John Murphy x Reader: Enemies to Lovers Trope
Warnings: Weapons, threatening death
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.
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.
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.
“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.
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.
“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.
“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.
“I’d say the same thing,” he replied, “but you don’t have any friends to tell.”
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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 🥴🥵
