Multifandom X Reader Stories

John Murphy- I trust you John, and that's enough.

Tensions at camp had always simmered under the surface, but tonight they'd finally boiled over. Wells was dead, and everyone wanted someone to blame. John Murphy seemed the perfect target. He was rough around the edges, quick to pick fights, and had made plenty of enemies.

When the accusations started flying, you felt a sick twist in your stomach. You knew where Murphy had been the night Wells died — with you, keeping to the shadows just beyond the edge of camp. Neither of you slept much that night, both preferring to share the quiet, the absence of any real expectations between you.

You didn't waste time searching for him now; you could see the crowd forming, people yelling, pointing, and pushing Murphy toward the center. Bellamy's tall form was there, commanding as always, his presence drawing everyone's attention and anger. You rushed forward, slipping past faces twisted in fear and fury until you saw Murphy. His expression was tense, more defensive than angry. He'd been accused of plenty before — but nothing like this.

"That's enough!" You raised your voice above the crowd, forcing your way through to Murphy's side.

Bellamy shot you a warning look. "Not now, Y/N. He's the only one who could've done this. We're not letting him get away with it."

"He didn't do it." You said, meeting Bellamy's gaze head-on. "Murphy was with me last night. He wasn't even near Wells."

Bellamy's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you saw something other than irritation in his expression — hurt. But that was his problem, not yours. You weren't interested in his attention or approval, and he wasn't used to being told no, especially by someone who refused to fall in line like the rest.

"Is that right?" Bellamy's tone was skeptical, but he looked almost amused, as if he thought this was all some elaborate act. "Funny, I didn't hear about you two getting so close. And I doubt anyone else did, either."

The crowd murmured, casting doubtful, accusing glances at you now. Bellamy stepped closer, his posture demanding your answer.

"Believe what you want, but I don't lie, Blake. And I don't have to answer to you."

Murphy's gaze flicked to you. He didn't speak, didn't need to. There was a silent understanding between you two — neither of you trusted anyone here, but somehow, you'd found an ally in each other.

Bellamy's frustration boiled over, his voice rising above the crowd. "You're telling me that out of all people here, you trust him?" He pointed at Murphy, derision clear in his voice.

"Yes," you replied firmly. "Murphy has his faults, but so do the rest of you." The words were sharp, defiant, and you could feel the tension thickening as your challenge hung in the air. But you wouldn't back down. Murphy's life — his very survival — was on the line.

Bellamy's jaw clenched, but before he could respond, someone from the crowd shouted, "Enough talking! If he didn't kill Wells, why is he always lurking around like he's got something to hide?" Several others echoed the accusation, and the energy turned volatile.

Clarke stepped forward, her voice level but calm. "Wait. Let's think about this. If Y/N says Murphy was with her, we need to hear her out."

But the mob was past the point of reason, and they surged forward, hands reaching for Murphy. Without a thought, you moved between him and the crowd. "Back off!" you yelled, even as someone shoved you roughly, sending you stumbling backward.

Pain shot through your side as you landed hard, but you gritted your teeth, determined not to show weakness. You could feel the ache, but ignoring it was second nature by now. Bellamy's expression shifted, a flicker of something like regret crossing his face, but it disappeared as fast as it came. The rest of the group took a step back, hesitant, as Clarke and a few others finally forced their way into the center, pulling you back to your feet and standing beside you and Murphy.

"Listen to her," Clarke insisted, addressing the crowd. "She's never lied to us. We're not about to punish an innocent person without proof." Her calm authority cut through the tension, slowly easing the crowd's anger.

The mob reluctantly dispersed, though you could still feel the distrust simmering in the air. Your body throbbed from the shove, and as the adrenaline wore off, the pain in your side became harder to ignore.

Once the crowd had gone, Murphy turned to you, anger flashing in his eyes. "What the hell were you thinking?" His voice was low, sharp. "Throwing yourself into that mess — you could've gotten yourself killed."

You met his gaze, refusing to let his anger sway you. "You would've done the same for me," you said quietly, the conviction clear in your voice. "I'm not going to stand back while they blame you for something you didn't do."

Murphy shook his head, his jaw tight as he looked away. "You should've let me handle it. We're not exactly...," he trailed off, the words unsaid. You weren't officially anything, but that didn't change the connection between you.

"Doesn't matter what we are," you said, softer this time. "I trust you, John. That's enough."

His expression softened, the frustration fading as he looked back at you, his eyes holding an unspoken understanding. He let out a breath, as if releasing the tension he'd been holding since the accusations started. "Guess I should be grateful for your stubbornness," he muttered, a small, tired smirk appearing.

Clarke approached you, glancing at the bruising along your side. "You're hurt. Sit down; let me take a look at it."

You waved her off, still trying to play it cool, but Murphy grabbed your arm gently, guiding you to a sitting position. His touch was firm but careful, his expression unreadable. "Let her help," he murmured, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it.

Clarke began tending to your side, and Murphy stayed close, his usual sarcastic demeanor gone, replaced by something quieter, almost protective. He stayed silent, though you could feel the weight of his gaze, his hand lingering near yours as Clarke worked.

When Clarke finished, she gave you a nod. "You're lucky. Just bruises. Rest for a bit." She left, casting one last look at Murphy before stepping away.

Once it was just the two of you, Murphy let out a deep breath. "For the record," he started, his voice quieter, "I didn't need you throwing yourself into the line of fire."

You smirked, the tension finally easing. "I know. I did it anyway."

Murphy shook his head, but his eyes softened, a look of relief flickering across his face. He stayed close as you rested, his hand brushing yours in a gesture that, while subtle, spoke volumes. There was no need to put labels on what was between you. Whatever this was, it was enough.