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sweetvoidstuff · 5 days ago

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Undead, Undressed, Unexpected I Part 2

Jungkook x Reader I Slowburn (sort of) I zombie larp au I smut with feelings I friends to lovers vibes I soft but messy I table trauma I kinda domestic kinda feral I camping chaos I emotional intimacy

Summary: A LARP weekend takes an unexpected turn when BTS wants to film there Vlog there. Or: “I don’t know what’s weirder,” Yoongi muttered, sipping the beer you’d tossed at him. “That this is happening or that you’re all so prepared for it.”

Word Count: 50K (both Parts)

Part 1

Masterlist

A/N: Well, I wanted to post this as one, but Tumblr won’t let me… so I’ll be posting Part 1 and Part 2 back to back. Sorry about that! Hope you still enjoy it!

Just a quick note on formatting: Bold text is used for dialogue spoken in Korean. Italic text represents internal thoughts or feelings. Normal text is used for dialogue spoken in English.

I hope this helps make things easier to follow while reading. Thanks so much for giving my story a chance!

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You looked down at Jungkook—still crouched in front of you like you might fall over again if he wasn’t anchoring you. He looked up, eyes dark and gentle. “You sure you’re okay?”

You hesitated. Then nodded once. “…Getting there.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything to that. But the look in his eyes said enough.

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You weren’t behind the bar for long. Not because you wanted to leave—but because Lea kicked you out. It started with a clatter. Taehyung had just dropped his third bottle, this one narrowly missing a stack of mismatched cups, when Lea’s voice sliced through the hum of chatter and music like a blade:

“Out. All of you. Before someone loses an eye!”

There was a beat of silence—then chaos. “Aww, come on!” Jimin whined. “I was practicing, practicing!” Taehyung insisted, holding up two bottles like he hadn’t just tried to juggle them. “But he was about to juggle fire!” Erik called dramatically from somewhere to the left, clearly not helping.

“No fire! No juggling! No!” Lea barked, pointing at the exit flap behind the bar like a drill sergeant. Groans followed—loud, theatrical, and entirely unrepentant. But within seconds, your little group was herded out, blinking into the soft glow of hanging string lights and the fading warmth of evening.

The air outside was balmy, thick with laughter, music, and the scent of grilled food. The lights above you swung gently in the breeze like little suns, and for the first time in an hour, things felt… lighter.

More like your event again.

You mingled slowly, Jungkook staying within arm’s reach, his presence a quiet but constant tether. The others came and went—Taehyung veered off to inspect the DIY tattoo booth someone had set up (god help him), Yoongi ended up in a very serious conversation with someone about amplifier wattage, and Jimin wandered between groups like a glowing social butterfly. Namjoon returned from wherever he’d vanished with two skewers in hand and a fresh drink tucked into his elbow, nodding at you both like a satisfied dad.

People smiled at you as you passed—some hesitated, maybe unsure of what to say, but those who did mention the Lukas incident kept it light. Encouraging. One woman gave you a thumbs up before immediately turning to Jungkook and patting his shoulder with a grin. “Good grip,” she said approvingly. “Otherwise, we’d be wiping Lukas off the floor.”

Another, a tall, bearded man named Markus, clapped Jungkook on the back so hard it made him take a step and blink. “Man, you cost me fifty bucks!” Jungkook looked confused. “Huh?”

You laughed, already translating under your breath. “He said he bet fifty on me decking Lukas.” Jungkook’s eyebrows rose. “Wait—really?”

“He was confident,” you said with mock smugness. “Honestly, you might’ve ruined there highlight of his week.” Markus nodded solemnly, arms crossed. Jungkook’s ears went pink. “Sorry?”

“Don’t apologize,” Markus grinned. “But if you’re gonna keep her from throwing hands, at least teach her how to throw you next time.” You burst out laughing, and Jungkook ducked his head, laughing sheepishly along with you—even if some of the fast slang slipped past him. Namjoon helpfully leaned in and translated the more idiomatic parts, which just made Jungkook groan louder.

By the time plates were passed around, drinks topped off, and the laughter mellowed into a steady hum, the members had naturally rotated in and out of your orbit. Yoongi stayed for a while, then drifted to one group drinking whisky. Jimin disappeared with Erik into the throng to scout the crowd. Taehyung came and went—at one point returning with temporary tattoos all over his forearms and no explanation.

Only Jungkook didn’t leave your side.

He didn’t hover, didn’t smother—but he didn’t drift far either. He handed you a cup of punch when your hands were empty, gave you space when someone needed your attention, and made sure you always had a buffer when the crowd got a little too close. Like he was tuned to your wavelength—moving with you, not around you.

And then Lea reappeared—finally free from behind the bar. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. You saw her coming with a look in her eyes that screamed get ready, and before you could even form a protest, she had you by the wrist.

“Oh no—”

“Oh yes,” she grinned, tugging.

“But my arm—”

“You’ve still got one good one, don’t you?” With a half-hearted groan, you let her drag you forward. You turned back toward Jungkook as Lea marched you toward the dancing crowd. He was laughing—clearly delighted—and offered only a cheerful shrug and a lazy, “Don’t worry. I’ll catch you if she starts breakdancing.” You flipped him off over your shoulder with your non-injured hand.

Taehyung whistled low from somewhere by the speakers. “This is either going to be amazing—or historic.”

“Why not both?” Jimin chimed in. As the music swelled and Lea started dancing beside you, you finally let yourself ease back into the rhythm of the evening. You were sore, yes—tired, bruised, and still reeling from earlier—but the energy of the night had shifted.

It was yours again.

Jungkook stood just beyond the crowd, beside Jimin and Taehyung, his drink long forgotten in his hand. The music pulsed low and steady through the warm night air, wrapped in the haze of string lights and voices, but his attention was fixed on only one part of it—the middle of the dance floor, where you and Lea had claimed the open space like you owned it.

And maybe you did.

At first, it had been pure chaos—exactly what he'd come to expect from you. No rhythm, no structure, no rules. Just movement. You and the other organizers seemed to launch into dancing deliberately offbeat, ignoring every cue the music threw at you, limbs flailing in exaggerated mockery, dragging laughter from the crowd.

But then, like the flick of a switch—something shifted.

The beat changed, and so did you.

You settled into the rhythm with the kind of casual precision that came from knowing your body and not caring if anyone watched. You spun fluidly, your hand catching Lea’s for a short, graceful twirl that made the crowd cheer, and Jungkook blinked.

You were… actually good. Not showy. Not rehearsed. But you were a good dancer.

The kind of dancing that felt like fun had been stitched into your muscles. “Wow,” Jimin muttered, clearly impressed. “She can move.”

“Should we start placing bets again?” Taehyung added, watching with a smirk. “I give it twenty seconds before she breaks the ice with that knee-slide thing she does.” Jungkook didn’t answer.

He was still watching you. His chest felt tight—he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the way you laughed, head thrown back as Lea tried to spin you again and failed miserably. Or the way your movements had none of the self-consciousness so many people showed when they knew eyes were on them.

There was something magnetic about it. Something warm and freeing and so unlike the world he normally lived in.

For just a second, Jungkook wanted nothing more than to walk into that crowd, take your hand, and spin you the way you deserved to be spun. He could do it—he’d danced a thousand times before. It would’ve taken no effort. But it wasn’t that simple. “Damn,” Taehyung muttered beside him, side-eyeing the soft smile forming on Jungkook’s face. “You’re doing that thing.” Jungkook blinked. “What thing?”

“That dreamy thing,” Jimin supplied, grinning. “The one where your eyes go all glassy and I start checking if you’re falling in love or just watching a cat video.” Jungkook gave them both a look, but it was half-hearted at best. “I’m not jumping in there,” he said, voice even. “Too many phones. Too many eyes.” He wasn’t wrong. The area around the dance floor was thick with laughter and movement, but here and there were flickers of phones in hands—some recording, some taking pictures. It was honestly a miracle that nothing had started trending already.

“Kind of wild no one’s noticed yet,” Jimin agreed. “Maybe the WiFi sucks.”

“Could be the signal,” Taehyung added. “We are kind of off-grid out here.” Taehyung leaned in, voice low but sly. “If you really want to, Jimin and I can go in with you. If photos pop up later, it’ll just look like the three of us messing around on the dance floor. No one’s gonna think you’re making a move.” Jungkook didn’t answer right away.

Jimin raised a brow, amused. “Or you could just keep standing here, admiring the view.” Taehyung grinned. “You do that a lot.” Jungkook turned to protest—but the moment he did, Taehyung smirked. “Jungkook,” he said innocently, “you’re blushing.”

That made Jungkook snap his head away, ears instantly flushing a shade of red that was unmistakable even in the low light. “I’m not,” he mumbled, eyes narrowed—mostly at himself. Because yeah, he did. But not in the way they were implying. He wasn’t just staring.

He was… caught.

He looked again. You and Lea were still laughing, still moving easily together, the crowd around you growing more confident with each beat of the music. And maybe it was the warm lights strung across the space, or the fact that your earlier stiffness had completely melted away, but for a moment you looked like sunlight had taken human shape.

Jungkook took a slow breath.

He wanted to join you. Really wanted to. Not just to dance, but to be the one who made you throw your head back like that in laughter. To be the one who got to spin you like you were the only person on the floor.

So he stood, caught between the pull of wanting and the weight of reality, until Jimin casually pulled out his phone and shot off a quick message. “To Namjoon,” he said when Jungkook glanced over. “We’re getting everyone out there. If it’s chaos, it’s cover.” Taehyung clapped Jungkook on the back. “Come on. We’ll get close, keep it low-key. You don’t even have to dance with her.”

“Unless you want to,” Jimin added with a not-so-innocent smile. Jungkook rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Not this time. Because the truth was written all over his face—soft in the corners of his mouth, burning quiet under his skin as he let himself be nudged, just a step closer.

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It hadn’t taken long. One by one, the rest of BTS had filtered onto the dance floor until all seven of them were there, folded effortlessly into the crowd. Jin threw an arm around your shoulder, a skewer of grilled something in his other hand, swaying to the beat like it was his own personal concert. The bass thrummed in your chest. Lights glittered overhead. And everything—your arm, Lukas, the humiliation—faded into the background.

Then the music shifted, sharp and playful, and without anyone saying a word, a dance battle of sorts began to unfold.

You didn’t know who started it—probably Jimin, judging by the ridiculous body roll he threw out—but soon Hoseok jumped in with an exaggerated wave and Taehyung followed, dragging Lea with him. The five of you formed a loose circle in the middle, challenging and cheering each other on, laughter ringing out every time someone did something particularly absurd or unexpectedly smooth.

But even in the chaos of the music, the motion, and the people, you noticed one thing clearly: Jungkook wasn’t joining.

He was there—close, just at the edge of the circle—but he didn’t step in. Not once. And every time you glanced his way, he was already looking at you. Not in a creepy way. Not even in a smoldering, flirty kind of way. Just watching. Focused. Like he was memorizing the way you moved when you were happy.

Your chest gave a tiny squeeze at the thought, but before you could overthink it, Erik came storming into the circle, determined to show off what he claimed were his “peak college breakdance skills.” What followed was a chaotic mess of elbows, questionable footwork, and a spin so wild it nearly knocked you over.

You stumbled back laughing, hand to your chest, and landed squarely beside Jungkook. He blinked at the sudden proximity. “You having fun?” you asked, catching your breath and smiling up at him. He looked a little startled to be addressed so directly, but nodded, quickly. “Yeah.” You squinted at him, cocking your head like you didn’t believe it for a second. “You don’t look like it.”

That hit home more than you meant it to.

Jungkook shifted, visibly flustered. Because he was having fun—sort of. But not in the way he wanted. Not standing on the sidelines watching everyone else dance with you. Not holding back because of the fear of photos or speculation. If he could’ve, he’d already be in the middle of it, spinning you like he’d imagined, drawing laughter out of you like a magician pulling scarves from a sleeve.

But before he could explain any of that—before he could give you some stupidly careful version of the truth—you reached out and gently tugged at the hem of his hoodie.

Not hard. Just enough to get his attention.

“Come on, Mr. Dancer,” you teased, your eyes glinting. “Show us your moves.” For a second, Jungkook froze. And then—slowly—his smile cracked through. Soft. Sheepish. Full of all the warmth he’d been holding back. “Alright,” he said, his voice low and a little breathless.

And then he stepped forward. Jungkook barely had time to step into the rhythm with you before his hyungs erupted into a chorus of over-the-top cheers. “Let’s go, golden maknae!” Jimin whooped, clapping above his head like it was a stadium concert.

Taehyung let out an operatic “Oooohhh!” and dramatically fanned himself. Even Yoongi, who had dragged a barstool right into the middle of the dance floor like some mafia boss at a cabaret, lifted his drink lazily and smirked. “Took you long enough.”

The atmosphere was loose, joyful, chaotic—in the best way. And Jungkook? He relaxed. Really relaxed. He moved with you in that way only he could: smooth and unforced, never trying to outshine, just syncing with your energy like it was second nature.

He didn’t touch you directly—he was careful—but every now and then, his hand brushed yours, or his shoulder bumped lightly against yours as you circled each other to the beat. The touches lingered just a second too long to be casual, and every time, you met his eyes with a grin that felt like fire and sunlight combined.

He returned each one like it was the only answer he knew.

The music jumped, and another loud “WOOOO!” exploded behind you—Jimin and Taehyung again, now mid-body roll, clearly trying to outdo each other. Hoseok booed them for lack of originality and busted out a ridiculous robot, which made the entire circle dissolve into laughter.

And that’s when it happened. Markus.

Longtime con attendee. Six-foot-something, bearded, and currently sprinting into the dance hall in nothing but briefs, socks, and sheer commitment to the bit—carrying a giggling girl bridal style like he was rescuing her from a burning castle.

“Princess delivery!” he bellowed, spinning once on one foot before darting straight into the center of the crowd. The music didn’t stop. The crowd just split to make room. But the BTS members stood frozen for a second, eyes wide as if they'd just watched someone launch a streaker at the Super Bowl.

Jungkook blinked. Jin made a strangled noise. Jimin looked like he needed someone to reboot him. You, on the other hand, calmly glanced at your phone for the time. “Huh,” you muttered. “Later than usual.”

Jungkook stared at you, bewildered. “Wait—what?” You shrugged, sipping from your beer. “Honestly, I was starting to think this year might be the exception.”

“You mean… this happens often?” Namjoon asked cautiously, raising a brow.

You nodded. “Every year. Every. Single. Afterparty. Someone decides clothes are optional and just—” you gestured vaguely toward Markus and his princess, “—goes full chaos.” Lea, dancing nearby, overheard and nearly tripped laughing. “Did you just—? Oh my god, I thought I was the only one keeping score.”

You grinned. “Didn’t you get carried around by that trader cosplayer in just your underwear during last year’s party?” She threw a hand over her heart, mock-scandalized. “That dude was beautiful and I have no regrets.” Namjoon was already wheezing into his drink, clearly the only one who caught the full gist without translation. But it didn’t take long for the implication to sink in for the others.

“Wait,” Jimin said, eyes darting between you and Markus, “they just get naked? Like… actually naked?” You tried to keep a straight face but failed. “Not always fully. We do have rules. But yeah. It’s like clockwork. And don’t even get me started on the drinking games.” Jimin looked genuinely stunned. “And they keep drinking?”

“They escalate the drinking,” you corrected, lifting a hand as if to bless what was about to unfold. “The games are about to start. Mark my words—someone’s gonna end up trying to convince the fire pit to let them sleep in it.”

Jungkook leaned in slightly, eyes wide, voice pitched low in mock awe. “What kind of event is this?”

“The fun kind,” you replied, nudging him with a wink.

Lea threw an arm around Taehyung’s shoulder and raised her drink like a declaration. “Welcome to post-apocalypse party culture, boys. Clothes optional, drinks mandatory, dignity negotiable.”

And with that, the music rose again—faster, wilder—and the crowd surged into motion.

Jungkook glanced back at you, eyes bright with laughter and something softer beneath it. The night, it seemed, was just getting started, and with a crowed like this… the fear of him and the members making it was shrinking. It sounded unlikely of someone posting while there nearly naked people running around.

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It hadn’t taken long, the members had spotted at least three more guys sprinting through the venue in nothing but their briefs—varying levels of fitness and confidence on full display—and even one girl who twirled dramatically in a sequined bra and rainbow-striped socks. No one batted an eye. It was strange, wild, and oddly freeing.

The music throbbed through the floor, people moved like waves, and somewhere between a body roll competition and someone juggling glow sticks, Erik nearly toppled into a table, causing a small pause and collective gasp. You’d managed to guide him toward a chair before retreating to the bar, where Lea was now fully in bartender mode again—handing out drinks and tossing witty comments with every pour. You leaned against the counter, catching your breath and chatting casually, enjoying the warm buzz of it all.

That’s when David came barreling into the room.

“I GOT ONE—NO, TWO!” he shouted, eyes scanning the crowd like a wolf on the hunt.

Your face froze. Then your eyes widened. Without hesitation, you shoved your half-finished beer into the nearest open hands—Yoongi blinked as he suddenly found himself holding it—and turned on your heel toward Jungkook, who stood closest to you.

Without a word of warning, you launched yourself at him.

“Wha—?!” Jungkook caught you with a startled grunt, your arms wrapping around his neck like a koala clinging for survival. He instinctively braced, his hands finding your waist to steady you, and despite the surprise, he laughed—clearly used to being climbed by his more dramatic hyungs.

Behind you, David groaned loudly in defeat just reaching you. “Oh, come on!”

Lea, having anticipated this, had already leapt onto a nearby beer crate like a nimble cat escaping a flood. She grinned from her new perch, triumphant. David changed targets immediately and darted toward her instead, only to be denied again.

“You can’t stay up there all night!” he called out in frustration, hands on his hips.

