Can you do a part 2 with the jungkook angst Drabble with 6? Can 31 be in the next part when they meet again later in the future?❤
31. “Is that all you’ve got?” with Jungkook
You couldn’t believe your eyes as they stared at none other than Jeon Jungkook. Same bunny-teethed smile, but almost everything else about him had changed. His hair, facial structures, his body. He’d grown into a man and, despite the history you two shared, it was a sight for sore eyes.
You weren’t proud of admitting it, but you missed him. You were both young, but you had the best of times when you were together. What he did was a fucking douchebag move, you knew it. However, it was such a long time ago, and most of the painful memories had died down, leaving you with plenty of good stuff to feed on.
“__, long time no see.”
His smile was hesitant, unsure if you were willing to engage in any type of interaction with him even after so long.
“Hey, Jungkook,” you smiled back, and you felt him relax a bit in relief. You leaned back against the counter of the bar, taking a sip of your drink, and he took a seat on the stool right next to you.
“How’ve you been?”
The small-talk was a bit weird. It seemed like you were strangers when you definitely weren’t. You used to be lovers, and despite the way it ended, you just knew that you weren’t the only one who had feelings for the other person in that relationship.
“I know, you don’t need to say it,” you smiled sadly, swirling the drink in your glass, somehow unable to look him in the eyes at the moment.
He stayed quiet for a few moments, and you felt his gaze burning into you, not leaving you for even half a second. And just as you opened your mouth to say something, he happened to do so as well.
“I need to tell you s-”
“__, there’s something I-”
You both looked at each other for a few seconds before you chuckled heartedly, and you could feel your heart fill with warmth and fondness at the familiarity of it all.
“Can we get out of here? Just walk and talk outside for a bit?” He took the initiative, nodding his head to the exit door of the club.
“You look amazing, by the way,” he said, looking down at you with a smile as you walked the empty streets.
“Thank you, so do you,” you answered honestly.
A few seconds of silence passed as you kept walking, but then he stopped all of a sudden. You noticed after taking a few more steps that he wasn’t at your side anymore, and you turned to look at him with a questioning look on your face.
“I miss you, __.”
His outburst made you gulp nervously, your hands gripping your clutch tightly. Despite his obvious nervousness at approaching you after so long, after what happened, he took a step closer to you.
“I miss you,” he repeated, this time his voice lower, and he took another large step so that he stood an inch away from you. With clouded thoughts running through your head, you only managed to say two words.
And prove it, he did.
He took you back to his place, and you barely got the chance to appreciate the luxurious place he lived in, meaning he was actually doing well in life. You didn’t get to focus on that too much though as he kissed the breath away out of you, his lips desperate and hungry, hands conveying the same feelings as they roamed every single inch of your body. He touched the places he used to touch such a long time ago, and he actually appreciated them, cherishing the feeling of your skin beneath his palms after years of agony apart from you.
You sighed out his name in pleasure, and that was finally his breaking point.
You fucked like there was no tomorrow, your hunger and wanton for each other insatiable as if you were animals. You just didn’t want to stop, round after round.
“Is that all you’ve got?” You words were challenging, but you were panting and your voice was hoarse and you were fucking wrecked. But you didn’t want him to stop, you wanted him to make up for everything he’d done. For the pain he caused you when you were both young. For making you cry. For letting you go and not going after you.
He fucked you into the next morning. When you woke up and turned to see him staring down at you with a gaze that held certain emotions that you couldn’t quite decipher, you sent a sleep smile his way.
“Morning.” Your voice was hoarse and weak, and so was your body, but you loved it.
“Morning,” he mumbled back, sitting up on his elbow and resting his head on his hand. His face was now right above yours, and you felt your heart beat uncharacteristically fast. His eyes flitted between yours for mere seconds before he leaned in and placed the softest of kisses to your lips, and you were sure you would melt into the mattress any second now.
He pulled away and kept his eyes locked with yours.
“Have I proved how much I missed you?”
