too drastic. Carefully scaling the wall, you stared at the open trees before you. "Asshole." You muttered to yourself, taking off before the guards could turn the corner to see her.

Fingers grazing past the bark of a tree, your head tilted back and eyes fell shut. Hours of walking, and it was nearing dark. Yet anger still bubbled up in the pit of your stomach, rage trying to push it's way to the surface. That's when you heard it, the sound of an arrow breaking the still air. It was barely noticeable, but it was something you had grown accustomed to.

Head whipping around, and your sleeve pinned to the tree before you. "Today is not the fucking day." You growled through grit teeth, ripping the arrow from the trunk. Cries deeming an attack rang through your ears, two grounders appearing in your line of sight.

Dropping to your knees, you struck one low, making him fall to the ground. As you went in for another attack, the second grounder quickly grabbed you, throwing you off of him and pinning you to the ground. A blade pressed against your throat, your head turning in attempt to steer it away. But your eye caught something, hand shooting out to grab the arrow that was previously in your sleeve. Fingers grazed the end, before you finally corrected your grip, jamming the arrow head into the grounders throat. Blood sprayed across your face, seeping down your shirt and settling there.

Now realizing you had the upper hand, the other ran to you with a sword at the ready. Throwing the man off of you, you scrambled to grab his machete from him. Quickly throwing it up, you met the man's sword, teeth gritting together. He shoved you back, arm swinging and landing a perfect slice through your left arm. Hissing in pain, your patience grew thin. Charging the man with an angered cry, the machete stabbed through his stomach before you quickly ripped it out. He collapsed to his knees, the sword dropping from his hand as he kneeled before you. And one final blow, sharp blade slicing sickly through the muscle and bone in his neck.

Standing before him, you returned from your angered daze into an exhausted sense of disbelief. Did you really just do that?

Your trek back to camp was longer than you had thought it to be. But as soon as you walked through the gates, you were met with the worried face of John Murphy. "Y/N! Oh my god what happened to you? You just disappeared and they wouldn't let me out of camp to go find you and- oh my god you're covered in blood." Eyes blown wide, he held tight to your arms, forehead wrinkled in worry.

"Murphy, I'm fine. And ignore the blood, it's not mine." You shook your head, gently taking his hands. "I love you."

"I love you too." He chuckled, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you into his chest. "My little badass." Murphy chuckled into your hair, making you laugh aloud.