Lea and you locked eyes, both smirking.

“Watch us,” you said in perfect sync, your voice muffled slightly from where your face was half-buried in Jungkook’s hoodie. The rest of the members stared, utterly baffled.

Namjoon stepped forward, brows furrowed, lips parting as he tried to follow the sudden whirlwind of fast-paced English between you and David. The rest of the members looked completely lost, heads ping-ponging between speakers like they were watching a match they didn’t know the rules of.

Namjoon, however, caught it. His eyes lit with recognition, a disbelieving smile forming as he processed what you just said. “Okay… What just happened?” he asked in English, just to be sure.

You wiggled slightly in Jungkook’s hold, arms still clinging to his neck, and grinned sheepishly like a stubborn koala. David looked at Namjoon, explaining “It’s called Orga Tag. All the event organizers are fair game till midnight. Anyone who catches and lifts one like a bride gets a discount on next year’s tickets. But if an Orga gets off the ground—like Lea standing on that crate or, well... her clinging to the dude—they’re safe.”

David, still trying to corner Lea, shouted, “Basically the floor is lava for the Orga.” Namjoon laughed in disbelief. “You guys are insane.”

Taehyung leaned in, clearly baffled. “Hyung, what’s happening?” Jungkook glanced over his shoulder at Namjoon too, confused but still dutifully holding you steady. “Yeah, explain. Why is she stuck to me like glue?” Namjoon switched to Korean, grinning as he translated everything: “Okay, so apparently there's this game going on called ‘Orga Tag.’ All the event organizers are now targets—if someone catches and lifts one like a bride before midnight, they win a discount for next year.”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “Seriously?” Namjoon continued, “But! If the Orga manages to get off the ground—like standing on something, or someone—they’re considered safe. Like… she’s using Jungkook as a human tree right now.” The group burst into mixed reactions: shock, laughter, and awe.

Jungkook blinked, still holding you. “So, you’re using me as a safe zone?” “Yup,” you said unapologetically. “You’re warm, tall, and surprisingly sturdy. Perfect perch.” He laughed—a real, breathy, shaking his head at your chaos laugh. “You’re seriously going to stay like this?” You gave a tired little nod, arms still looped tightly around his neck. “As long as I can. Or as you let me,”

But the truth was: your arms were already aching, your core burning from the cling. Jungkook seemed to realize it, because he adjusted his stance slightly and hooked his arms under your legs, hoisting you higher with effortless strength.

“Here,” he murmured, shifting you onto his back like a piggyback ride, “This’ll last longer.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist and rested your chin on his shoulder, completely unbothered by the fact that you were now being paraded around the dance floor like a very smug backpack.

“I don’t know what’s weirder,” Yoongi muttered, sipping the beer you’d tossed at him. “That this is happening or that you’re all so prepared for it.” Namjoon just shook his head, half-laughing. “This might be the most chaotic party we’ve ever been to.”

“And the best,” Taehyung added gleefully, already eyeing the crates as if considering joining the chaos. Jimin looked delighted. “Wait, so if someone picks you up—” he pointed at Lea, who was now standing on two beer crates for extra height, “—they win?”

“She’s safe for now,” you confirmed. “But if she comes down…and someone grabs her bridal style…”

“Game on.” Taehyung clapped excitedly. “I love this.” Jungkook just looked back at you over his shoulder, eyes warm with amusement. “You owe me. My back’s doing charity work now.” You grinned. “You’re enjoying this.” He smirked. “Little bit.”, but didn’t complain. In fact, he adjusted his grip and gave you a little bounce—earning a surprised laugh from you that made his heart flip.

Somewhere behind you, another cheer went up as someone caught a different Orga bridal style and took a victory lap. The night was getting wilder by the minute. Still perched securely on Jungkook’s back, you stretched out an arm with dramatic grabby hands toward Yoongi. “My beer, please,” you called, voice light but commanding. Yoongi laughed, clearly entertained. “You’re not even trying to get down.”

“I’m in survival mode,” you replied with mock seriousness. “Hand it over, civilian.” Amused, Yoongi held the drink just out of reach. “You gonna come get it?” You huffed. “Sir, I am currently a limited-function human. My entire movement radius depends on Jungkook.” Jungkook turned his head slightly at that, grinning. “You say that like I’m a mech suit.”

“I wish you came with a cup holder.”

As if summoned by pure chaos, Erik appeared—shuffling into view on the far end of the hall, balancing precariously on two empty tomato soup cans. He used them like stilts, moving one in front of the other, hopping forward with exaggerated care. It was a slow and wobbly approach, and behind him, two guests stalked him like hyenas, clearly waiting for him to fail and hit the ground so they could tag him.

The entire room slowed to watch.

The flickering fairy lights caught the glint of his ridiculous lemur-tail onesie dragging dangerously behind him like a tripping hazard. At least twice, he nearly bit it. But Erik was undeterred. When he finally made it to where you and Jungkook stood, he planted both cans firmly down, took a proud breath, and looked up at you.

“Smooth,” he said, voice flat but approving. You raised your hand again like a queen granting audience. “Knighted.” Erik smirked and turned to Lea, who stood elevated and safe on her beer crate behind the bar. “Can I get another drink before these scavengers pounce?”

“I’ll trade you one for a crate,” she bartered, smirking. Jin blinked rapidly, completely baffled. “What is happening?” Namjoon gave him a look and muttered, “Don’t think about it too hard.” Taehyung, however, was delighted watching the chaos. “We need to try this,” he said, eyes wide as he leaned over to Jimin. “Next Challenge content. I’m serious.”

Behind you, another cheer erupted as Pia, dressed in her frosh-themed onesie, was tackled into a beanbag with a dramatic thump. Before she could scramble away, someone swooped in and lifted her bridal-style, parading her triumphantly through the dance floor to the soundtrack of raucous laughter and applause. You turned just in time to see it happen, laughing, but your attention was quickly pulled back to the boy whose back you were piggybacking on.

Jungkook had crouched a little to keep your weight steady, his arms slung securely beneath your thighs, his palms resting warm and firm on the inner curve where thigh met hip. Your legs were locked tightly around his waist, your arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders, giving him full control of your balance.

You hadn’t expected how… close it would feel. The softness of your onesie meant there was barely any barrier between his fingers and your skin, and the heat of his hands bled through the fabric like it wasn’t there at all.

You stilled for a second as you felt it—his fingertips beginning to move.

Not a shift in grip. Not an absentminded adjustment. Tiny, gentle shapes. Circles. Lines. Rhythmic patterns traced so carefully into the curve of your thigh it was like he was speaking in some quiet language only your skin could hear.

And god, if your legs weren’t locked around his hips in self-preservation, you might’ve melted right off him. Your pulse jumped embarrassingly fast. The shapes weren’t suggestive or bold—just intimate, achingly soft in a way that caught you completely off guard.

You leaned forward a bit, chin resting on his shoulder, hair brushing lightly against the side of his neck. You didn’t say anything—couldn’t, really—but the tiny shift in closeness was answer enough.

He felt it. You were sure he did. Because the second your body pressed a little tighter against his back, Jungkook let out the faintest exhale, his fingers pausing only briefly before continuing their subtle trail, emboldened, slightly more confident now.

It was nothing. It was everything. It was subtle. No one else would notice.

The dance floor kept spinning, lights flashing, people laughing, drinks passed and spilled—but it all blurred to static in the background. You smiled, the curve of your cheek pressed to the warm line of his neck, hiding the way your whole body was humming. And Jungkook smiled too—just enough that only someone holding onto him this closely would notice.

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Someone from the crowd near the doors waved you down—a group of your fellow “crawlers,” the regular post-event mischief crew, already gathering outside for the traditional cool-down drink. You straightened slightly on Jungkook’s back, craning to see who was calling for you, but the second you moved, his grip automatically adjusted, fingers flexing gently into your thighs like muscle memory.

You looked down at him, considering. He’d carried you like this for a while now—granted, you were the one who had leapt onto him like a caffeine-fueled koala—but still. Jungkook hadn’t complained much… until a few minutes ago, when he’d mock-whined to Taehyung that you were “getting heavy,” grinning so wide you knew he was only doing it to rile you up while the others laughed.

Still, maybe it was time to get off before your smug backpack status became an actual burden.

“Hey! You coming or what?” It was Garam, standing just outside with a few other familiar figures silhouetted in the spill of warm light. “Crawler drink time!”

You lifted your head, squinting toward him. A tradition as old as your post-event chaos itself: the final drink with the crawler crew, your late-night cooldown ritual of bad ideas, worse alcohol, and inside jokes whispered until sunrise. But before you could answer, Garam narrowed his eyes, catching sight of you still on Jungkooks back.

“You’re still in the Orga tag?” he called, sounding more amused than surprised.

You glanced at the clock—just under an hour to go. And though the game wasn’t as wild outside the dance hall, technically, yeah… you were still "fair game" if your feet touched the ground.

You hesitated.

Jungkook had already carried you around longer than anyone had a right to. His grip was steady, warm, and you could still feel the faint traces of the little shapes he’d been drawing on your thighs earlier. But asking him to take you outside, into the cool air and across camp? That felt like asking too much. You’d gotten greedy. Maybe it was time to cut your losses.

Your arms shifted like you might dismount, and that’s when Garam smirked and spread his arms wide. “I can carry you if you want, you know. Knight in neon armor and all that.” You looked at him, genuinely considering it—his teasing was good-natured, his offer real. Garam had carried far drunker friends with less reason.

You gave an exaggerated sigh, shifting like you were ready to dismount. “I mean… he did say I was getting heavy,” you said, mock-pouting, “Maybe I should give your spine a break before it cracks under the pressure of my onesie greatness.”

But before you could slip off, Jungkook surprised you with a firm, low: “No.”

You blinked and looked down at Jungkook. His gaze was locked forward towards Garam, but his arms tightened subtly under your thighs. “What?”

“I said no,” Jungkook repeated, like he hadn’t even considered there was an option. “You’re not getting down.” Your brow furrowed, half in amusement. “What if you’re tired? You did say I was getting heavy.”

“I lied.” He looked up at you then, his expression earnest and just a little smug. “You’re not heavy. I just didn’t want to admit I got comfortable.” You blinked, caught somewhere between a laugh and a flutter. “So… I’m comfy now?” He gave the smallest grin. “Yup. And I already adjusted. I’m not letting you down,” he said. “You’re mine now.”

You smirked. “Pretty sure this counts as kidnapping.”

“Yup,” Jungkook said again, completely unbothered. “Voluntary. No refunds.”

“Damn,” Garam chuckled, watching the exchange. “Guess that’s a no on me being your steed of honor.” You shrugged dramatically. “I got claimed. It happens.”

“Well then,” Garam said, spinning on his heel toward the doors, “hurry up, lovebirds. The crawler drink waits for no one.” That caught Yoongi’s attention, who’d been casually sipping a beer from the sidelines, perked up at that. “What’s a crawler drink?” You looked back at him, grinning. “Come and find out. It’s chaotic, weird, and always too much alcohol.”

“Sold,” Yoongi said with a shrug, already falling into step.

And just like that, the group began to head toward the doors, the night air spilling in cool and sharp against the lingering heat of the dance floor.

Jungkook adjusted your weight slightly and began walking without another word, arms snug beneath your thighs and hands still comfortably braced against your legs. Once in a while, you felt the soft brush of his fingertips again—more gentle shapes, more quiet touches. And each one sent a little buzz down your spine. He carried you easily, like he was perfectly content to play your getaway ride until midnight or longer.

You could’ve asked Garam to carry you. You probably should’ve. But the truth was?

You didn’t want to. Not when this felt so impossibly good. And with his warmth at your chest and the echo of Garam’s laughter around you, you couldn’t help thinking that maybe being a smug backpack wasn’t such a bad deal after all.

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The fire pit flickered low but steady, a smaller ring of warmth nestled just off the main square near the NSC area—far enough from the bigger crowd to feel like your own little world. This was your crawler crew’s turf. You’d all ended more events around this fire than you could count, with stiff limbs, sore feet, smoke in your hair, and laughter hoarse in your throats.

Around the flames were familiar faces: Alex with his arm slung lazily around a half-empty bottle, David reenacting some dramatic fall with Mira’s snorts of disbelief in the background, Yuji poking at the fire with a branch far too long, and Garam, legs crossed like a camp sage, already grinning as you and Jungkook arrived. Molly was here too, one of the survivor game champions from earlier, sipping something in a mismatched mug. She gave Jungkook a salute as you approached, eyes twinkling.

“Still riding high, huh?” Alex called when he saw you. “You know the game ended like forever ago for most other Orgas, right?”

“She and Lea are holding on. Still in the tag,” Mira added with a gleeful shake of her head. “Unreal. You’re like the smug queen of the chaos realm.”

You gave a mock-regal wave from your perch on Jungkook’s back. “One must maintain their dignity. Or, y’know, cling to it.”

There were cheers and laughter at that, and someone passed you a drink—something fruity and cold, served in one of the reusable event cups. You accepted it with a grateful hum, but before you could even raise it to your lips, Mira turned to Jungkook, offering him one too.

“Here, since you’ve become part of our roaming monument to endurance. Sorry for, uh, killing you earlier,” she added with a snicker. “In game. Not like, literally.”

Jungkook smiled, shifting you slightly to keep balance. “No hard feelings. It’s all part of the game.” He made to take the cup but hesitated. With you on his back, both arms locked under your thighs for support, he had no real way to grab it.

“Oh—here, I got it,” you offered quickly, taking the drink from Mira and carefully maneuvering it.

It took a moment of delicate adjustment—your legs tightened instinctively around Jungkook’s waist, and you leaned forward a bit to brace the cup in front of him without tipping it. The closeness made your heart flutter. Jungkook, still as stone beneath you, bent his head slightly and took a slow sip from the edge of the cup you held.

It was like something out of a bizarrely sweet battle couple ritual. You couldn’t help but giggle as he pulled away, miraculously without spilling a drop. “Look at that coordination,” David muttered. “God-tier level.”

“Genuinely impressed,” Yoongi said, just arriving with his own drink in hand. His eyes were on you both, an amused arch to his brow. “You two have achieved perfect symbiosis.”

“Only took half the night,” you laughed, offering Jungkook a second sip before taking one yourself. Yoongi took a seat nearby, warming his hands by the fire. “I like this crew. There’s a good kind of madness here.” You glanced around. The crawler drink had officially begun. Cups clinked, laughter bubbled, and even if you weren’t sure what time it was, you could feel the countdown to midnight hanging in the air.

Across the pit, Erik was being gently heckled by Molly after tripping over the lemur tail of his onesie—his infamous downfall. He’d fallen off his makeshift tomato soup can stilts in spectacular fashion, making him the latest Orga to lose the tag game.

That left only two players standing: Lea and you.

Now that only Lea and you were left in the game and midnight was drawing near, things had taken a sharper edge. The participants—buzzed on drinks and competitive energy—had gotten bold. Lea’s situation had grown steadily more precarious. Earlier, she’d stood confidently on three crates stacked like a podium, but her support had slowly vanished—literally. One by one, people had snuck off with the extras, whittling her down to just one unsteady square of safety. One wrong step, and she was fair game.

You, on the other hand? You had Jungkook.

Mobility. Height. A reliable, unfair advantage in the shape of one very determined man who carried you like it was a job he was honored to hold. And maybe he was. His hands were steady on your thighs, fingers loose but sure, and his body moved with an ease that made it feel like he’d done this kind of thing a hundred times.

But you felt the shift in the air. That charged hum of people scheming.

You were mid-laugh, chatting with Daniel and Garam by the side of the smaller fire pit when a group of three new faces slipped into your circle by the smaller fire pit. They weren’t from your crawler crew, but you vaguely recognized them from earlier chaos—faces painted, shirts rumpled, limbs carrying the unmistakable energy of people who had been chasing others around for hours and were very committed to finishing strong.

They zeroed in on you immediately.

Or more precisely, on Jungkook.

“Okay,” the one in the middle announced dramatically, pointing at you like he was declaring a public service. “This is illegal. You can’t just be carried around like a prize. Get down, woman!”

You snorted. “Make me!”

“She said it!” one of them shouted gleefully. “She said the words! That’s permission!” You grinned and waved sarcastically from Jungkook’s back. “Hell no. I’m very comfortable up here, thanks.”

“Oh, come on, man,” another said with a grin, walking a half-circle around you two, like circling a jungle gym. “You’ve had her on your back for what, hours? Just get down,” stepping forward with dramatic flair. “We’ll go easy on you. Promise.”

“Easy?” you echoed. “You lot look like a pack of gremlins.”

“Flattered,” one said, bowing with mock grace. Daniel, sipping from a cup nearby, called out, “You three couldn’t catch her if she was duct-taped to a crate.”

“Ouch,” one of them clutched his chest. “Okay, now we have to catch her.”

“Group effort,” someone else nodded. “Classic three-man lift-and-yank maneuver.”

You were laughing, but as they started creeping closer with all the subtlety of toddlers playing tag, you felt a shift—their energy wasn’t threatening, just very committed. Determined in that chaotic, tipsy kind of way. And they weren’t about to give up just because you were several inches out of reach.

Worried they might actually lunge and grab you like a game of human whack-a-mole, you quickly shifted your arms, sliding them out from around Jungkook’s neck. If they did manage to yank you down, you didn’t want to accidentally strangle him on your way out.

You leaned down slowly, close enough that your lips nearly brushed the shell of Jungkook’s ear. He didn’t expect it—his breath caught slightly as your voice slipped through, soft but urgent.

“Let me down, Jungkook… or run.”

The hair on the back of his neck rose. His shoulders straightened under you. “Run?” he asked, grip on your thighs tightened just a little—like he was instinctively bracing. “Run,” you confirmed, eyeing the way two of them were definitely circling behind him now.