“Yeah, you just did.” You referred to the feathery kiss you both just shared. “This doesn’t mean you’re completely forgiven though, that’s gonna take some time,” your words were mumbled quietly, but you were sure he heard them. You figured that soft smile he had imprinted on his lips would vanish at your words, but it only widened just a tiny bit more, before he replied.
“They had not yet got over the war. War had moulded them; it had given a meaning to their lives and a reason for their existence. They were unruly and untamed, beings apart, who gathered themselves into little companies animated by a desire to fight. There were plenty of standards round which they might rally. There were still plenty of strongholds to be attacked; plenty of enemies were still camped round about them. They had realised that this peace was a delusion - they would have no part in it. They fought anywhere and everywhere, because they liked fighting. They wandered about the country because they always saw the chance of fresh excitement, because new adventures beckoned to them. Yet each one of them had a different idea of what he wanted. The master word had not been given them. They vaguely divined what this word was - they even uttered it and then felt abashed. They tried it and tested it with secret tremblings. They slurred it over in conversation yet it obsessed them. The word was weather-worn yet enticing, potent but unsubstantial, idealised in the subconscious but unspoken. The word was ‘Germany’.”
Heyyyy!:) An imagine with Murphy where you get hit by a bullet and he is the one that take you back to the camp and stays during the surgery and he says his feelings for you?
A/N: I’m pretty sure this request has been in my drafts for a month or so now, so I apologize for how long this took. My inspiration has been on and off for the past couple months, but I wanted to finish at least one request today. Also, I’m going to go ahead and say sorry for the quality. My writing is a bit rusty. ^.^
Warning(s): Swearing, Cheesiness, Long (like really long whoops)
Pairing: John Murphy x Reader
“This is your fault!”
It took nearly all of Bellamy’s strength to control Murphy’s spastic movements, his hands outstretched as if the moment he got his hands on Finn he would strangle him. Which no one in the room doubted. Murphy delivered a quick kick to Bellamy’s shin, reflexively forcing him to let go. If the situation had been any different, Bellamy would have repaid it in kind, but glancing to the side at Jackson and Abby working away on an unconscious figure prevented him from acting it out. He was just as upset about this as Murphy was.
“I said I was sorry,” Finn sputtered, hands raised defensively.
“Sorry?” Murphy spat indignantly, seeming almost bemused at Finn’s response. “You killed eighteen people, and you shot one of our own, and you’re sorry?!”
Finn shook his head, “I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. Y/N tried to take the gun and I–”
“And you shot her without hesitation,” Octavia interrupted, earning an almost approving look from Murphy before his gaze returned to the boy. “Now look at her.”
Everyone followed Octavia’s order and turned their gazes to the other side of the tent. It was evident Jackson was growing somewhat nervous, his hands shaking as he handed Abby the scalpel, and his gaze constantly flickered to the group of the delinquents that were having the dispute at the entrance. But his eyes mostly rested on Finn. He was probably as shocked by his actions as everyone else had been, one of the first people to hear about what happened outside of the present group.
Abby made an incision – she told them she had to take the bullet out, that it had lodged itself inside their friend and would likely create problems for her in the future if not taken out. It would have been have been more similar to Raven’s case if not for the proximity of the shot and the location, but she sat near the operating table as if she were sharing her wisdom of her past experience, looking pensively at the unconscious girl’s face and doing her best not to meet Finn’s gaze. Just like Clarke who had taken to leaning against a table and drumming her fingers on her thighs impatiently.
“If she dies,” Murphy began in a dangerously low voice, a voice that almost seemed deafening in the wake of everyone else’s silence, “I’ll kill you. And we all know I’m not above murder.”
“Do you remember what happened?”
Abby looked at you like any doctor would, but there was a clear concern present. You couldn’t help but think how lucky Clarke was to have her as a mother, even if the two went at it constantly.
