The 100 Preferences and Imagines

June 5, 2015

All credit to fantasy—friend on tumblr

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Murphy x Reader - Red Haze

When he had left, you had been very secluded for a while. You knew he had left for a good reason; he was a dangerous maverick, who, you were aware, had done some very evil things.

You liked to think of him as more of a vigilante, but no one else saw it that way. They thought you were naive; just a child, who didn't know better than to befriend such a despised human being. However, little did they know that you were the smartest of all of them.

You knew how to make someone like that feel.

You had been the only one he had said goodbye to. And you were the first to find him.

———-

Lying on the sheet of glass, water frozen above you, you feel unusually warm, an invisible sun holding you down, running under your skin like a thousand tiny sandstorms.

Where were you?

You remember coming to Earth, the people, the drop ship, but you don't want to think about that now. Something was making you not want to go back. This was too pleasantly misty; you had your own little space, all enclosed in a sort of.....red glow. Sometimes, it came off of your skin, out of your nostrils, and across your cracked lips, but as soon as it hit the glass, the red vaporised into a crimson mist.

It made you feel lighter, making you float further from the ice. Making you warmer.

Occasionally, small chips would appear in the ice layer, and you would hear a voice. A voice you didn't really know, but something told you that you had heard it before. Your mind was inexplicably clouded.

"Y/n..." It would say softly. Y/n? That was your name, you felt, but it felt..different coming from the voice. Made you feel out of place on the glass.

But it was still too comfortable.

——

"Y/n...please, come on..." Murphy hovered over you, as you lay in your hammock, blood lining your thin lips, "wait it out, just....hang on." He had been just about over the grounder disease given to him, but the crimson was still bold around his needy eyes; his hair was still limp and lifeless against his pale forehead.

"She's in deep, Murphy," Clarke wheezed from behind him, "she may have lost too much-"

"-shut up!" He snapped around, aiming one of his deadliest glares towards her, but soon softened, remembering that Bellamy might've killed him if Clarke hadn't intervened. You mumbled again, muttering something about a crack in the ice. He hoped this was a good sign. He doubted it was.

"Shh," brushing your hairline gently, he pressed the cold cloth against your forehead, sitting next to your hammock. Across the room, he noticed that Clarke had fallen asleep again, meaning that he would have to take her rounds. Not that he minded. He did owe her. But he owed you more.

You had taken him in as an ally, while everyone else had labeled him as a miscreant. You were strong; doing your share at the camp, but you still had time for him, while no one else even bothered.

He pressed his normal temperature forehead to your boiling hot one, breathing in your hazy air. Red haze. You were bleeding again, so he leaned you on your side and went to get more cloth and water.

——

You didn't like it anymore. The red haze was starting to choke you, holding your skinny throat and dragging it across the glass, which seemed to cut into the nape of your neck like splinters. Though you still couldn't go towards the voice. You couldn't risk going to the unknown, no, the haze was safer, a haven of pain, but safety, from the voice you didn't recognise, yet knew.

The ice was being taken from you.

—–

"Wake up, please, wake up..." Getting warmer, you started to convulse slightly, blood coming from your nose. Murphy had seen this happen before with others, with himself even, and it meant that the virus had reached its peak. This was it. You needed to last it out now, or...well, he wasn't an idiot. He knew what would happen if the fever didn't break. It would become even more unlikely that you would wake up.

—-

"...please wake up..."

The voice was delicate, but faint. The haze was stronger now, convulsing around you, controlling your limbs. The pain was unbearable. The unknown suddenly seemed more attractive.

But not easy.

—-

The convulsing had stopped, but your fever seemed to flare, like the blue butterflies from the trees; all at once, and in a raging pack. Most people wouldn't think of butterflies as 'raging' animals, but Murphy knew better. Every animal was violent in their own right.

"..wait for me.." he heard you wheeze, and his sickened breath caught in his throat. Holding your hand, he waited for you.

He said the words that he had never said to anyone before.

"I lo...."

—–

"...ve you.." Your bloodshot eyes widened to the ice, and your fractured nails sang against the glass. Those words. That voice. You needed to fight. Now.

All of a sudden, you kicked against the ice, watching it crack and flood the glass, which bent into a curve of thinness.

——

Murphy observed as your breath evened, and your head cooled, and he knew you had won. With a gentle touch, he drew a finger across your cheek, and saw your mouth twitch. He kissed your forehead.

There was life in you yet.