“Alright,” Jungkook muttered with a grin. “Hold on.”

One of them lunged—

And then you were moving—flying—as Jungkook bolted through the crowd with a sudden burst of speed. You heard shrieks and laughter behind you as your pursuers scrambled to give chase, but Jungkook was too fast.

“Cowards!” one yelled through laughter. “Get back here!”

“Stop cheating! She’s a human power-up!”

He weaved through the crowd like he had a built-in radar for gaps in human traffic, laughter shaking his back under your arms. The crowd parted in patches, some cheering, others just trying not to spill their drinks.

“YOU CAN’T STAY UP THERE FOREVER!” someone called.

“WATCH ME!” you shouted back, wheezing with laughter.

“You better marry her at this point!” someone shouted from the sidelines as you zoomed past.

The crowd parted for you like it was all part of the show, clapping and whooping as Jungkook darted past people and fire pits, his arms still firm on your legs, like he’d absolutely signed up for this. Your laughter rang against his ear, and he was grinning too wide to say anything as he carried you deeper into the chaos.

Someone shouted, “GO JUNGKOOK!” probably Hoseok like it was a horse race. Mira’s voice joined the chorus, loud and proud: “Longest carry of the night, folks! Give it up for our human Uber!” You nearly fell off laughing.

When Jungkook finally slowed down near the edge of the Game Area, hidden from view by smoke and shadows, he let out a deep exhale, still smiling. He bent slightly at the waist, one hand braced against his knee with you still clinging to his back. His breath came out in steady puffs, warm against the cooling night air.

“You good?” he asked, voice a little breathless but still laced with that easy amusement that hadn’t left him all night. You snorted, hugging his shoulders. “No notes. Perfect getaway. Five stars. Would ride again.” He let out a soft laugh, but didn’t move to let you down. The shadows here were quieter, distant from the buzz and cheering still echoing around the central game zone.

After a beat, you said, “Hey—want to rest for a second? You can set me down here if you need. No one’s watching.” But Jungkook shook his head. “Nah. I’m not risking it.” You blinked. “You think someone’s actually gonna sprint out here and snatch me at the last second?” He glanced at you over his shoulder, a mischievous little smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t think it. I know it. That crew looked unhinged.”

You laughed. “Jungkook. You could just end the game right now. Snatch me yourself. Drop me and win.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he replied easily, adjusting his grip on your thighs. “Besides, this is actually kind of fun.”

He shifted again, bending forward a little more so your torso slid over his back at a more comfortable angle. Your arms naturally slipped around his shoulders again, anchoring yourself loosely. It wasn’t the most graceful pose, but it felt oddly cozy. He even hummed softly, like this worked better for his back, and you grinned into the fabric of his hoodie.

“I’m not heavy, am I?” you teased. “You? Nah,” he said, then grunted softly. “Your stubbornness, though? That’s got some weight.” You smacked his shoulder lightly and both of you laughed.

Then, over the low hum of voices and music in the distance, Erik’s voice rang out in the night air:

“Ladies, gents, cryptids, and crawler scum—TAG GAME IS OFFICIALLY OVER! It’s midnight—let’s hear it for our surviving organizer!” A wave of applause and playful groans rolled through the group.”

You twisted instinctively, trying to get a view of the campfire area in the distance—but Jungkook straightened at the announcement, lifting you upright on his back with an exaggerated dramatic movement like a knight hoisting a victory flag.

You laughed in delight, fingers curling into the front of his hoodie to hold steady. “Okay, now you can let me down. Victory achieved, Sir Jeon.” But Jungkook just grinned. “What, after all that? And walk in like a regular person? That’s a terrible entrance.” You wheezed, half from laughter, half from disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.” You let your forehead drop against his shoulder, face hidden in the curve of his neck, your breath warm where it met his skin. “Completely ridiculous.”

“Only slightly,” he said, turning to walk back toward the others—your weight still on his back, your laughter shared with his under the stars and smoke.

“And the only, surviving un-snatchified until the final second of this ridiculous game… still stuck on the back of her noble steed—” Erik paused for dramatic effect, spinning toward you with a grandiose gesture as you and Jungkook were in sight again. “—is Y/N The Orga Who Could Not Be Caught!”

There were whoops and claps, even a makeshift drumroll on the side of a crate. Erik tossed a pair of vouchers toward the participants who had managed to catch an Orga member. Your crawler crew cheered you on with half-sincere bows, and Yoongi raised his cup from where he lounged by the fire. “Not bad. Guess the strategy of doing absolutely nothing but freeloading on Jungkook paid off.”

“I’d argue she perfected it,” Taehyung added, strolling into the ring of firelight like he hadn’t vanished hours ago to chase some side mission. “Honestly, the confidence of riding someone around like a smug little queen while the world burned around you? Inspiring.” You sniffled loudly, wiping fake tears from your cheeks. “You guys don’t get it. I’ve forgotten how to walk. My legs are purely decorative at this point.”

Mira nearly spat her drink out laughing. Jungkook chuckled too, his body shaking with it beneath you. “You’re ridiculous.” You turned just enough to scowl over his shoulder. “You’re laughing now, but who’s been hauling my dead weight around like a sack of overly caffeinated potatoes?” Laughter rippled around the circle. Jungkook’s shoulders shook with a low laugh too, and you felt the vibration echo through your chest where you leaned against him.

“You’re seriously still comfortable up there?” Yoongi asked, quirking a brow. You shrugged, cheek still resting near the curve of Jungkook’s neck. “Hey, I stayed in the game. Can’t argue with results.” Taehyung looked at you with mischief in his eyes but his voice light. “You gonna come down sometime tonight or…?”

“Okay, okay…” You groaned like it physically hurt you to say the words. “I’ll get down. Let the people rejoice.” That got a round of sarcastic applause and exaggerated goodbyes from your crew, as if you were retiring from the throne. Even Yoongi muttered something like, “Tragic, truly,” under his breath.

But before you slid off, before you gave up the steady warmth of Jungkook’s back and the strong pressure of his hands beneath your thighs, you hesitated. because the truth was, now that it was over, now that you had to leave the steady warmth of his back and the familiar grip of his hands on your thighs, you didn’t want to. A flicker of nerves passed through you.

You hadn’t dared to do anything bold while clinging to him. But now that you had to go? You didn’t want to miss your chance. You’d wanted to do something—anything—to see if the light touches he kept giving you had meant something. And now, as you leaned forward, your breath caught.

You let your head fall toward the curve of his neck, grumbling loud enough for it to sound like irritation, but quiet enough that no one could hear the shift in your voice. Then, barely grazing the soft skin just where his neck and hoodie meet, your lips brushed there—quick, featherlight, not a kiss exactly, but not not either.

Your breath fanned against his skin. Jungkook went utterly still beneath you. Then, his fingers at your thighs curled just slightly—just enough to tell you he noticed, just enough to make your breath catch.

And then, wordless, he bent his knees to help you slide off his back, and your feet touched the ground with an awkward wobble. You winced. “Ugh. I hate being short again.”

Jungkook rolled his shoulders back, cracking his neck like he needed to physically shake something off. But his eyes found yours immediately. And something in his gaze—hot, unwavering—made the air around you thrum. The teasing was gone. His eyes were dark with something else. Something sharper. Fiercer.

You opened your mouth to make another joke—anything to break the tension—but stopped. Because you couldn’t tell if he was mad at you. His stare burned, like he was holding himself back from saying something that would crack the surface.

But he wasn’t angry.

Oh no. Jungkook was thinking.

He was thinking about the way your lips had touched his skin like a secret. The breathy way you’d exhaled against him. And more than anything, he was thinking about how fast he could get his hands back on you, about what he would’ve done if you’d dared to do that earlier—when he had you all to himself, legs wrapped around his waist, his hands already at your skin.

If you’d done that while he was still carrying you… he might not have stopped walking. Might have just kept going. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere dark.

But now?

Now he had to figure out how to get you alone again.

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As you and Jungkook stood between your friends at the main gathering, Markus came over first—grinning wide, cheeks flushed from the firelight and maybe a beer or two.

“Hey, untagged champ!” he said, giving you a congratulatory fist bump. “Didn’t think anyone could actually win this thing without getting snatched. But damn—you pulled it off.”

“Technically, Jungkook pulled it off,” you said with a sheepish smile, thumbing back at him. Markus laughed. “True. But hey, teamwork, right?”

Before you could reply, Namjoon approached with his usual laid-back energy, but there was amusement playing in his eyes. He gave you a nod and patted Jungkook’s shoulder. “Nice to see some actual strategy.” Behind him, Taehyung and Hoseok rolled up like a storm front—smirking and already mid-tease.

“Jungkook, the way you ran—” Hoseok clutched his chest, dramatically stumbling back. “Like a soldier carrying a wounded comrade.”

“I’ve never seen your legs move that fast,” Taehyung added. “Did she promise you snacks or something?”

“She is kinda snack-shaped,” Hoseok said with a wink toward you, making you groan and cover your face. Jungkook didn’t laugh. Not really. He smiled a little, but his gaze never drifted from you. He barely acknowledged the teasing, even as the others laughed around him. His jaw was set, and his eyes—still trained on you—were unreadable, something burning just under the surface.

You felt your stomach flip. Yep. Okay. You definitely overstepped.

Your little breathy not-kiss to his neck—it had been a last second decision. Stupid. But the way he looked at you now made it clear that something had shifted. And not necessarily in a fun, flirty way. At least… you didn’t think so.

“I’m, uh, gonna run to the bathroom,” you said, backing away slightly, forcing a smile. “Finally. First time since the game started.” It wasn’t a lie. But it also wasn’t not an excuse to put a little distance between you and the man you may or may not have semi-offended with not-accidental neck contact.

You felt his eyes on you as you turned, burning a line between your shoulder blades the entire way to the portable toilets near the edge of the camp. The line of vision didn't leave until the buildings finally blocked it.

Once inside, you sighed. Loudly. And then immediately groaned again when you remembered the onesie situation. Peeling the whole thing off was a pain. You muttered to yourself the entire time, caught somewhere between embarrassment, residual adrenaline, and the kind of dizzy thrill that came with being close to someone like Jungkook. And maybe, maybe doing something slightly too bold.

After you were done, you stayed put for a moment longer. The idea of slipping away entirely crossed your mind—not because you wanted to avoid the group, but because you weren’t sure if you could keep your cool around Jungkook after everything. What if he said something? What if he didn’t?

You cracked open the door slowly, peering out at the firelit crowd beyond. And that’s when a very familiar pair of arms slung themselves across your shoulders. “Where have you been?” Jimin whined against your ear. “You and Jungkookie are hitting it off, huh?”

You blinked, surprised, as he leaned into you—definitely tipsy, his cheeks a bit pink and his words loose around the edges. “What?” you said, laughing lightly, unsure how to react. “He looked like he was on some noble quest to save a damsel—only with more swearing and snacks.” You laughed, a real one, breath easing out of your chest. “I’m pretty sure I was the one saving myself.”

“Oh, don’t give me that.” Jimin tapped your shoulder with the back of his hand. “He had this look on his face. You know the one.” You arched a brow. “I really don’t.” Jimin grinned lazily. “That ‘I’m-pretending-this-is-a-game-but-I-would-tackle-a-bear-for-you’ look. You’ve got him acting weird. In a good way.” You didn’t know what to say to that. You could only offer a soft, awkward chuckle and look anywhere but back toward the fire—where you knew Jungkook was probably still watching you.

Jimin hummed and squeezed your shoulders once more. “Anyway, I approve. You’re cute. He’s cute. And if this was a romcom, this is where I’d wink and tell you not to mess it up.” You gave a short laugh, trying not to show how much his words rattled around in your chest. “Thanks for the pressure,” you said dryly.

Jimin only giggled and wandered off toward the drinks table again, leaving you blinking in his wake. What he didn’t know was that you’d probably already messed it up as you leaned in closer than necessary. That you were smitten with his friend. That your lips had brushed the warm skin at the curve of Jungkook’s neck. That your breath had fluttered there on purpose, just for a moment.

Only Jungkook had felt it.

Only he had gone completely still when it happened.

You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve as the familiar chaos of the night reclaimed its rhythm. Now that you were back on the ground and the tag game was officially over, the after-midnight lull began to settle in. People came over to congratulate you—laughing, chatting, offering quick hugs and goodbyes. Some were already heading home, planning to drive through the night or nap in their cars before leaving at dawn. Many of them you wouldn’t see again until next year’s event.

You nodded along, smiled when you should, but your mind was only half-present. Your eyes kept drifting—flickering toward the area, where Jungkook still stood. Or rather, where he waited. His gaze, though not openly hostile, had a fire to it. Focused. Controlled. And very pointed in your direction.

So instead of moving back toward him, you stayed where the conversations flowed and laughter bubbled, letting the crowd act as a buffer. Out here, you could breathe. Out here, his stare didn’t burn quite so hot.

But of course, he found you.

“Hey,” Jungkook said, voice casual—but his presence anything but—as he appeared beside you. “You free for a second?” You nearly choked on your own breath. “Y-Yeah,” you coughed, straightening. “Totally. Yes.”

He didn’t explain. Just nodded and motioned with a tilt of his head for you to follow him. And you did—like a cartoon character with nerves tangled in knots, your steps a little too fast, a little too clumsy, heart thudding like a drumline.

He led you back toward the edge of the woods, where one of the game area cabins sat half-hidden in the trees. The same cabin he’d practically launched you into earlier in the game. Now quiet, dimly lit by a few lanterns strung along the path, the space felt… different. Quieter. More private. A little too private.

Your brain buzzed with every horror trope you’d ever written or read. Okay. So maybe the setting I helped design for fun and chaos now feels mildly haunted. That’s fine. Totally fine.

Jungkook stopped just inside the doorway, turning to face you fully. And the look on his face—

Like you’d scorched him. Like he didn’t know whether to throttle you or pull you in. In a panic, you blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Sorry!”

He blinked. “What?”

You flailed, trying to backpedal. “For… um. The thing. The neck thing. It wasn’t, like, a kiss-kiss, I mean—it kind of was, I guess—but not really, and I’m sorry if it pissed you off. I swear I won’t get that close again. I’ll just—” You held up your hands like you were under arrest. “—stay way over here.”

Jungkook stared at you for one long second, then—

He laughed. Not a mocking laugh, but one that came from somewhere deep in his chest. Warm and rough around the edges, like it had caught even him by surprise. Your mouth opened slightly, stunned. Laughing was… good? Right? Better than scowling? Better than being ignored?

“You thought I was angry?” he asked, eyes sparkling with something unreadable. “You looked angry!” you said defensively, even as your voice tilted up an octave. “I wasn’t angry,” he said, his smile lingering, but sharper now. “I was thinking about how to get you alone.”

Your throat went dry. “To murder me?”

He chuckled again. “No.” and added quietly. “How I’d get you to do it again,” Your heart launched itself somewhere near your ears. “Do what again?” He took a step closer—just one—but it changed everything. You had to tilt your chin slightly to keep looking at him. Your breath caught.

“The kiss,” he said, voice low. “On my neck.” You tried to swallow, but your throat was dust. “Um… you… want me to… kiss… kiss your neck again?” Jungkook’s tongue briefly touched his lip, making his lip ring gleam. “That could be a start.”

And this close—this very deliberately close—you didn’t miss the subtle shift in his stance, the way his hand twitched at his side like it wanted to reach for you but was holding back, waiting. Testing.

You didn’t know what possessed you—but something bold and reckless inside you stirred. You murmured, “Okay. But I’m not climbing on your back this time,” his quiet, stunned laugh was the only warning you got.

“Deal,” he said, voice husky. And this time, he leaned in.

His fingers brushed along your jaw, a barely-there touch that made your breath stutter in your chest. With a slow, steady motion, his hand slid around the back of your neck, his thumb gently grazing your skin as he tilted your head up toward him. The world narrowed to the heat in his palm and the intensity in his gaze as he leaned in, closing the final inches between you.

The first kiss was barely a whisper—a short, soft press of his lips against yours. But it knocked the air from your lungs. Like your heart, which had been jittering in every direction all night, finally remembered its rhythm and settled into place.

The second kiss came quickly after. Bolder. Deeper.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders without thinking, grounding yourself as his mouth moved against yours. When his lips parted slightly and lingered—waiting—you opened for him, and he kissed you with more intention. Still gentle, still careful not to overwhelm, but with a growing urgency that mirrored the fire pooling low in your belly.

As you kissed him back—matching his pace, giving just as much as you received—his other hand slipped around your waist, pulling you closer. His thumb swept slowly along the sensitive skin behind your ear, sending shivers racing down your spine.

The kiss turned intense fast—too fast, maybe, but you didn’t want it to slow down. You felt it in your knees, in the ache in your chest, in the soft noise that escaped you when you let go of everything and simply let yourself want him.

A low curse rumbled from Jungkook’s throat as he pulled back just slightly, eyes dark and locked on your mouth. The sound of your breathy, surprised little mewl had clearly undone something in him. He looked like he was trying not to lose control right there.

And then—he chuckled.

Just a small one. A soft, amused sound in the quiet space between your bodies. You blinked, flushed with confusion and a creeping edge of embarrassment. “...Why are you laughing?”

Jungkook shook his head, eyes raking over you in a way that wasn’t mocking, but reverent. He took a breath like he couldn’t believe you were real, like you’d just knocked something loose in him that he hadn’t planned on giving away tonight. “You’re just—” His gaze softened, lips curling into a grin that made your stomach flip. “You’re lovely.”

You scoffed, huffing as you looked away—your cheeks warming to nuclear levels. “Yeah, okay. Lovely. Sure. Says the guy who looks like he was born in a Calvin Klein ad. I’m standing here in a wrinkled onesie and messy hair. Super model vibes.” He didn’t respond right away.