You nodded slowly, hand hovering over your abdomen where the bullet had entered, “I was trying to get Finn to stop… to stop….” The villagers’ faces came to mind. Still bodies littering the ground of the village, just outside the pin where the residents were being held like animals. Once Murphy and Finn began to round people up, you thought about how bad the situation was. Finn’s paranoia was evident, and you knew he was desperate that day at the cliff where he would have willingly abandoned that girl in need.
You never liked Finn, but now you had a good reason not to.
“He killed all those villagers, and I wanted him to stop. So I grabbed the tip of the gun and… he shot me – probably by accident but I can’t say it was the same for those people,” you state almost indignantly.
The moment you got your hands on that asshole you would strangle him.
Abby nodded, brows furrowed, before standing and approaching your side. When you awoke you were lying on the operating table, everything before a brief haze, but you felt a stinging and almost overwhelming pain at your abdomen. It was only a few moments ago that you could talk without stopping to take a sharp inhale of breath, trying to alleviate the pain.
“Well, clearly you won’t be able to leave the camp for a while,” said Abby, a small smile present, “You didn’t suffer any serious damage, but you need to heal and have to be careful about opening your stitches. If they do, you can just come back here and someone will patch you up. But for now no physical labor, okay?”
“Aye aye captain,” you state, smiling for her benefit. Abby gives you a light and comforting squeeze on your shoulder, but even as you smiled at her you wondered about what you would be able to do in the mean time. Remaining stationary and not having something to preoccupy yourself with would surely drive you nuts.
Jackson finished cleaning up and was hesitantly standing near the tent’s entrance, peaking outside for a brief moment before looking back at Abby, “He’s still here.”
You narrow your eyes and raise your voice, loud enough for the person outside to hear, “Who’s still here? Is it Finn? Because if he comes in here I will –”
“No, no,” Abby said hurriedly, “not Finn. It’s, uh –”
“Murphy,” Jackson finished.
“He’s the one who carried you back to camp and brought you here. He’s been waiting here ever since.”
The thought alone was almost startling. While Murphy and you got along fairly well, despite everything that has happened, you never really thought he cared that much about you. Shamefully you believed he only cared for his own well being – which was likely partially true, but it seemed it wasn’t the whole truth at all. And as he passed Abby and Jackson as they left, you could see the concern practically wafting off of him.
He had his own way of showing concern. Murphy maintained his cool, his voice calm and collected, but the first thing that came out of his mouth wasn’t a sarcastic comment. It was, “How are you feeling?” And then he sat down on the stool beside operating table, giving you a hint of a smile as you made eye contact.
“Fucking livid,” you state coolly, “but that’s mostly directed at Finn. Right now I’m doing pretty good.”
You didn’t like crediting other people for making you feel good; you didn’t want to have that dependence. However, when Murphy entered the room you felt your breathing calm and your anger slip away. The air felt less stressful, too. And then you realized you were just being incredibly cheesy.
“That was pretty insane back there,” Murphy says distantly, propping his elbows on his knees and briefly looking away.
“We should have shot him.”
A cruel smirk was formed as he released a heavy laugh, “I would have if the peace police weren’t there.”
It was hard to think of anything to say after that. You knew he would have, and the thought that you would do the same made you feel suddenly uncomfortable. Normally you were the merciful one, the one that forgave people for the horrible things they did, like you forgave Murphy on several occasions. But it was hard for you to think of Finn and remember him as the person who did anything to protect your people. Instead he was the selfish bastard that didn’t care about the damage he caused to others; he was a detriment to the group now, not Murphy.
Looking at Murphy now, you found it hard to look at him for what he’s done or even for his personality. His skin was fair, flawless with the exception of several scratches, three vertical lines under his eye. And his eyes were very lovely to look into. They were a blue-ish green, light, and seemed to only get brighter when he thought of something clever to say – which was hardly all that clever, but it was almost adorable to see how proud of himself he would get after saying it. Strong jaw and cheekbones, with full lips that were upturned in that ridiculous smirk he often wore. His long nose, likely broken several times, managed to pull all his features together. And while his hair was greasy and practically slicked back, much like everyone else’s here, you still remember how good it looked the first day on Earth – how good he looked. (Not to say there wasn’t a particular handsome quality to him now.)
