Multifandom X Reader Stories

John Murphy - John, I don't blame you.

The sickness had swept through camp faster than anyone could have anticipated. People were falling ill left and right, with symptoms so severe that even the strongest among them were bedridden within hours. It was deadly, brutal, and utterly relentless — and the worst part? John Murphy had unknowingly carried it back with him. When he returned to camp, he thought the looks people gave him were just out of habit; being an outcast came with the territory. But when Bellamy and Clarke realized that he was spreading the disease, it hit him like a ton of bricks.

They'd figured it out too late, and Murphy had only one thought on his mind: you.

Murphy tore through the camp, desperate to find you. Panic clawed at his chest, and he fought to keep his fear from breaking through the usual mask he wore. You were the only one he'd ever let in, the one person he'd do anything to protect. And now, he might have killed you without even realizing it. The thought tore him apart, fueling his frantic search.

It was Octavia who spotted him first, calling out as she ran over. "Murphy! I was looking for you. Y/N and I found you a place to rest."

Murphy took a shaky breath. "Where is she? Is she okay?"

"She's fine, but you look terrible. Just come with me." Octavia didn't know yet — she didn't know that Murphy was the reason people were dying. But he swallowed his fear and followed her, hoping he could keep you safe somehow, even if it was too late for everyone else.

When you spotted Murphy approaching with Octavia, relief flooded through you. "John!" You crossed the distance quickly, reaching for his arm. "We've been worried about you."

But Murphy froze, pulling back just slightly, his face pale and filled with fear. "Y/N, don't..." His voice cracked. "Stay back. I can't — I might —"

"What?" you asked, confused, as you took a step closer.

"He's sick, Y/N." Bellamy's voice cut in, serious and grim. "He didn't know it, but he's been carrying the disease." Bellamy's face hardened as he looked at Murphy. "And now, we've all been exposed."

Octavia covered her mouth, stepping back as the gravity of the situation sank in. Murphy turned to you, his face raw with worry. "I didn't mean to—if anything happens to you..." His voice dropped to a whisper, and the pain in his eyes was unmistakable.

You placed a hand on his shoulder, ignoring the warning glances from the others. "It's not your fault, John," you murmured, voice firm. "I don't blame you."

But Murphy's worry only deepened. Despite his usual bravado, the fear of losing you paralyzed him, and it was clear to anyone who looked at him that this wasn't the typical Murphy. He'd always been guarded, the kind to shove people away rather than pull them close. But right now, he didn't care who saw him as he stared at you, his eyes pleading.

You ended up staying inside the dropship, helping Clarke treat the sick. Murphy stayed close, silently hovering nearby as if keeping watch over you. He was always a step behind, making sure you weren't pushing yourself too hard. You worked side-by-side with him, and in those moments, his fear began to crack under the pressure of your quiet presence and your focus on helping others. The usual barriers between you two faded, and though neither of you had spoken the words, he knew — and so did you — that whatever this was between you, it was real.

As the disease ravaged the camp, you worked tirelessly, refusing to leave the dropship despite the risks. Murphy was by your side, nerves fraying each time you leaned too close to someone sick or got another splash of infected water on your hands. He wanted to keep you from harm, but he couldn't stop you from doing what you were determined to do.

Toward the end of the outbreak, the symptoms began to set in. You were checking supplies, your eyes scanning the containers when you felt a sudden, sharp pain in your head. Blinking, you pressed a hand to your nose, and when you pulled it away, blood coated your fingers. A sick feeling twisted your stomach, and then your vision started to blur.

Murphy saw you falter and was at your side in an instant, his face etched with fear. "Y/N?" he asked, voice tight with panic.

You tried to steady yourself, forcing a shaky smile. "It's nothing. I'll just —" But before you could finish, your vision darkened, and everything went silent.

When you collapsed, Murphy barely managed to catch you, pulling you close as he shouted for Clarke. "Help her!" His voice was raw, breaking as he looked down at you, fear seizing him.

Clarke rushed over, trying to move him aside. "Murphy, I need space to treat her." But Murphy was frozen, gripping your hand as though letting go would mean losing you forever.

"Please, Clarke," he choked out, desperation clear. "She can't — I can't lose her."

Bellamy came up beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Murphy. Let Clarke work."

It took every ounce of strength, but Murphy stepped back, watching helplessly as Clarke tried everything to save you. You were breathing in shallow gasps, and then, suddenly, you went still.

Clarke's hands shook as she checked your pulse. "She's not breathing," she whispered, her voice filled with dread.

Bellamy pushed her gently aside, determination in his eyes. He knelt beside you, pressing his hands to your chest and starting CPR. Murphy watched in horror, panic clawing at him. Each second felt like an eternity as Bellamy pumped your chest, willing you to come back.

After several rounds, Bellamy's face fell, and his hands slowed, exhaustion and defeat setting in. Murphy, shaking and barely able to see through his own tears, forced himself forward. "No. She's not gone. She's not gone!" He dropped to his knees and took over, pushing harder, desperate to pull you back.

Finally, your chest jerked, and you sucked in a shuddering breath. Murphy froze, his hands still on you as your eyes fluttered open. He let out a shaky laugh, his voice breaking as relief crashed over him. "You're alive. Y/N, you're alive."

You blinked up at him, dazed and weak, but you managed a faint smile. "Guess it's gonna take more than that to get rid of me."

Murphy laughed softly, but there was no mistaking the tears in his eyes. He held your hand, his grip gentle but unyielding, as though he couldn't bear to let you go. He leaned close, voice barely a whisper as he spoke. "I thought I lost you. And it would've been my fault." His face twisted with guilt. "I'm so damn sorry, Y/N."

You squeezed his hand weakly, managing a small smile despite the pain. "Not your fault, John. Never was."

He hesitated, fear and vulnerability clear in his expression. Then, unable to hold it back any longer, he whispered, "I love you, Y/N." His voice cracked, the words raw and true. "I love you, and I'm so sorry for everything."

Tears slipped down your cheeks, and you managed to lift your hand to his face, resting it against his cheek. "I love you, too." Your voice was barely more than a whisper, but Murphy felt his heart lighten, the weight of guilt and fear finally lifting as you looked at him.

Clarke gently ushered him back, telling him you needed rest, but Murphy didn't leave your side. He stayed, holding your hand as you slipped into a much-needed sleep, refusing to let you go for a single moment. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, side-by-side.