Just watched you for a moment longer, then reached out and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“No,” he murmured, stepping closer again. “Just… you. And that’s better than anything I’m used to.” And damn him for saying it like he meant it. Because you believed him. Even as you rolled your eyes and tried to play it off, a small, stunned smile was already forming at the corner of your lips.

Jungkook leaned back in just enough to meet your eyes—searching, almost like he was waiting for a reason to stop. But you didn’t give him one. So he kissed you again—more deliberate this time. Slower, deeper. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that hadn’t been there before, or maybe had simply been buried under layers of teasing and restraint.

There was none of that now.

This wasn’t just a kiss—it was a promise. It was a question and a declaration and a need.

Your fingers slipped into his hair before you even realized it, and the moment you gave a gentle tug, a low groan broke from his chest—ragged and raw and real. It made your stomach clench, your breath catch, your knees weaken just a little more.

He kissed you again, lips parting as his hand returned to your waist, grounding you like he was afraid you’d vanish. Then—he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, breath warm on your face.

“Is there…” His voice was husky, edged with hesitation, the words catching like they were heavier than he meant them to be. “Is there anywhere… we could go?” He didn’t look at you when he said it. His eyes dropped, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly as though he feared you’d pull away.

He wasn’t asking crudely. Not like some desperate guy trying to hook up at a party.

He was asking you—you—because he wanted more than just the rush of the kiss, more than this electric moment suspended in the quiet aftermath of the day. He wanted you, if you wanted him. But he was trying to be careful, to be respectful—even when his body was anything but calm.

And yeah, he knew this wasn’t exactly the best place. A LARP event in the woods wasn’t designed for privacy. He wasn’t about to drag you into one of the shared rooms where someone could walk in, or the parking area where headlights might flash at any second.

And the half-abandoned cabin behind you, with its broken windows and faint mildew smell? Fun for the LARP but not for this. That wasn’t where he wanted to see you come apart for him for the first time.

But still—he couldn’t help it.

The tension in his jaw, the flicker of nerves in his voice, the way he touched you like he was holding back from touching more—it was all written plainly in him. If you’d let him… God, he’d spend every night after this one making it worth your while. Not rushed. Not chaotic. Not borrowed or secret. Just you and him, all the time in the world.

He finally looked up—his eyes meeting yours.

There was heat there, yes. But also hope. And a gentleness that made your chest ache. And somehow, in that unspoken silence between you, he managed to say it all:

If this isn’t what you want, I’ll step back. But if it is… tell me where to go. Tell me how you want me. I’ll follow.

You could still feel the shape of his last kiss on your lips. And now—he was offering so much more.

Your fingers trembled slightly where they touched him—half nerves, half anticipation—as you struggled to find the right words. You licked your lips hastily, heart pounding in your chest, and gave a small, awkward nod.

Then, fumbling slightly, you reached for his hand—still warm from holding your waist—and curled your fingers around it. He followed without hesitation, falling into step beside you with a quiet kind of urgency, his grip on your hand firm but reverent.

You led him through the cool night, weaving between buildings with practiced ease, heading back toward the main part of the asylum grounds. Not through the front—no, you knew better than that. You took a side entrance, one rarely used, your eyes scanning in all directions to make sure no one saw you slip inside. The last thing you wanted was an audience.

You glanced over your shoulder, checking to see if Jungkook was still with you—like you needed reassurance he hadn’t suddenly changed his mind. But every time you looked back, he took it as an invitation to steal a kiss—soft, fleeting touches of lips against yours or the back of your hand. Each one sent a jolt through you, and you found yourself smiling like an idiot, giddy in a way you couldn’t remember feeling before.

Eventually, you guided him to the upper floors, through a locked door you’d used all weekend for gear storage. A room tucked away—out of sight, out of mind—filled with leftover props, costume bins, and boxes stacked in half-organized chaos. But in the middle of it all stood a sturdy old table, scratched by time and paint-stained from past builds. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t ideal. But it was clean—clean enough—and private.

You turned to face Jungkook, your hand still in his. “Would this… work?”

But you barely finished the sentence before he answered with his mouth. His lips crashed into yours—not rough, not impatient, but full of everything he hadn’t said aloud. The wanting. The waiting. The restraint finally snapping loose.

He swept you up easily, like your weight meant nothing to him, and in a single, fluid motion, set you down on the edge of the table. His hands bracketed your hips, and he stepped between your legs, looking up at you with a spark behind his eyes that made your breath hitch.

His gaze raked over you, drinking you in—not just your body, but your expression, your flushed cheeks, your parted lips. Like he couldn’t believe you were really here, wanting him just the same.

He pressed his forehead against yours for a beat, his breath hot as it mingled with yours. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, voice low, rough with restraint. “I will.” But you didn’t. You only tightened your legs around him.

And Jungkook—his smile was pure reverence before he leaned in again and kissed you like he already knew you wouldn't regret a single second.

The room was quiet except for your shallow breaths and the soft rustle of fabric as your fingers reached for the buttons of your onesie. One by one, they popped open, the fabric loosening around you like petals falling away. Jungkook’s eyes followed every motion, reverent, lips parted slightly as if memorizing you in stages.

When you shrugged the upper half down, he stepped in without needing direction—his warm hands brushing along your shoulders, helping ease the sleeves down your arms. The onesie bunched at your waist, and now, seated in front of him in just your bra and panties, your skin prickled with the electric heat of his gaze.

Your fingers found the hem of his hoodie, tugging softly. Jungkook helped, arms lifting as you peeled the hoodie over his head, revealing smooth skin stretched over muscle, shadows and lines sculpted like he was drawn by hand. Your hands skimmed across his chest, over his ribs, down the slope of his waist.

"Okay," you murmured, a little breathless, eyes tracing his torso like it was a map, "with a body like this? I would absolutely climb you again. Just give the word." Jungkook let out a low, shy laugh, glancing away for a second as a blush crept over his cheeks—endearing and disarming in contrast to his powerful frame. His gaze returned to yours, and it was soft but full of heat.

“Maybe later,” he said with a grin that made your stomach flip. “Right now… it’s my turn.”

He gently nudged your hips, guiding you back a little until the edge of the table met your lower legs. Then he helped tug the rest of the onesie down and away, the cotton slipping off your legs as he moved you into place. You lay back slowly, the cool air kissing your skin, warm only where his hands had touched.

Jungkook’s fingers lingered at your hips, brushing across your waist before he leaned over you. His belt came undone with a quiet click, but your attention was on the way he kissed you—first low on your stomach, a soft press of lips just above your navel. Then higher, at the space between your ribs, the curve of your breast, the hollow of your collarbone.

His mouth trailed a path up your body like it was sacred. The way he handled you—with care, with focus—felt like something more than just want. You threaded your fingers through his hair as he kissed the side of your neck again, slower this time. The spot where it all started. You felt his smile against your skin, and it made you smile too—shaky, caught somewhere between nerves and pure, unfiltered desire.

This wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t messy or wild. It was… intentional.

And as his hands roamed your body and yours followed the dips and lines of his, it felt like something you’d remember long after the night was over.

Jungkook’s hands moved up your sides with a reverence that made you shiver, gliding slowly over the curve of your ribs. His touch was warm and confident—deliberate in its patience. When his fingers slipped beneath your back, his knuckles pressed lightly into your spine, and with a practiced motion, the clasp of your bra gave way. You felt it slacken, your breath catching as he peeled it away with care.

Above you, Jungkook was a vision of focused control. He held himself up easily with just the strength in his thighs, his abs taut, the line of his muscles sharp beneath his half-unzipped jeans. The band of his Calvin Kleins peeked out, the bold white letters against black teasingly visible. He looked like sin made flesh, and he was looking only at you.

Your bra joined the growing pile of your clothes, though it fell unnoticed as his hands returned—palming over your breasts, thumbs brushing delicately across your skin as his lips traced a line from the swell of your chest down to your stomach. A breathy sound escaped you, and you reached for his wrist instinctively, grounding yourself.

His mouth reached your navel, and just as you tilted your head back with a low sigh, your eyes fluttered open just in time to see it—him slipping your panties into the back pocket of his jeans with a devilish subtlety. You blinked, stunned for a beat, and then let out a breathless laugh. “Wait—are you stealing my panties?”

Jungkook grinned against your stomach, his teeth grazing your skin before he pulled back just enough to look at you fully, mischief shining in his dark eyes.

“Not exactly,” he said, voice low and amused. He sat back slightly, one hand smoothing over your thigh while the other adjusted the pocket with exaggerated care. “I just don’t want them getting dirty. As much as it pains me…” His gaze dragged slowly over your body, lingering, lingering, “You will need them again later.”

The absurd practicality of the comment hit you at the same time as the implication, and you laughed again, warmth flooding your chest. It was disarming—how Jungkook could be so intensely focused on you, so hungry and attentive, yet still be considerate in the smallest, strangest way.

Your fingers traced up his forearm as you looked at him, lips curving softly. “Well,” you murmured, heartbeat still dancing, “that’s actually… kind of thoughtful.” Jungkook leaned down again, brushing his nose against yours, lips ghosting over your cheek before settling by your ear. “Don’t get used to it,” he whispered playfully, “I’m mostly selfish.”

But his hands never stopped moving, and you were already forgetting how to breathe. And then he kissed you again—slow, deep, claiming. He was exploring the soft give of your skin as he coaxed your legs apart with slow, insistent pressure. His touch was confident but not rushed, and your breath hitched as the cool air touched your newly exposed skin.

He knelt between your legs, his gaze dropping, eyes dark and focused as he took you in. There was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth—not quite a smirk, but close—when he saw just how ready you already were for him.

“You look like you’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, voice husky, more praise than question. His knuckles brushed down the sensitive inside of your thigh, the faintest drag of skin on skin. Every nerve there lit up as he traced the line slowly, purposefully, until he reached the aching heat between your legs. He paused—infuriatingly close but not touching where you needed him most.

You whimpered softly, the sound slipping from your lips before you could bite it back. “Jungkook…” you whispered, hips twitching. “No teasing. Please.”

He hummed, tilting his head like he was truly considering your plea. “No teasing?” he echoed, voice maddeningly calm. “That’s funny… I seem to remember someone whispering in my ear, kissing my neck—” his eyes flicked up to meet yours, gleaming with mock innocence, “—and having fun like they weren’t driving me insane all night.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but your breath was stolen as one of his fingers finally pressed into you, sliding in with deliberate slowness. Your body clenched around him, your head tipping back with a low, broken sound. “Oh, fuck,” you gasped, your fingers curling ion the table beneath you.

Jungkook’s eyes never left your face. He watched your reaction intently, like he wanted to memorize the exact moment your walls fluttered around him, when the first wave of pleasure made your thighs tremble.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice lower now, raw with want. “That’s what I wanted to see.”

He curled the finger just slightly inside you, and your breath hitched again.

“You’re so warm,” he said, almost reverently, leaning in to press a kiss to your inner thigh. “So fucking tight.” You moaned, eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze again, and in it, you saw that hunger—unapologetic, consuming. And all of it was for you.

“F–fuck,” you cursed, barely recognizing your own voice—raw, breathless, wrecked. Your body arched instinctively into his hand, your legs trembling with the intensity of it all. You couldn’t take much more. Not like this. Not with him teasing you with maddening patience that felt like sweet torture.

“Jungkook,” you whimpered, the sound desperate and unfiltered. “Need you. Now.” His eyes shot up to meet yours instantly—dark, wide, startled—and for a heartbeat, he stilled.

He hadn’t even come close to prepping you the way he normally would. You were still so tight around just one of his fingers, fluttering with every slow stroke he gave you, and he knew it. But you looked at him like you’d lose your mind if he didn’t do something. Right now.

“I can’t,” he said gently, his voice low, strained from restraint. “Not yet. You barely fit around my finger, Y/N. I don’t want to hurt you.” The words were sweet—so careful, so maddeningly considerate—and you groaned, frustrated and aching, cursing not just the need pooling inside you but Jungkook’s infuriating tenderness.

You threw your hands over your face, hiding your expression. Embarrassed. Flushed. Every word that came to mind sounded obscene and unthinkable, but you needed him so badly your body ached from it. You wanted to scream that you didn’t care if it hurt. That maybe you wanted it to. That the stretch, the pressure—him—was exactly what you craved.

But then his other hand, the one not gently working between your thighs, found yours. He pulled your hands away from your face slowly, insistently, until your eyes were forced to meet his again. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice rough but soft, “don’t hide from me.” You bit your lip hard, chest rising with uneven breaths. You couldn’t form words. Not yet.

“I want to take care of you,” Jungkook said, dragging his finger out of you slowly before pushing it back in, a second one now joining. You gasped, your hips jerking as the stretch bloomed into something sharp and perfect. “Let me do this right.”

You whimpered, the sound cracked and desperate, slipping past your lips before you could hold it back. “You do it right,” you managed to whisper, your breath hitching against the warm air between you. “That’s the problem.”

Your back arched helplessly as Jungkook’s fingers shifted just right, stroking a spot inside you that made your eyes roll back, a moan catching in your throat.

“I… I can’t do sweet right now,” you gasped, barely able to speak through the haze of need pulsing through every nerve ending. “Not when I feel like I’m going to come if you don’t—”

Jungkook’s jaw flexed. The muscle ticked beneath his skin as he fought to stay composed, but you could see it—the fire barely caged behind his eyes. His fingers sank deeper, curling slow and deliberate as he drew another trembling cry from your throat. Still, he didn’t look away from you. Not for a second.

“That’s what you want?” he murmured, voice roughened by restraint. His lips brushed your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. “And here I was…” He let out a low breath, then glanced around, a crooked, almost incredulous smile twitching at his lips. “Here I was, thinking that aside from screwing you on this table, I’d take my sweet time with you. Lay you out properly. Make you feel worshipped.”

Your entire body trembled beneath him.

“You can,” you breathed. “You can. Just—just not right now. Later. Please.” Jungkook’s smile darkened, the heat in his gaze intensifying. A dangerous little chuckle slipped from his throat as he leaned in close, lips grazing your jaw as he spoke. “So you’ll let me do everything to you later?” he murmured, voice silk over steel.

You nodded so quickly your head spun. You would have promised him anything. Sold your soul if he’d asked for it in that moment—so long as he gave you what you needed now.

“Okay.” That one word dropped between you like a match to dry kindling.

In one swift, practiced motion, Jungkook pulled his fingers from your soaked core, standing just long enough to shove his briefs down and reach for the wallet tossed near the edge of the table. You barely registered the sound of foil tearing before he rolled the condom down over himself with a hiss between his teeth. His cock was flushed, heavy, perfectly thick, and you stared as he returned to you, muscles flexing, control hanging by a thread.

He leaned over you, both arms braced on either side of your body, and captured your mouth in a searing kiss—hungry, demanding, nothing like the slow sweetness he’d held back with before.

“You asked for it,” he said roughly against your lips, his voice barely more than a growl. Then, pausing, his forehead pressed to yours, he softened—just enough. One hand slid to your cheek, the other still curled around himself as he nudged at your entrance.

“But you have to tell me,” he said, eyes locked on yours, his expression suddenly serious again. “If it’s too much… I stop. Say it, and I stop.”

You swallowed hard, heart thundering, breath caught in your lungs—but you nodded, grounding yourself in the warmth of his hand, in the weight of his gaze, in how much he was holding back for you.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’ll tell you. But I want you, Jungkook. Now.” And with that—guided by your voice, your eyes, your need—he began to press inside.

God, the fit was tight.

Even with all the buildup, the stretch of his fingers, nothing could have fully prepared you for the way Jungkook filled you. Inch by inch, your body strained to take him, and it felt like with every breath, he stole a little more of your sanity.

Halfway in, you couldn’t breathe. Not really. Not with the way he leaned over you, mouth at your throat, kissing your neck like he was trying to soothe the fire he’d started.

“Jungkook,” you gasped, your voice barely there, “slow—slow down.”

He immediately stilled, his lips stilling where they’d been grazing under your jaw, a low hum leaving him in acknowledgment. His dark eyes flicked up to meet yours. Your legs trembled where they were spread open for him, your fingers gripping at his shoulders, barely holding on.

“Need a second?” he asked softly, brushing your hair back from your face with one hand, his other still steadying himself at your hip. He swallowed hard, jaw clenched. “Y/N… I’m not even halfway in.”

You licked your lips, chest heaving. The pressure, the stretch, the promise of more—it had your head spinning. But even through the ache, your body craved him. The heat and fullness of him. You needed all of him. “Just—help me,” you murmured, reaching up, arms curling around his shoulders for leverage. “My leg. I can’t—just need—”

For a second Jungkook blinked at you, confused—until he felt your knee moving up his side, pushing, searching for the right angle. Then, catching on, he shifted with practiced strength, gripping under your thigh and pulling your leg up—hooking it over his shoulder with ease.

“Like this?” he asked, voice husky, heat flaring in his eyes as he looked down at you. Stretching yourself for him. Your mouth parted, and you nodded helplessly, breath stuttering. “Yes. Yes—please.” Your other leg fell open just a little more, a subtle, instinctive invitation—and Jungkook pressed forward again.

This time neither of you could hide it—the sounds that tore from your throats as he slid deeper, as the change in angle opened you up even more for him. The stretch was so intense you thought for a moment you might break in half. But it was perfect. Maddeningly snug. The kind of pressure that stole the air from your lungs but left you clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you from floating out of your own body.

Jungkook groaned, a low, wrecked sound from deep in his chest as he bottomed out inside you.

“Fuck,” he bit out, his head bowing, forehead pressing to your shoulder as he gripped your hip like a man holding himself back from the edge. “You’re so—tight, shit.”

He stilled—not entirely for your sake (though the way your body was trembling beneath him didn’t go unnoticed), but because he needed the moment. If he moved now, if he let go even a little, he’d lose it. You’d unravel—maybe both of you would.