But upon further speculation you could easily spot the difference from ‘first-day-on-earth’ Murphy and the present Murphy. Features of exhaustion were more frequent, almost like they were permanently etched onto him like paint on a blank canvas, and his hands were now calloused. Something you remember from the many times you accidentally grazed your own hand with his. And on his fair skin were multiple scars, ones you’ve seen after that day he returned to camp after being tortured. When he peeled the shirt that was sticky with blood off, you saw the harsh burns on his torso and several lines from sharp cuts and thick ones from lacerations.
You winced just thinking about it, and Murphy seemed to notice.
“Are you alright?” questioned Murphy, alert.
Giving him a slow nod of your head, you hesitantly bite down on your lower lip before speaking again, “Are you alright? You seem… nervous.” Originally you didn’t think that was the case, but saying the word out loud told you it was. And you suddenly grew aware of him bouncing his leg up and down, how he fumbled with the hem of his shirt, the way his eyes darted in several different directions but never quite at you.
“You nearly died,” Murphy breathes suddenly, not a hint of cruel sarcasm or anger, “and I-I realized something.”
Did he just stutter?
“You’re the only person that’s stuck with me through everything. You tried to stop the… you tried to stop what happened back at camp when…,” he couldn’t say it so instead he gestured to his neck and made a circle motion with his finger, a noose, “and you helped me when I came back from the grounder camp by getting me clothes, bringing me water… telling me everything would be alright. And even after that, after everything I’ve done, you’re still… here.”
You couldn’t muster a reply but felt your heart pounding heavily in your chest.
“No one has ever stayed with me for that long,” Murphy says in a low voice, his eyes glossed over. “And when I saw you nearly bleed out I… I realized how I felt for you.”
“And?” you urged, almost anxiously. You could already feel the heat creep up to your cheeks.
“And I think I’m in love with you. Y/N, I.. love you.”
Murphy waited in an anticipation for you to reply. It clearly took a lot of effort for him to say those words. He struggled with every syllable, every sincere thing he uttered. It was likely the case that he wasn’t used to expressing his feelings – actually, you knew it was the case. He expressed things with sarcasm or by being physical. This was clearly a feat for him. And you never thought being rendered speechless was an actual a thing, always having something to say, but now you knew the feeling.
It was a few seconds too long before Murphy shot up, clearly flustered, and was beginning to slowly head towards the entrance. Without thinking your hand shot out and wrapped around his wrist and pulled him back. Ignoring the pain that came as consequence with that action, you quickly sat up and leaned forward, smashing your lips on his.
Truth be told, you weren’t really good at expressing yourself either, and for the two of you this seemed like the best course of action.
Murphy was clearly taken aback by this notion, but he soon complied, his experience showing through the almost awkward way he moved his lips. So you slowed down, gently placing his upper lip between yours before you pulled back. Your thumbs glided down his cheekbones, the palms of your hands on his jaw, before you leaned in to give him one last kiss on the cheek and then wrapped your arms round him, burying your face into the crook of his neck.
Just wanted to say that I too love Korra as a character which was the biggest reason I was so disappointed by season one. I watched two episodes of season two and just wasn't interested in contunuing. I honestly thought I was one of the few people who actually liked Korra herself. Seems like in some corners of the internet the hate for the show has morphed into hate for Korra herself which saddens me. She had such promise. Good to see another Korra fan!
A/N: I wanted to write a little colonist Shepard something or other, and the idea of what happened on Mindoir kept floating around, so here it is! However, tw for violence, death, sexual assault. It’s a little graphic. Nothing I haven’t really done before, but just to be safe.
Rain was good on Mindoir. It meant that Jane wouldn’t have to go all the way out to the furthest acres of their farm to turn on sprinklers. It was a nice break from having to trudge through the plants and get her hands completely dirty to take care of it all. Plus, she liked the way it looked in the rain. Dark grey clouds floating across the sky, rumbling angrily, but using their wrath to create more life.