You were wrapped around him so perfectly, pulsing and hot and slick. The condom did its job, but fuck if he didn’t hate it in that moment. The fit was so good he cursed it. The thought of how much better it would feel without the barrier, skin to skin, had his control fraying at the edges.

Below him, you looked absolutely wrecked in the most beautiful way. Eyes glazed, lips parted, sweat dewing your temples. The stretch bordered on unbearable—but not in a way you wanted to stop. Not even close. It was that perfect, exquisite kind of pressure that made you feel every inch of him, every beat of your own pulse echoing in your core.

“Jungkook…” you breathed, your voice soft but desperate, “Move.”

Your fingers threaded into the damp strands at the nape of his neck, pulling gently, not demanding—just grounding him. Drawing his focus back from the brink. From his own thoughts, from the restraint burning in his blood.

He nodded, breath ragged. With a low groan, he slowly drew back, and the drag of him inside you made your entire body clench in protest. Your walls fluttered, resisting the loss, clutching at him like he belonged there—and he did.

He paused with just the head of him still seated inside you, adjusting the leg that still hung over his shoulder, one hand gripping the meat of your thigh as he straightened just slightly. His gaze dropped to take you in.

“Not sweet… right?” he asked, voice low and sharp, already knowing the answer. You tried to nod—tried to shake your head, to say something—but your brain never had the chance to catch up. Because in the very next moment, Jungkook snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal, perfect stroke that knocked the breath out of your lungs.

Your back arched off the table, a choked sound breaking from your throat as the world spun off its axis. He gave you no time to recover—no warning, no space to think. Just another sharp, deep thrust. Then another. And another.

Each stroke was fast and purposeful, the impact of his hips against your thighs echoing through the room. The rhythm was relentless, and the stretch that had felt so overwhelming seconds ago now lit you up from the inside out, nerves strung so tight it was like every thrust sparked lightning under your skin.

You couldn’t remember your name. Couldn’t remember what planet you were on. Couldn’t feel anything except him.

Jungkook’s breath was hot against your throat, his mouth trailing open-mouthed kisses up your neck, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he groaned—low and raw. His hand gripped your waist hard enough to bruise, the other still cradling your thigh over his shoulder, keeping you open for him.

The table beneath you rocked and squeaked beneath the force of him, its old legs whining in protest—but you barely registered it. All you knew was Jungkook’s weight over you, the drag of his cock inside you, the heat building so fast it felt like it might split you apart.

“Fuck, you feel—” he didn’t finish. Just cursed, head dropping to your shoulder as he panted harshly against your skin. “You take me so well.” Your fingers clutched at his back, desperate, your moans louder now, tangled with the rhythm of the table and the slap of skin on skin. You tilted your hips instinctively, chasing the friction, the pressure.

“Jungkook—” you gasped, almost incoherent now.

“I know,” he groaned. “I know, jagi. Just—hold on. I’ve got you.”

And god, he did.

He did—he had you, with every thrust forward, every hard pull back. His rhythm never faltered, hips slamming into yours with purpose, with hunger. The table beneath you creaked beneath the weight of it all, but neither of you cared. Everything had narrowed down to this: the heat between your bodies, the burn of friction, the wild cadence of your breath against his.

Jungkook leaned back just slightly, eyes dragging down your body as if he couldn't help himself. His gaze was heavy, starved. He needed to see you—needed to witness exactly what he was doing to you.

Your hand had slipped from his neck, fingers drifting down his sculpted torso, the pads of them tracing his slick skin, lingering at the edge of the sharp line of his V. You let your nails scratch lightly over the muscle there, drawing a deep grunt from him. The other hand lifted to your chest, kneading one of your breasts, rolling your nipple between your fingers for the added sensation. You wanted more—needed more, and you took it.

Jungkook's eyes darkened, his pace picking up as his gaze locked on the movement of your hands. You were touching yourself while he was buried deep inside you, and he looked like he might lose his mind over it. His hips snapped faster, deeper, so relentlessly good that your toes curled and your mouth opened in a silent cry.

The coil inside you was pulled tight, burning and bright, dangerously close to snapping.

Your head tilted, lips parted, words tumbling out half-formed. “Kiss me—Jungkook, please.” Your voice cracked, choked on a gasp as he hit just the right spot again. You were so close—so desperately close—and you needed him to ground you, to anchor you, or you’d fly apart.

And Jungkook, wrecked and wild and breathless, gave in instantly.

He braced one hand behind your head, cradling it, fingers tangling in your hair. Then he surged forward, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was nothing short of desperate. All tongue and teeth and hot, panting breath. It was messy and perfect, a raw clash of need and affection that made your chest ache and your body tense beneath him.

His other hand slid under your thigh, pulling your leg tighter against him, giving him just enough leverage to grind in deeper—so deep you swore you saw stars. His name broke from you in a shattered moan against his mouth, and he swallowed it greedily.

Your fingers clutched at his back again, nails digging in. You were unraveling. And so was he.

“Fuck, Y/N—” he gasped against your lips. “You're so fucking perfect.”

And then he snapped his hips one more time—just right—and that was it.

The coil inside you detonated, blinding white heat exploding behind your eyes as your body clenched tight around him. Your vision went hazy, your thighs shook, and a sob of pleasure tore from your throat as your orgasm ripped through you with devastating force.

Jungkook groaned—growled—low and primal at the way your body reacted to him, his control slipping with every second you pulsed and fluttered around him.

And he wasn’t far behind.

Jungkook filled the condom with a deep, drawn-out groan, hips jerking slightly as his release hit him hard. His entire body tensed above yours, shuddering through the aftershocks, his breath stuttering against your skin. For a second, the world seemed to vanish, reduced to stars behind your eyes and the pounding in your chest.

Still buried deep inside you, Jungkook slumped forward, his body trembling as he tried to catch his breath. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, and you felt the soft flick of his tongue—a gentle, lazy kitten-lick against your damp skin as he came down from the high. His lips lingered there, warm and open, murmuring something unintelligible and breathless as his hand continued to cradle your head like it was the most precious thing in the room.

And then he looked at you again, eyes dark and molten but softened now, his smile slow, completely wrecked. His hand moved from your thigh to gently ease your leg down from his shoulder, his touch careful, as if he was afraid you’d break. But you didn’t move much—your legs stayed parted, relaxed, your body still open to him, trembling faintly beneath his.

Neither of you spoke. You were both too spent, too dazed, the air thick with the shared weight of what had just happened.

Then—

SQUEAK.

There was a small creak under your combined weight. The table shifted.

And a second later—

CRASH.

The table’s legs gave out with a sudden, explosive crack, splintering beneath you as if the poor thing had finally decided it had had enough. The two of you dropped a full foot toward the ground, landing with a heavy thud and a very undignified squeak from you as your hands flailed for balance.

Only Jungkook’s grip in your hair—still instinctively protective—kept your head from bouncing against the edge of the broken table.

You lay there stunned, flat on your back with Jungkook still inside you, his body draped over yours. For a moment, there was only silence, wide eyes, and stunned breaths. Then, both of you groaned in unison—more from the shock than any pain—and when your gazes finally locked again, you couldn’t help it.

You snorted.

Jungkook blinked… and then barked out a surprised laugh, his whole body shaking as his forehead fell to your shoulder. The sound of his laughter vibrated against you, and when you started giggling too, your walls pulsed unintentionally around him.

His breath caught. “Ah—fuck—Y/N,” he wheezed between laughs, half-amused and half-mortified. “Are you trying to kill me?” You were still laughing, helplessly, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. “You broke the table, you fix it.”

He groaned as your laugh made your body tighten around him again. “You’re squeezing me, Y/N… Christ.”

“Not my fault,” you managed to say, still grinning up at him like a fool. “That was your idea of ‘not sweet,’ huh? Making me literally fall for you?”

He chuckled again, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he lifted his head slightly. “I was trying to be respectful… until you begged for it.” He nipped you playfully, then kissed the spot. “I was gonna be slow. Romantic. Whisper poetry or some shit.”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling even harder. “That was before you decided to rail me on a piece of antic furniture, Jungkook.” He groaned again, head dropping with a laugh into the crook of your neck. “Okay, okay. Fair. But for the record, I totally warned you.”

You nudged him lightly with your thigh, grinning through the afterglow. “You also said you’d take your time… after.” That made Jungkook pause, his eyes flicking down to your face, then slowly lifting his head with a grin blooming across his flushed features. His hair was a mess, sweat still clinging to his brow, but he looked completely undone in the best way—sated, sparkling, and still just a little wild.

“Oh, I did,” he murmured, voice rough with exhaustion and amusement. He glanced down at the shattered remains of the table beneath you. “Just… maybe not on this table again.” That was it. You both cracked up again, laughter filling the small room, echoing over the snapped legs of the table beneath you. It groaned as you shifted, like it had a final complaint left to give.

Jungkook stayed inside you for just a moment longer, his hand still gently cradling your head, his nose brushing your cheek as the laughter faded into something softer. Eventually, he exhaled through his nose and slowly—reluctantly—slipped out of you.

He handled the condom with care, knotting it deftly before slipping it back into the foil and tucking it into his pocket without fanfare. No way was he leaving it lying around for someone to discover later. Not even by accident.

By the time he looked back, you were trying to sit up, legs trembling slightly. Jungkook noticed immediately and reached for you, helping you upright with one hand on your waist. His other arm slid behind your back for support as he stood, then gently guided you onto unsteady legs. You tried to take a step but swayed—and he was already there to catch you.

“Jesus,” you laughed weakly, leaning into him.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice proud and half-apologetic. “Sorry about that. Kind of went feral on you.” You opened your mouth to quip back but he was already moving, bending briefly to retrieve something from his pants pocket—your panties. Neatly folded.

He held them out to you with a small, sheepish grin. “Here.” You blinked, touched by the sweetness. “You really put them in your pocket?”

“I didn’t want them to get dirty.” He shrugged like it was obvious. “So yeah.” Your heart twisted a little. Even post-wrecked and smug, Jungkook was gentle.

You braced your hands on his shoulders for balance, lifting one foot as he crouched slightly to help you step into them. His touch was steady, careful. As he guided the fabric up your legs, he pressed a soft kiss to your bare hip before standing fully again and helping you pull them the rest of the way up.

Once dressed again—him already back in his pants, you tugging your onesie halfway up—you both stood there, quiet for a moment. The only sounds were your combined breathing and the hum of the distant hallway.

Jungkook looked at you. His eyes were softer now, the edge of lust dulled into something warmer. There was tired delight painted across his features—the same kind you felt buzzing through your bones. He gave you a lazy, crooked smile.

“Bed?” he asked, voice low, hopeful. You nodded immediately, but before either of you could move, his eyes drifted past your shoulder. To the table. The ruined, broken, irreparably screwed table. Jungkook blinked, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… what about that?”

You turned to look at it, then shrugged and chuckled. “...I don’t know what you mean. That’s how it looked when we got here.” He gave you an incredulous look. “That’s what you want to roll with?”

You grinned cheekily. “Well, unless you want to go out there and tell the others you fucked me through a table.” His ears turned visibly pink. His lips twitched like he wanted to protest, but instead he gave you an exaggerated groan, stepping in and pulling you flush against him. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you there, pressing his lips to your temple.

“Jesus, woman,” he muttered against your skin. You smiled into his chest, feeling the soft thump of his heart under your palm. And then you both stumbled—hand in hand, weak-kneed and laughing—back into the hall, on your way to the shared rooms. The table could wait. The rest of the world could wait.

For tonight, all that mattered was you and Jungkook.

Back in the sleeping area, the soft hush of night had settled. Dim, shared warmth lingered in the air, lit only by the faint glow of a dying lantern by the entrance. Several silhouettes were already tucked in—Jin, Hoseok, and Yoongi, each bundled in their sleeping bags, their slow, even breaths giving away that they’d long since drifted off.

You and Jungkook stepped carefully around the maze of mats and bags, your bodies still sore and slow from what had just happened. Every creak of the floor felt like a warning to be quiet. The two of you shared a glance—eyes wide, trying not to laugh—as you tiptoed over to your own setup.

You eased into your sleeping bag as silently as possible, wiggling in with a tiny sigh. You were still warm from earlier, but you felt the cool bite of the air without him immediately beside you.

Not that you had to wait long.

Jungkook didn’t even glance at his own mattress. He grabbed his sleeping bag and shuffled right over to you, dragging his extra blanket with him like a determined shadow. His knees nudged yours under the covers before his whole body slipped in beside you, a quiet rustle of fabric and breath the only sign of his arrival.

In the darkness, you turned to find him already watching you, eyes soft and half-lidded, hair a little messy from the friction of clothes and movement. You smiled—couldn’t help it—and shifted, making more space.

He didn’t waste a second. Jungkook immediately pressed up against you, pulling the extra blanket over both of you before wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you as close as physically possible. The other hand gently adjusted the fabric at your shoulder, tucking you in more securely.

His body was a furnace. Solid, strong, grounding. The kind of warmth that made you melt from the inside out. “Mm,” he hummed, voice barely above a whisper, lips brushing the curve of your ear. “That’s better.”

You reached under the blanket, hand resting just over his heart, feeling its steady thrum beneath your palm. You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to. The silence wrapped around the two of you like another layer of protection, soft and sacred.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, a deep breath drawing in your scent, as if to tether himself to you.

And in that moment, tangled together on a too-thin mattress, the air still thick with the remnants of heat and laughter, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect place to fall asleep.

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You drifted awake slowly, drawn out of sleep not by any alarm or sharp sound, but the soft hum of voices nearby. Low and murmured, playful but hushed—the kind of tone used by people trying not to wake anyone, but not really succeeding.

“…So is this where he sleeps now?” Taehyung’s voice, unmistakably smug, reached your ears first. He wasn’t even trying to hide the grin in his voice. “You traded party games for a new sleeping arrangement?”

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. You felt him shift slightly next to you, breath catching in his chest, still half-asleep himself. “I’m not saying anything to this,” he replied, voice rough with sleep. “just leave it.”

That earned a muffled snort—probably from Jimin.

“Well then?” Namjoon chimed in, his voice laced with curiosity and warmth. “Is this, like…a thing now? Are you guys a thing? Or did you just… you know.”

You could practically hear the raised eyebrows and wiggled fingers behind that you know.

Jungkook didn’t answer. You could feel the silence settle in his body before you heard it. The tension. The way his arm curled a little tighter around your waist, the way his chest paused under your cheek. You didn’t need to look at him to know he was uncomfortable—caught between not knowing what to say and clearly not wanting to make a big deal out of it either. You hadn’t talked about that yet. There hadn’t really been time—or space—for defining lines and labels. There had only been heat and hands and breathless yeses.

And you weren’t sure how you felt about it yet either.

The teasing didn’t stop. Jimin chimed in too, not unkind, but relentless in the way only close friends can be. Their light heckling continued, half-laughs and whispered teasing, and it might’ve been funny if it didn’t make Jungkook so uncomfortable. You could feel the shift in him.

And that did it.

You groaned sharply into the blanket and cracked your eyes open, sleep and irritation fogging your brain in equal measure.

The room went still.

They froze like guilty kids caught by the teacher.

Jungkook tensed again, instinctively bracing as if you might snap at him, but you didn’t. You pressed a half-conscious kiss to his jaw, slow and warm, and felt him freeze, then unravel just slightly at the edges.

Still leaning into his chest, you lifted your head just enough to glare past him—past the safety of his body and toward the hyungs huddled in their sleeping bags, all three of them suddenly very quiet.

Your voice cut the room like a thread pulled taut.

“If you have to know,” you muttered, sharp and flat, “I like Jungkook. We fucked. We’ll figure out the rest later. So unless you want to hear more details—shut up and let us sleep.”

Silence.

You dropped your head back against Jungkook’s chest and let your eyes fall shut again. His arms tightened around you, solid and warm, and his breath shuddered against your crown—half-laugh, half-disbelief.

“…Damn,” Taehyung whispered eventually. A strained chuckle from Namjoon.

“Okay,” Jimin murmured, “she’s scary. But I respect it.”

You sighed as Jungkook kissed the top of your head, his smile hidden in your hair. He was still flushed, a little stunned, but now it was threaded with something softer. Calmer. But you could feel his heartbeat under your palm, fast and uneven. Maybe matching yours.

“Jesus,” he muttered into your hair. “You’re gonna kill me.” You hummed, a sleepy smirk pulling at your mouth. “Only them if they keep talking.”

He kissed your hair again—gentler this time. Thoughtful. Then, barely above a whisper, like he only wanted you to hear it: “…When is later?”

It was quiet, almost hesitant. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to ask. Like the answer mattered more than he wanted to admit. Your heart gave a small, careful thud.

You shifted just enough to glance up at him, his eyes barely visible in the low morning light, and whispered back, “After breakfast?”

His lips twitched. Not quite a smile—something softer, more relieved. He let out a breath that ghosted against your temple. “Good,” he whispered back. “Because I like you too.”

You swallowed, throat tight for no good reason. A small breath left you as your fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt at his ribs. Not for balance. Just to hold onto him. Jungkook responded by pulling you in closer, his arm a secure weight around your waist, anchoring you to him. And for a long, quiet moment, neither of you moved.

The morning still hummed softly around you. The world felt like it could wait. Because here, tangled in warmth and something unspoken, you weren’t in a rush.

Later could come when it did.

You had this. You had him.

Masterlist

A/N: Hi! Just wanted to mention that I use ChatGPT and DeepL to clean up grammar and spelling in my writing. English is my second language, and this tools help me share stories the way I imagine them, without spending hours double-checking every word. Writing is just a hobby I enjoy after a full workweek—I’m not trying to make money from it. If you’re curious or have thoughts on it, I’d love to have a friendly discussion!

Taglist: @dachshunddame @hecatesdescendant @chaeisrichnow @canarystwin @mar-lo-pap @notyourfriendooo @bjoriis

Not sure if i did everyting right with the tag list. Please let me know if there was a mistake.

#jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #bts #jungkook bts #jeon jungguk #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x you #larp #larp costume #larp bts #bts stories #bts smut

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sweetvoidstuff · 5 days ago

Text

WIP and a cozy weekend

Again 💜

Just working on another Jungkook x Reader werewolf dystopian AU (yes, again) and, naturally, my idea spiraled. Not sure yet if it’ll be a slow burn or if I’ll “hurry” it along a little. But that’s beside the point.

It’s a long weekend for me, so if anyone wants to talk, I’d love to chat while working on my WIP! Ask me anything — writing, BTS, werewolves, dystopian chaos, or whatever else <3

#jungkook x reader #jungkook bts #send asks #ask me anything #bts stories

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sweetvoidstuff · 6 days ago

Text

Undead, Undressed, Unexpected I Part 1

Word Count: 50K (both Parts)

Masterlist

Part 2

A/N: Well, I wanted to post this as one, but Tumblr won’t let me… so I’ll be posting Part 1 and Part 2 back to back. Sorry about that! Hope you still enjoy it!

Just a quick note on formatting: Bold text is used for dialogue spoken in Korean. Italic text represents internal thoughts or feelings. Normal text is used for dialogue spoken in English.

I hope this helps make things easier to follow while reading. Thanks so much for giving my story a chance!

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You had always thought your inbox was a place of controlled chaos—occasional partnership requests, a flood of player questions, shipping delays on makeup foam, and the usual budget arguments with your logistics friend, Pia. But the chaos started earlier than usual that day—with a phone call from Lea, the friend who usually handled the LARP's shared email account.

“Hey,” she said casually, “some Korean entertainment company emailed us? Something about a possible collab for the next event?” You nearly dropped your lunch.

“Wait—what Korean company?”

“I don’t know, Big-something. Big…Hit? BigPunch? I forwarded it to you.”

You froze. Your heart stuttered. “BigHit? Are you serious?”

Lea made a confused noise. “Yeah, is that a big deal? I just thought it was, like, a local talent agency or something. They didn’t say much. You okay? You sound like you’re gonna combust.” You didn’t answer right away because your brain was rebooting.

“They’re—Lea, they manage BTS. Like, the BTS. Global. World tour. Grammy-stage BTS.”

There was a pause on her end. “...Oh. Uh. Is that the one with the guy who did a thing with Charlie Puth? Or is that the ramen guy?” You laughed, a choked, borderline hysterical sound. “Yes. No. Sort of. I’ll check the email. Just—thank you.”

“Anytime,” she replied, bemused. “I guess let me know if the ramen guy’s showing up.” You hung up with shaking hands and sprinted for your laptop, yanking it open so fast the battery nearly popped out.

And there it was.

FROM: [email protected] SUBJECT: Collaboration Inquiry – Upcoming LARP Project

You stared at it for a solid minute, blinking hard, rereading the signature and domain. You even copied the email into a group chat with your seven friends titled “Project Zombie Apocalypse 202X” with the caption:

"Tell me I’m hallucinating."

You didn’t.

Over the next few weeks, the back-and-forth with BigHit solidified something real and turned into a full-blown project folder on your desktop—contracts, security forms, scheduling proposals, and endless discussions about what was feasible and what wasn’t.

They were interested in sending one of their groups for a LARP experience to include in their “challenge vlog” series. They loved your concept: four days in a remote woodland complex turned survival horror sim, where around 250 participants would play out a fictional zombie outbreak in real-time. Minimum power except for medical posts and staff centers. No phone service. Just radios, bloodied props, a kitchen, and pure adrenaline.

At first, your team didn’t take it seriously.

“Some Korean band wants to vlog here?” Pia had said during your first group Zoom call. “Okay, sure. Do they know our kitchen runs on two electric hot plates and prayers?”

“They know,” you sighed, rubbing your temple. “I told them in the first reply. I made it very clear that we’re... rustic.”

“They probably think we’re some scenic wilderness experience,” Erik muttered. “Wait ‘til they see our ‘bedding options.’”

“It’s not just some band,” you shot back. “It’s BigHit. That’s... that’s massive. This is actual, career-changing visibility. Even if they send a small or new band.” That caught everyone’s attention, but the tone shifted from surprise to skepticism quickly.

“Okay, but do we want that kind of visibility?” Lea asked. “We built this to be immersive, chaotic fun. Not something where we have to worry about stepping on a celebrity’s shoe.”

“It would mean a lot more work,” Pia added cautiously. “Like...a lot. Extra infrastructure, coordination, liability coverage. Probably hiring more crew down the line. And taxes—Jesus, we’ll have to register it differently. No more fun hobby exemption. We’ll need to go full business mode.” You felt a cold knot in your gut. She wasn’t wrong.

“But it also means we could finally get paid properly,” you said, more softly now. “Like... not just break even. We could maybe even fund the next LARP without crowdfunding. Or get better props. Maybe even hire full-time help. This could be our way out of ‘barely-making-it.’” That silenced them. For a moment.

“Only if we survive it first,” Erik muttered. “And if it doesn’t kill the vibe.”

In the end it was decided, you would give it a try.

You found yourself writing emails late into the night, negotiating with BigHit’s reps while triple-checking your spreadsheets for costs. At one point, you were balancing on a stepladder fixing a hanging light while on the phone with your accountant friend, trying to figure out how to legally declare sudden international income.

BigHit wanted privacy, but also good footage. They wanted realism, but no actual injuries. You had to promise fast response plans, prep multilingual safety briefings, and accommodate a small filming crew without giving the players any clue who was coming.

It was exhausting, overwhelming, and a logistical headache—but when BigHit confirmed the collaboration and wired the down payment, you stared at the numbers in your bank account for a full minute in shock.

This wasn’t just a cool opportunity. This could be the thing that made your dream sustainable.

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It was the day before the event—the day you’d circled in red on every planning calendar and spreadsheet. You and one of the BigHit staff had agreed: the band would arrive a full day early for privacy, filming, and a crash course in zombie apocalypse survival.

You were their primary contact for the duration. The only one on your team fluent in Korean and English, which meant every question, every request, every last-minute panic would come straight to you.

The old asylum grounds you rented every year sat deep in the woods, surrounded by rusted fences, gravel paths, and fog-thick silence. It looked exactly as eerie and perfect as ever—half horror movie set, half forgotten relic. Soon, over two hundred players would fight to survive a fictional outbreak here. The zombies (your tireless NSC crew) would sleep in a locked-off wing of the asylum, like always. The uppermost floor—off-limits to players—was reserved for the organizing staff. You’d already transformed it with air mattresses, fairy lights, warm blankets, and the half-desperate charm of veteran event runners.

Whoever BigHit sent would be staying there too. In the same room as you.

For privacy. And for emergencies. And not to interfere with the other Orga or the plot.

The Orga floor had its own bathrooms—tiny, ancient, and a little creepy—but it was better than the alternative: the heavily trafficked bathrooms down near the NSC quarters, split by gender but used by dozens. The kitchen was also down near the NSC zone, which meant any idol who wanted a snack might have to wade through latex-coated zombie crew at 2 a.m. That’s why you had your personal stash of snacks on hand.

You’d explained all of this to BigHit in a painfully detailed PDF. They had agreed. You still weren’t sure if they fully understood what they were walking into.

You had just finished breakfast—instant coffee and a lukewarm breakfast wrap—and were lounging outside in a creaky camping chair, soaking in your last hour of relative calm before the storm. Erik was beside you, sorting through printed liability waivers and contracts for the players arriving tomorrow to sign.

“I still don’t get why they want to film here,” he muttered, flipping a page. “Like, no offense to our haunted horror dreamscape, but... this isn’t luxury content.” You shrugged, sipping from your dented thermos. “Maybe they want something gritty. Or real. Or ironic. I dunno. Maybe they just like zombies.”

He smirked. “Sure. Maybe one of them has a secret undead kink.” You opened your mouth to sass him back—then stopped cold. Three sleek black SUVs rolled down the gravel path toward the asylum gates. Silent, shiny, and entirely out of place.

Erik raised a brow. “...Oh shit.”

You stood so fast your chair fell backward into the dirt. You swore your heart stopped. The first door opened. Jeon Jungkook stepped out of the first SUV like it was nothing. Like this was normal. Casual in black cargo pants, a harness vest, and a hoodie, he looked like he’d walked straight off a dystopian movie poster. His eyes flicked over the asylum grounds with quiet curiosity.

Behind him came Taehyung, laughing at something Jin said as he followed. Taehyung wore a long coat and combat boots like it was fashion week.

Yoongi had earbuds in, head down, expression unreadable. Jimin waved cheerfully, his hair fluffing in the breeze. Namjoon caught your eye and nodded—calm, respectful, already reading the vibe. And Hoseok, last out, stretched and turned his face toward the fog like he was trying to feel the mood in the air.

They were all here. All of BTS.

In your forest. At your LARP. At your chaos-riddled, mud-streaked, budget-scraping zombie survival event.

Erik leaned closer, whispering, “So uh… I guess it’s not the ramen guy after all.” You couldn’t answer. Your brain had short-circuited.

And the real chaos hadn’t even started yet.

You took a deep breath, forced your legs to move, and tried your best to walk over professionally, even though the inside of your chest felt like a popcorn machine of nerves. All seven members of BTS stood together, flanked by three guys from the filming crew—compact gear bags slung over shoulders, cameras padded in protective foam, one of them already eyeing angles like he was mapping a cinematic plan in real-time.

You greeted them in Korean, voice steady even as your palms sweated.

"Welcome to Outbreak Protocol. I’m Y/N, I’ll be your main contact before and during the event." Namjoon smiled, surprised but happy you spoke Korean, his voice warm. "We’ve heard a lot about the project. Sounds pretty intense." Jungkook’s eyes drifted past you to the rusted fences and fog-cloaked trees. "This place looks like a horror movie set."

You grinned like he’d handed you an Oscar. "Perfect. Because tomorrow, you’re all survivors."

You shifted into logistics mode before your brain could spiral. You pointed toward the makeshift parking area. "You can park over there. We’ve got the legal documents all ready—Erik will help you with those." The filming crew gave polite nods and peeled off toward the cars. Erik waved and waited near the porch, clipboard in hand.

You turned back to the members. "Would you like the grand tour first, or do you want to settle in upstairs and look around later?" The group exchanged glances, some rolling their shoulders to shake off travel fatigue. Jin was already shifting his backpack into a more comfortable position. Jungkook flexed one hand to crack his knuckles.

“We’ll drop our stuff off first,” Namjoon said. “But we’re definitely doing the tour after.” You nodded. “Follow me then.”

As you led the way toward the heavy front doors and up the creaking staircase, you caught a few quiet murmurs of interest from behind—Yoongi commenting on the paint-peeling walls, Jimin quietly admiring the fog that still clung to the edges of the broken windows.

A strange thump echoed from the lower hallway, something shifting in the NSC quarters. Probably a dropped bin or one of the staff testing props. Hoseok jumped. You couldn’t help your grin as you looked back. “First scare of the weekend goes to you, I guess.”

He laughed, embarrassed but entertained. “Is it always like this?”

“Sometimes it’s worse,” you teased. Just as you reached the upper floor, Lea passed by holding a coil of LED fairy lights and two rolls of duct tape under her arm. She paused, nodded politely to the group, then looked at you and held out a radio.

“For you,” she said. “Orga team check-ins start now.” You took the radio and clipped it to your belt, clicking the button twice before speaking: “Unit Sparkles to HQ. Guests incoming.” There was a long pause, then Erik’s voice crackled through, dramatic and low: “Copy that, Sparkles. Hostiles confirmed. Prepare for contact.”

Taehyung laughed aloud, almost tripping on the last step. “Wait—did you say Sparkles?” You looked over your shoulder with a wink. “I did.”

“Is that your code name?”

“It is.”

“Why?”

You grinned wider. “Just because.”

Taehyung snorted. “That’s not a reason.”

“That’s exactly the point.” He grinned at you like you were a riddle he wanted to solve. You opened the door to the upper dorm hallway, leading them past the first room on the left. “This one here,” you said, pausing with your hand on the frame, “is the organizers-only room. Our private space, mostly for sensitive documents, extra gear, and collapsing in secret when the caffeine wears off.”

You continued walking and stopped at the next room, opening it fully this time. “This one,” you gestured them in, “is where you’ll stay. It’s a shared space. Sorry, no luxury suites here.” Inside, air mattresses had already been inflated and neatly spaced out. Each was made with sleeping bags, throw blankets, and a small labeled bag of towels and toiletries. Fairy lights flickered lazily along the upper edge of the ceiling. The air smelled faintly of mint tea, dust and fresh laundry.

“We had to compromise,” you explained. “This room has somewhat heating, and it’s closer to the emergency exit in case of… well, any kind of problem. Plus, it’s more private than the downstairs dorms. The bathroom’s through there—shared, though. Welcome to the apocalypse.” Jin raised an eyebrow, inspecting the setup. “Charming.”

“I did warn your manager about the rustic conditions,” you said with a small shrug. “It’s better than some green rooms we’ve had,” Yoongi mumbled, setting down his backpack. Namjoon gave you a grateful nod. “This’ll do. Thanks for being upfront about everything.”

You returned the nod with a smile, then turned to gesture down the hallway. “This floor is the staff area. Off-limits to players, which means you’ll have some privacy here when needed. Once the game starts, though—”

You turned back toward them, your smile shifting into something more mischievous.

“—you’re all survivors. No exceptions. Survivors can’t come up here—not even to sleep. You’ll have to make do with what you find out there and work with other players to get a place to rest. And trust me,” your voice dropped to a playful threat, “I run the NSC , the zombie side of the event. I make sure survivors get very little sleep.”

Taehyung looked half-terrified, half-thrilled. Jungkook grinned like someone had just challenged him to a fight. Yoongi raised a hand immediately. “Can I just be a zombie from the start and skip the sleep deprivation part?”

You laughed. “Yes, absolutely. You can request to switch roles if you want. It’s a game—not actual torture. If anyone gets too exhausted, just tell me. You can and should rest. This is meant to be immersive fun, not military training.” He nodded in approval, clearly filing away that option.

As they set their bags down, Jimin drifted toward one of the mattresses—clean, thick blankets folded neatly, some big fluffy pillows, a water bottle placed in the middle like a hotel mint. It looked more like an actual bed. He tilted his head and asked: “Who gets the fancy bed?”

You followed his gaze and smirked. “That one’s mine.” A beat. Then a chorus of mock groans followed. “Of course it is,” Jin muttered. “I respect the flex,” Jungkook said, dropping his bag onto the floor next to a less-decorated mattress.

But then something in the air shifted—a glance shared between a few of them. Some of the members looked uncertain, shifting slightly in place. Hoseok scratched the back of his neck. Taehyung was unusually quiet. Finally, it was Yoongi who broke the silence. “Wait, so… we’re all sleeping in here with you?”

You blinked, nodding. “Yeah. Didn’t they tell you? This was the agreement with your staff—one room for all of you and me, so I’m close in case of an emergency and you don’t have to look for me. This is the safest and most direct setup.”

Namjoon cleared his throat, clearly trying to choose his words carefully. “Right. They did tell us that. We just didn’t know about you and logistics, exactly…”

You tilted your head, eyebrows drawing together in genuine confusion. “What about me and logistics?” There was a beat of silence. Namjoon sighed and rubbed at his temple. “This might sound awkward, but… you know, sleeping in the same room. You are a woman and might be in, uh, sleeping clothes. Or… yeah.”

You blinked. Jungkook suddenly found the floor intensely interesting. His ears flushed red. You stared for a second longer, and then laughed—just once, not mocking, but surprised. “Oh. I mean—sure. I get it. Thanks for saying something.”

Then your tone shifted into something firmer but still friendly. You looked at each of them in turn. “This could turn into a cultural, or language misfire so bear with me I will be direct... Let me ask you this: do any of you intend to do anything to me—without my consent?” The effect was instant. A few of them looked scandalized. Jimin’s eyes widened like a deer in headlights. Hoseok choked on a breath. Jungkook’s ears turned even redder.

Namjoon stepped forward, hands raised slightly. “No. Absolutely not. Never.” You nodded once, satisfied. “Then, I don’t see a problem. I’m not here to be uncomfortable—I’m here to make sure this whole thing doesn’t fall apart. And at night it can get really cold. So no way for short shorts. I’ll probably pass out in leggings and a hoodie, and you’ll be too tired to care.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Yoongi let out a single low chuckle. “That… actually makes me feel better.”

“Same,” Jin muttered. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called out so politely and so brutally in the same sentence.”

You grinned. “Good. Now that that’s settled—pick your mattress. Tomorrow, you're all getting hunted by the undead.” Jungkook finally looked up, still red around the ears, but with the corner of his mouth twitching into a reluctant smile.

Taehyung slung his bag onto the far corner mattress. “I want the spot closest to the door in case I have to run from you.” You gasped in mock offense, hand to your chest. “Run from me? Please, I’m the safest person here—unless you insult my campfire coffee. Then it’s over for you.” Taehyung grinned wide, eyes crinkling. “Noted. No coffee jokes.”

“Exactly,” you said with a wink. “Respect the bean or face the consequences.” The others chuckled, and you caught a flicker of movement from the corner of your eye. Jungkook, who had just set his bag on a mattress near the edge of the room, paused. His gaze flicked from Taehyung to you—lingering for half a beat longer than necessary. Without a word, he picked his bag back up, walked past a few other mattresses, and set it down on the one right next to yours.

You noticed—of course you did—but didn’t say anything. You just glanced down at where he was now crouched, adjusting the pillow like it needed perfect alignment. “Strategic placement?” you asked lightly, not looking directly at him.

Jungkook glanced up through his lashes, a crooked smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “Just figured I’d want to be near the person who controls the zombie apocalypse.”

“Oh, smart,” you replied, lips twitching into a sly grin. “Stick close to the Game Master. That’s either genius or cheating.” He looked like he might respond, but Jimin threw himself backward onto his chosen mattress with a groan, breaking the moment.

Taehyung leaned toward you and whispered loud enough for only the closest to hear, “I still think you’re secretly a final boss.” You gave him a dangerous smile. “You’re not ready for my final form.” Jungkook coughed—just once—and looked back down at his bag like it had suddenly become fascinating.

You raised your walkie again, clicking it twice. “Unit Sparkles to HQ. Base camp secured. Survivors setting up now.” Erik’s voice crackled through after a second. “HQ copies. Keep ‘em alive, Sparkles.”

“Can’t promise that,” you muttered, already mentally ticking off the next steps on your checklist.

“Why Sparkles again?” Taehyung asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. You winked. “Because it makes people underestimate me.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Noted.”

You smiled at them all as you backed toward the door. “Once you’re settled, come find me downstairs. We’ll start the tour, walk through the storyline, and then go over the filming schedule. If you have time, I’d like to give you a short survival orientation too.”

Jungkook perked up. “Like… a zombie boot camp?” You smirked, a mischievous gleam in your eyes. “Exactly. Think of it as your apocalypse training montage.”

His mouth parted like he was about to say something else, but just then, the walkie crackled at your hip. “Sparkles, this is HQ. Got a delivery truck trying to get through the west gate—paperwork’s a mess.” You sighed and clicked your radio. “On it.”

Turning back to the room, you gave the guys a quick wave. “Duty calls. I’ll see you all in a bit.” With that, you slipped out the door, your boots soft against the scuffed linoleum.

Jungkook watched you go, his brow furrowed slightly. You were cool. Open. Friendly in a way that wasn’t fake or overly impressed. You didn’t act like they were some otherworldly beings descended from the sky. You were just… normal. Confident. You had a job to do, a passion you clearly lived and breathed—and somehow, you still kept it together even when seven global superstars walked out of three SUVs.

And now you were gone before he got to ask what role you usually played. Or how long you’d been running events. Or what made you pick zombies of all things. He frowned at the floor. How had Taehyung managed to flirt so much with you already?

His grumbling thoughts were cut off when Hobi dramatically fell backward onto a mattress and groaned, face squishing into the pillow.

“Ugh. I’m already regretting this. You know they’re gonna put me through hell tomorrow.” Yoongi, setting his phone to charge beside his mattress, didn’t even look up. “You can die early and join the dark side. I plan to. I already feel like a corpse.”

“Can I be a fast zombie?” Taehyung asked. “I want to be dramatic.”

“You are always dramatic,” Jin replied, tossing him a rolled-up blanket. Namjoon glanced around at the mattresses and raised an eyebrow at Jungkook. “You moved your stuff?”

Jungkook didn’t answer right away, just mumbled something about lighting and space. Not about the way you’d smiled at Taehyung, or how you’d winked during that “respect the bean” comment. Jimin sprawled across two mattresses and groaned, “I’m not ready to fight for food in the woods.”

“Don’t worry,” Namjoon replied dryly. “If we lose you, I’ll eat your snacks first.” The room filled with laughter as the group continued settling in. They unpacked bags, laid out blankets, and immediately began comparing the modest comforts of their temporary setup to your very clearly upgraded, fairy-light-lit corner of the room.

“Yo,” Jimin said, poking Jungkook’s side. “She really has the best bed.”

“I saw,” Jungkook murmured, glancing again at the door you’d disappeared through.

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When they came back down to find you, they didn’t expect the sight they walked into. You were hunched forward, arms wrapped around one side of a massive wooden euro pallet—one of three—that you and Erik were hauling toward the large toolshed near the edge of the gravel lot. From the looks of it, you weren’t on your first trip and dangerously close to snapping your spine in half.

“Wait—are they lifting pallets?” Jin blinked.

“Damn,” Taehyung murmured. “She’s gonna pop something.” Before you could straighten or even notice them fully, Jungkook was already moving. He practically jogged ahead of the group, brushing past Jimin, who huffed, “There he goes.”

You saw motion and started, “It’s fine, I—”

But it was too late. Jungkook was already there, nudging you gently out of the way with the side of his shoulder, his brows furrowed in focus. He slipped in opposite Erik, bent down, and lifted the side you’d been hauling with practiced ease.

“Where to?” he asked. You blinked, slightly thrown off. “Uh—behind the shed. Along the wall. They’re barricade props.” Jungkook nodded without another word and followed Erik, muscles shifting under his sleeves, tattoos dancing as he hoisted the pallet like it weighed nothing.

“Helpful,” Jimin chuckled behind you, watching your expression. “He’s just bad at saying it out loud.”

“I noticed,” you said with a small smile, brushing your hair back from your face. “Thanks.” A few minutes later, Erik came back, Jungkook trailing behind him and brushing dirt off his hands. You made sure to stop him with a light tap to the arm.

“Hey,” you said, looking him in the eye. “Seriously—thanks. That was a lot.” He gave a small, sheepish grin. “It’s no problem.” And with that, you launched into what you’d promised earlier—the grand tour.

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You led them through the central facilities first, starting with the compact, camp-style kitchen.

“This is where the NSC—Non-Survivor Characters, but also the makeup team and staff—get food. Basic stuff. We’ll prep three times a day but no five-course meals, sorry.” You gave them a mock apologetic shrug. Jin raised a hand. “Will there be snacks?”

“No promises,” you teased.

The next stop was the makeup rooms, where several folding chairs, makeup kits, and prosthetic materials lined the walls. “Here’s where we zombify people. If you die in-game, you’ll come here, get turned, and be sent back out with directions. Sometimes as slow walkers, sometimes fast. Sometimes… something weirder.”

Jimin leaned in. “Something weirder?”

You just smiled. “You’ll see.”

Then came the outdoor terrain. You walked them past several adjacent cabins and storage sheds. “These are part of the playable zones. All of them are open unless marked otherwise. We have hidden clue points, some locked areas, and a couple jumpscares set up, but you’ll get used to it.”

You led them toward the forest edge, indicating with hand signals where the terrain began and ended. “The game area ends about five hundred meters that way. Beyond that? Too steep, too muddy, or just plain dangerous. Avoid it.” Yoongi eyed the tree line. “How will we know?”

“I’ll point it out tomorrow again before game start, but we’ve also put up orange tape and warning markers. You’ll know.” Back near the edge of the game field, you turned to face them all again and reached into your backpack. You pulled out a bright, eye-searing pink warning vest and held it up dramatically.

“This is your holy relic,” you said, grinning. “If you see me wearing this during the game, it means I’m in staff mode. You can approach me for help, questions, breaks, water, whatever. I’ll avoid interfering unless it’s an emergency. But my every word is law.”

“And if you’re not wearing it?” Namjoon asked. “Then I’m playing as a survivor or NSC. You’ll find me out there, somewhere, scrounging for food and dodging zombies like the rest of you. However—if you get uncomfortable or need out of a situation for any reason, say the phrase, ‘That has a nice sparkle to it.’ Or something similar.”

Taehyung snorted. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious,” you said. “It’s a safe phrase. The game can get intense. If I hear it or any other Orga for that matter, we’ll pull you from the scene immediately—no questions, no breaking character.”

“That’s actually smart,” Namjoon admitted.

Jungkook stepped in closer, curiosity in his voice. “So if you’re out there as a survivor… are you playing to win?” You raised an eyebrow at him, the corner of your mouth twitching. “You think there's winning at the literal end of the world?”

He blinked, taken off guard for a second, but you didn’t give him time to recover. You smiled—but didn’t tell him how you really liked to play the game. Instead, you slipped into a mock arrogance that fit too easily. “I’ll be scavenging, bartering… probably stealing. So stay alert.”

“I will,” Jungkook said, mouth curling in a slow grin. “Just don’t expect me to go easy on you.” You smirked, gaze flicking up and down him. “That goes both ways.” Taehyung slung an arm over Jungkook’s shoulder, all mischief. “She’s got bite, huh?”

You didn’t miss a beat, voice sweet but edged with a grin. “Some zombies every year actually do. But me?” You flashed your signature mocking smile. “I only bite if you ask nicely.”

Jungkook’s head turned toward you too fast—eyes narrowing with a spark of surprised amusement, like he didn’t know whether to laugh or lean in closer. Taehyung burst out cackling. Even Yoongi gave a low whistle under his breath.

Jungkook shook Taehyung’s arm off with a grumble and stepped just a touch closer to you, adjusting his hoodie like he needed something to do with his hands.

“So,” he asked, tone a bit lower, “what’s your tip for surviving the first night?” You tilted your head, studying him. For a moment, you actually thought about it. Then you answered, quietly but clearly, “Stay moving. And don’t just trust any survivor. If they kill you, they’ll loot your shit.” His brows furrowed slightly.

You added, “So yeah… best tip? Stay quiet. And stay off the main road.” Jungkook looked at you like he was filing away every word. “Noted,” he said softly.

After you had finished explaining how to fake fight and how “death” in the game would work—that the moment they "died," you'd pull them aside to explain how to play as a zombie and give them their undead assignment—they were all quiet for a second. Attentive. Processing.

Especially Jungkook. His gaze didn’t leave you. “And… you designed all this? The rules, the props, all of it?” You gave a small, casual shrug. “With my friends, yeah. A lot of long nights. A lot of coffee.” There was something about the way he looked at you that caught you off guard. Not the usual idol poker-face. He looked… impressed. And maybe a little something else—like he was trying to figure out you, not just the game.

“It’s… impressive,” Jungkook said, voice quieter than the others. “Kinda crazy. In a good way.” You opened your mouth, unsure whether to say thank you or make a joke—but all that came was a laugh, slightly flustered. You turned away before you could smile too obviously.

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Later that evening, the guys were off filming some of their vlog content—lots of running through the woods, fake dramatic reactions, and over-the-top “lost in the apocalypse” monologues. You gave them full freedom for the rest of the day to capture whatever material they wanted. You had work to do anyway: final checks on game mechanics, syncing walkie-talkie channels, triple-confirming the food schedule, and helping your team scatter props in the right zones.

You only got pulled in once—when Jin called over to you with a shout about “something moody.” Yoongi was standing next to him, holding up a camera and trying to catch the golden-hour light streaking between the trees. “Do you have something… cinematic?”

You pulled off your bag, unzipped one of the side pouches, and without missing a beat, produced a smoke grenade—sleek, matte black, like something out of a spy movie. Jin’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Wait, what?”

Yoongi blinked. “You just have that in your bag?” You gave a sweet smile. “Always keep one for emergencies.” Hoseok, already half-suspicious about the creepy makeup room earlier, took a cautious step back. “What kind of emergencies need smoke grenades?!” You didn’t answer—just gave him a devilish grin.

Jimin cracked up. “She’s totally evil.” Taehyung beamed, clearly delighted. “That’s exactly the vibe. I love it.” Jungkook didn’t laugh immediately—he was watching you again. But then a soft chuckle escaped him, and he looked down like he hadn’t meant to smile that wide. “Remind me to never piss you off.”

You shot him a wink. “Naw, too fun.”

He laughed properly then—low and surprised—and you had to turn back to your work fast before anyone saw the grin tugging at your lips.

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You had just come from the shower, wrapped up in your oversized hoodie—your LARP team’s logo printed proudly on the back—and a pair of leggings that still clung to you with faint humidity. Your hair was damp and pulled into a loose braid over one shoulder, a quiet testimony to how fast you’d gotten ready after a long day.

You found an empty camping chair near the bonfire and immediately sank into it, curling around a warm mug of tea or maybe mulled juice—whatever had been available. The scent of grilled vegetables, meat, and woodsmoke hung heavy in the air. Laughter bubbled from you as Pia leaned over to mutter something only meant for your ears, and you nearly choked on your drink in response.

Not far away, Jungkook emerged from the trees with the rest of the BTS members, the last golden slivers of twilight painting their silhouettes as they returned from filming. He spotted you immediately.

You looked different now. Not in a dramatic way—just… softer. Cozy. The sharp, efficient energy you’d carried during the tour and safety briefing had melted into something warm and content. It was the first time today he saw you truly at rest. You noticed them coming in and lifted your hand in greeting.

“Hey,” you called, voice already lazy with bonfire comfort. “Food’s self-serve. We grilled ahead for the evening. I made two kinds of pasta salad, Lea did her cucumber-dill thing, and Erik has clearly declared war on every sausage in the region.”

They laughed, and Namjoon gave a thankful little bow as he made his way toward the tables. “It smells amazing.”

“All the stuff we don’t finish gets put out again tomorrow,” you added. “So dig in. There’s no losing here.” Jungkook’s eyes wandered from the food to the little table you and your friends had arranged—organized chaos, a mix of homemade sides in mismatched containers and tin trays with foil. Without realizing it, he made a mental note: Try the pasta salad you made first.

The group spread out slowly—Yoongi asked where he could find drinks, Jin demanded more marshmallows with absolute seriousness, and Hoseok yelped dramatically when an owl hooted a bit too close for comfort. You were still translating here and there, weaving between your team and theirs with a natural ease, until eventually things just settled.

Jungkook ended up back near the fire, hoodie pulled over his head, paper plate in one hand as he lowered himself into the camping chair beside you.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

You weren’t trying to impress anyone. You just sat there, cheeks a little flushed from the heat, watching the fire flicker and crackle with the same quiet pleasure as everyone else. The shadows danced across your face. Jungkook looked at you, a bit longer than maybe he should’ve, and realized he didn’t want to interrupt the peace you were wrapped in.

But still, he found himself asking, “Tired?” You turned your head just slightly toward him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “So tired I forgot I’m tired. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, mirroring your smile. “It does.” He took a bite of your pasta salad, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “This is really good.” You looked smug. “Lea and I spent an unreasonable amount of time arguing about whether we needed more garlic. The answer is always more garlic.”

Jungkook chuckled. “You should sell this stuff.”

“Oh, yeah,” you drawled playfully. “Just a side hustle while running full-scale zombie wars in the woods and having an adult job. Easy.”

“You don’t mind being out here for days?” he asked, voice low, pitched only for you. You turned your head toward him, and your smile was quiet, grounded. “I live for this. It’s exhausting, sure. But when the game starts? Everyone forgets it’s fake. And for four days… it’s just survival. Emotionally messy. Physically brutal. And unforgettable. If you let it happen.”

Jungkook studied your face for a moment—how the embers danced in your eyes, how certain you sounded. You weren’t just hosting a game. You were throwing people headfirst into a world you loved. He leaned in, just a little. “You ever thought about filming it like a movie? You’re already doing something cinematic.”

You blinked, surprised by the question, then smiled. His tone hadn’t been flippant. He really meant it. “Actually… yeah. We’ve talked about a YouTube channel. Mini-series, behind-the-scenes stuff. But we don’t have the gear. Or the time. Or a consistent enough crew.” You glanced at him with a tilt of your head. “You think people would actually watch?”

“I’d watch it,” Jungkook said without hesitation. His grin turned a little crooked. “I mean, if I survive the next four days.” That made you laugh, and the sound felt natural between you, easy. Warmer than the fire now burning low in the pit.

The longer you sat next to him, the stranger it felt that you hadn’t known him longer. There was an openness to him tonight—a curiosity, a genuine effort to understand your world, and it wasn’t performative. He hadn’t needed to ask those questions. He just wanted to.

The fire crackled again. Your friends and his were mingling in overlapping conversations now—language barriers half-forgotten in the mix of food and warmth. Your friends were joking around in rapid English while trying to coax Namjoon and Taehyung into playing some kind of night-tag game with glow sticks. Jimin was fully horizontal in a deck chair, whisper-singing spooky background music. Jin had given up and wrapped a blanket around himself like a burrito, muttering about zombie bites and indigestion.

You took another sip from your mug, and Jungkook watched as you closed your eyes for just a second, letting the night settle over your shoulders like a second hoodie. It was quiet, comfortable, unforced.

And Jungkook thought—not for the first time today—how unfair it was that Taehyung had gotten to flirt with you first.

One by one, people started trickling back to the sleeping quarters. Eventually, Erik started packing up the grill with sleepy movements, Pia tossed a blanket over her shoulders, and Hoseok finally declared he couldn’t feel his toes.

As you stood, knees crackling a bit from sitting so long, you stretched your arms above your head with a quiet groan. Jungkook’s eyes lingered, just for a second—like he couldn’t help watching your hoodie move higher—before he stood too, brushing stray bits of ash off his sleeves.

The rest of the members were already grumbling about the cold, groggy and slow-moving.

So they began retreating into the main house or their sleeping quarters. Jin flapped his arms dramatically. “Why does it feel like I’m sleeping in a refrigerator? Who builds houses out here with no insulation?”

“It’s historical,” you reminded him, biting back a grin as you grabbed your toiletry bag. “Be honored. You’re basically in a museum.” You turned in the low, amber-hued glow of the fairy lights strung loosely above the old rafters, their dim twinkle casting soft halos over the mattresses lined up like dominoes across the floor. Yours was nestled near the corner, extra blankets piled at the edge, and Jungkook’s mat had ended up right beside it—not close enough to touch, but closer than coincidence.

“Yeah, a museum of frostbite,” Jin shot back, wrapping his hoodie tighter. By the time you got to the bathroom, you found Jimin leaning against the doorframe. “Can I brush with you?” he asked, voice soft, already holding his toothbrush.

You nodded with a smile, and the two of you brushed side-by-side. Soon, Hoseok padded in to rinse his face and complain about the cold again. Jungkook came in last, hair still tousled from the hoodie, looking far too good for someone about to camp in a half-renovated asylum for the night.

Back in the sleeping area everyone was getting situated. The fairy lights making barely any light. Despite the portable heaters you had brought, it was still drafty. The floorboards creaked under your steps. The windows hissed with night wind.

“Okay, no, seriously,” Hoseok groaned from his nest of sleeping bag. “This is inhuman. Jin-hyung, I can feel my soul freezing. My kneecaps are shivering. Who brought us to the North Pole?!”

“I think I lost three toes already,” Jin added dramatically, clutching his hoodie like a shawl. “This is not what I signed up for. I’m not even a real actor and I don’t deserve this.”

“You’re not even outside,” Yoongi mumbled from under a blanket. “Doesn’t matter,” Jin whispered, haunted. “The cold found me.” Hoseok rolled closer to Jin like a dying Victorian noble. “Hyung. If I don’t make it through the night… tell my stylist I loved her.” Namjoon groaned loudly from the other side of the room. “Oh my god, Hyung, please. Just sleep!”

“Easy fix,” you said, sitting up and tightening your hoodie. “Just bunk with someone. Body heat solves most of it.” You meant it practically—your team had done this a dozen times. It was survival basics. But before the sentence even finished, Taehyung had already propped himself up with an eager glint in his eyes.

“Can I bunk with you?” he asked with a mischievous grin, already halfway toward your mat like a very cold puppy. You snorted, raising an eyebrow. “That wasn’t an invitation.” Before you could answer, Jungkook sat up from his corner with a sharp huff. “Yah—don’t just ask like that.”

Taehyung turned toward him slowly, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You wanna bunk with us, Jungkook? You keep her right side warm, I’ll be her left?” You lost it, full-on laughing now as Yoongi let out a long, tortured groan and flopped a pillow over his face. Namjoon was face-down in his blanket, shaking his head in exhausted disapproval.

Jungkook looked mortified. His ears flushed pink even in the low light. “It’s not—! I wasn’t—!” He cleared his throat hard. “It’s rude, that’s all. She’s the organizer. She needs space.” Your brows lifted, amusement all over your face. “Uh-huh.” Taehyung looked like he was biting his tongue just to stop himself from saying something even worse.

Jimin, bless him, nudged Taehyung back toward the other side of the room. “Come on, Tae. You’re gonna get us kicked out. I’ll bunk with you. Stop flirting.” With a dramatic sigh, Taehyung accepted it, flopping down beside Jimin and stealing half his blanket. “But just know—I could have been the hottest option.”

Yoongi didn’t even open his eyes. “You radiate chaos, not heat.”, when Hoseok snuck under his blanket and just sighed like a man who had given up on peace. Jin wiggled his eyebrows at Namjoon, who just deadpanned: “Try it and I’m tossing you outside.”

You shook your head fondly, digging into your supplies. “Jin, I’ve got an extra blanket if you want one.” He hesitated, shaking his head. “No, no, I’ll manage—”

“Really its fine,” already holding it out. He accepted it with a sheepish grin. “You’re sure you don’t need it?”

“I’ve still got two more and a sleeping bag. I’ll be fine.” You moved carefully through the half-dark, stepping around boots and duffel bags, a folded blanket in your arms for Jin. The wooden floor creaked beneath your socked feet, each step an exercise in balance over warped boards and chaos. You murmured something to Jin, who accepted the blanket like he’d been rescued from an arctic death, dramatically clutching it to his chest.

You turned back toward your mattress, navigating the familiar obstacles in reverse. As you made your way back to your spot. And then you caught your foot on the edge of someone's abandoned hoodie.

“Shit—!” You stumbled forward—arms flailing—and would’ve face-planted if it weren’t for a solid pair of hands catching you mid-fall. Warmth met you.

You blinked.

Jungkook.

He was already sitting up, half-covered in his sleeping bag, hoodie still up, his phone forgotten beside him. His hands had caught your arms instinctively, steady but not grabbing. You were kneeling awkwardly now, one hand on his chest, the other braced on the mattress behind him, close enough to feel his breath.

“You okay?” he asked, voice quiet with concern, eyes wide in the fairy-lit dark. Mortified didn’t even begin to cover it. “I—yeah—sorry,” you stammered, cheeks already burning. “Didn’t see where I—uh—my foot—hoodie—” He chuckled under his breath, one hand still lightly on your elbow. “It’s okay. You didn’t fall. Technically.”

Your eyes flicked up to his—too close, too pretty in this soft, sleepy light—and then down again, like maybe you could disappear straight into the floorboards if you just willed it hard enough.

From the dark, Jimin’s voice floated lazily through the room. “Everything good over there?”

“Yup!” you squeaked, trying to stand too fast and instead just half-falling sideways—straight into your sleeping bag with a flustered huff. There was a moment of silence before Jungkook chuckled again, softer this time. You could hear the shift of fabric as he laid back down beside you, his voice pitched low. “Smooth recovery.”

“Shut up,” you whispered through a grin, tugging the sleeping bag over your head in self-defense.

The fairy lights buzzed faintly above, and somewhere in the room Jin sighed contentedly into his new blanket like a satisfied burrito. But Jungkook stayed quiet beside you now, arms folded under his head, gaze occasionally drifting in your direction long after the rest had fallen asleep.

He couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at his lips.

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The house woke slowly. The soft creak of floors and the smell of coffee drifted through the old wooden frame as morning sunlight filtered in through mismatched curtains. Jin was the first to loudly complain that someone had stolen his blanket—which turned out to be Hoseok, who claimed it had “drifted onto his mat” during the night.

“You were snoring like a vacuum cleaner,” Hoseok groaned, head buried under a pillow, insisting he needed another hour. “It’s the least you owe me.”

“I don’t snore,” Jin declared with wounded dignity. Namjoon hummed dryly. “You do. Aggressively.” Laughter bubbled through the group, even as no one quite managed to leave the warmth of their sleeping bags. Jungkook was the last to sit up, hoodie still half covering his eyes, glancing once to his left—to where your mat lay empty. Already cold. You’d been up for hours.

The smell of instant coffee and toast lingered faintly in the air, and while the boys slowly filtered through breakfast—some filming themselves with still-sleepy voices—you and your team were already darting between bags of props, radio check-ins, and set dressing. You'd been radioing Pia about the entrance setup while giving Erik a checklist and stuffing a walkie into your jacket all before most of the group had even laced their boots.

“Do you even sleep?” Jungkook had asked, watching you with something like awe as he munched on toast with one hand and held his camera with the other. “After the apocalypse,” you’d joked without slowing down, already halfway through sorting a box of bloodied bandages and prop ID cards.

Around midmorning, it was time to head to the game zone.

The boys filmed their "arrival" separately, capturing the forest entrance and the handmade wooden signpost marked "ZONE 3 – MISSION: BLACKOUT" while Erik, now dressed in dusty cargo pants and boots, played the enthusiastic guide.

"Welcome to hell, gentlemen," Erik grinned in-character, flinging his arms wide. Jin burst out laughing immediately, and Yoongi muttered, “This already feels like a fever dream.” Meanwhile, you and your friends were spread across the clearing and bunker grounds, setting up props, panning out gear to the incoming LARPers, and checking walkie frequencies.

You pulled the boys aside just before the first players arrived.

“All right,” you said, already in your organizer vest and scarf. “Masks, caps, scarves—anything to obscure your faces. Just until everyone’s settled.”

“I feel like a secret agent,” Taehyung said as you handed him a half-face tactical mask.

“Good,” you smirked. “You’re not supposed to be famous here. You’re a dirty, starving survivor like the rest.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jin huffed dramatically. “I’m going to be the hottest starving man in the zone.”

“AH! And no selfies unless you’re dead,” you added with a teasing glance.

“That’s so specific,” Namjoon muttered.

“It’s been a problem before,” you grinned. “One guy literally tried to live-stream his own death scene. Kinda ruined the mood.” Still, they complied—caps tugged low, scarves around mouths, sunglasses here and there. They settled off to the side near a small outcrop of trees, watching the entry path as players trickled in.

Jungkook pulled his mask halfway over his face, watching you bounce from person to person, still radiating energy despite the chaos. Even beneath your scarf and with your walkie clipped to your belt, you looked in your element. Confident. Happy.

That’s when the first wave of survivors started to arrive.

Boots crunched gravel. Cars rolled in, gear piled high on roof racks. The first few survivors were new and wide-eyed, some shy, some filming themselves as they approached. But others came in loud, excited—familiar faces from past games. People spilled out in various levels of post-apocalyptic chic—some clearly new, blinking in wonder, others grinning with the casual swagger of veterans. Some even had also Go-Pros on them.

“Hey, look at them,” Jimin nudged Jungkook, nodding toward a group of heavily geared players striding in like Mad Max extras. “Wow,” Taehyung whispered. “Some of these people look like they live here.”

Then they saw you.

You were greeting people by name, hugging a few, clapping shoulders. One player—a tall, bearded man with a thick leather coat and a ridiculous foam axe strapped to his back—let out a joyful bellow.

“THERE SHE IS!” he boomed, arms already out. “My favorite corpse-wrangler!”

You turned just in time for him to lift you clean off the ground and spin you in a circle, your laughter ringing out across the lot. “Markus!” you wheezed, swatting at his shoulder as he set you down. “Warn me next time! My spine isn’t apocalypse-proof!”

“Missed you, boss,” he grinned. “Ready to get emotionally traumatized again?”

“Always.”

Jungkook’s jaw ticked. He was too slow to school his expression. Taehyung, still beside him, caught it instantly. “Ohhh?” Taehyung leaned closer with a smug grin. “What was that face, Jeon Jungkook?”

Before Jungkook could deny anything, another man approached you—this one younger, maybe late twenties, tall and lanky with buzzed hair dyed copper red. “Hey there, fluffball,” he grinned, eyes dragging down your body.

You gave him a polite smile but stepped slightly back, putting some space between you as you shook his hand instead of accepting the hug he clearly wanted. “Hi, Lukas.” He didn’t quite get the hint, his hand brushing along your back as if to pull you into a side hug, but you dipped forward just in time to greet someone else passing by.

“Excuse me! I’ve been looking for you!” you said loudly to a surprised but delighted player behind him. Lukas was left smiling awkwardly at your back. He was, one of the newer regulars, known for pushing boundaries and blaming it on “just being friendly.”

Jungkook had taken a step forward, body tense—but as you gracefully handled it, he forced himself to stop. Taehyung saw that too.

“...Someone’s jealous,” Tae sing-songed under his breath, elbowing Jungkook lightly in the ribs. “Looked like ‘mildly jealous caveman’ to me,” Jimin added, peeking over his mask. “Shut up,” Jungkook muttered. Taehyung grinned. “You want to go spin her around too? Or just go hug her? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind—”

Jungkook snorted. “Shut up.”

Jimin held up both hands, laughing. “You’re so obvious, man. You’ve been watching her like she’s the main quest.”

“She is the organizer,” Jungkook grumbled, though his eyes followed you again as you helped someone fix their shoulder rig. “Of course I’m watching her.”

“Sure,” Taehyung said. “It’s definitely about the logistics. Not about how you almost exploded when the Mad Max McThighs got touchy.” Jungkook tugged his scarf higher up his face to hide the small, helpless smile. He’d never seen you laugh like that. Not while working, not while briefing them. It was unguarded. Effortless.

And somehow, he wanted to see it again.

Even if the guy spinning you around was the size of a refrigerator.

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By noon, the grounds were buzzing. The last car had pulled up, and nearly 200 players were now scattered around the staging area. Some stood in loose, eager groups, already forming alliances. Others sat quietly with water bottles, eyes scanning every detail like it might matter later.

You, already hoarse from shouting, clapped your hands to gather attention. "NPCs to the barn! Survivors over here—yeah, red scarves, come to Erik. Zombies, you're with me. Group A briefing starts now, Group B you're next."

As you walked backward through the chaos, still calling instructions, Jungkook spotted your pink vest and your megaphone clipped to your belt. It amazed him how you moved through the mess with such control. Like a general of the end times.

The members had already received their own briefing—thankfully in Korean, which made it easier to absorb the detailed rules and storyline. BigHit’s crew, mostly keeping a low profile, helped secure GoPros and test audio. They would run after the members and try to get as much footage as possible.

“You ready?” Jungkook asked, testing the strap of his fake holster as he caught up to Taehyung. Taehyung tilted his foam machete like it was a guitar. “Born ready. I’m emotionally prepared to die in the first ten minutes.” Jin snorted. “Please. I’m planning to survive and retire with a fake garden and fake dog.”

“Can we have fake ramen?” Jungkook asked, smirking. “Or do we have to scavenge that too?” Then, like a starter pistol, the airhorn blasted. A long, echoing blare that shattered the warm afternoon.

Everywhere, people moved.

Screams. Laughter. Stomping boots. Half the crowd surged toward the tree line, another half bolted for the barn. Some fell immediately into character, yelling things like, “Split up! Head north!” or “They’re coming from the creek!”

Jungkook was startled to see how real it felt.

He hadn’t expected the panic—the thrill. Despite the fake weapons, the rubber knives, and the painted faces, when a mass of snarling “zombies” came barreling out of the woods, the instinct was to run.

Even he flinched before catching himself.

The zombies were good. Dirty, growling, twitchy. You were leading the pack from behind—he recognized your pink vest, your voice barking direction to the others in character, but you were already gone again into the trees.

Only those with long-range weapons made a stand—firing their limited fake ammo with purpose, trying to buy time for others to flee. In the chaos they had already lost some of the members. Jin clutched a piece of bent cardboard like a broken riot shield. “Okay, okay, fallback, regroup, hide—what are we doing?”

“Hide,” Jungkook said immediately. “Barricade if we can.”

“Find ramen,” Taehyung added.

“You’re obsessed,” Jin said.

“I’m hungry, Hyung.”

Behind them, Erik—wearing a bright pink vest that read “MODERATOR”—raised two arms and made a dramatic “breaking” motion.

“That’s the signal!” Jungkook yelled. “Barricade’s compromised!” Players screamed, laughing as they fled in a dozen directions. Taehyung grabbed Jin’s arm and bolted toward a row of abandoned sheds, while Jungkook pushed the crew member following them behind a thick wooden post before diving for cover himself.

“Okay, now what?” Jin gasped, crouched behind a fallen sign. “We regroup,” Jungkook said, catching his breath. “Try to find Yoongi or Namjoon.”

“Or her,” Taehyung added, eyes twinkling even beneath his mask.

Jungkook pretended not to hear it. Still, his thoughts drifted back to you—your voice, you disappearing into the woods, your laughter from earlier. He hoped you were okay out there in the madness you’d helped create.

Though, something told him you were probably more than fine.

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ

The first day had been equal parts chaos and clever hiding. It was kind of a miracle that he, Jin, and Taehyung had stayed out of the early chaos—ducking behind barns, creeping through drainage ditches, hiding under an overturned canoe at one point while a group of howling zombies passed within arm’s reach. Some groups had immediately gone feral, fighting over water jugs or arguing about whose map was correct. Others just wandered, yelling for allies or screaming when someone leapt out of the bushes as a fake infected.

Jin’s idea had been simple: “Stick together, don’t get bitten, and avoid anything that sounds like foley work.”

Jungkook agreed. They didn’t run. They didn’t shout. They watched. Stuck to the edges. By the time the sun began to dip past the tree line, casting a soft violet glow over the LARP zone, they had only minor dirt smears and one near-miss.

“I never thought crawling through actual dirt would be part of this,” Jin muttered, wiping leaves from his face. Taehyung laughed, breathless. “We were born for this. We’re survivors, Hyung.” Jungkook had just grinned, heart thudding, feeling more alive than he had in weeks.

By the time the sun dipped below the tree line and the shadows turned long and gold, they were dirty, tired, and hungry—but they found them.

“Jimin-ah!” Taehyung called in a stage whisper. Jimin—who had been rifling through an overturned toolbox with Namjoon and two strangers—turned, eyes wide, then relaxed into a smile. “Hyung! You’re alive!”

“Holy crap,” Namjoon said with a breathless laugh. “You made it.” The reunion was short but sweet. The group Jimin and Namjoon had fallen in with—mostly guys in tattered cosplay and thrift-store camo—were initially suspicious of the newcomers.

Several of them were already carrying canvas satchels and worn-looking packs, with scavenged “rations” (pre-placed supplies from the orga) tied at their hips. A few were skeptical at first.

“Who the hell are the new guys?” a tall man with a buzzcut muttered.

“We’re clean,” Jin said with a flash of his ‘actor smile.’ “Untouched. Pure. Like rice at a wedding.”

“I hate that metaphor,” Taehyung whispered.

It took some convincing. Namjoon vouched for them—half in character, half with real charisma—and eventually, the group let them stay. The trek back to the safe zone was cautious, deliberate. No one shouted. No one ran. Even the leaves beneath their feet seemed to hush under the weight of tension.

Their new “base camp” turned out to be a miracle of DIY survivalist craft. And Jungkook was impressed. There were rotating shifts for keeping watch and a pile of ration cards being counted for their next food run. Spotlight had been placed and where working, casting bright cones of light around the camp's edge. A whiteboard on the wall labeled who was “on shift,” “scouting,” or “MIA.”

It felt like a real camp.

“Who built all this in six hours?” Jin asked, amazed as he folded onto an upturned crate near a lantern. “Apparently some of the veteran players just… knew what to do,” Jimin said, unwrapping a protein bar. “It was like instinct kicked in. With the things the Orga carried around yesterday.”

“I watched a guy build a water collection system from trash bags and a mop,” Namjoon added, shaking his head. “People are scary smart under pressure.”

“He wants to drink from it?” Jungkook looked shocked. But Namjoon shook his head, “Said the Orga would bring water if he builds it.”

“It’s crazy, So much for realism.” Taehyung muttered back.

Jungkook sat near the barricade, fake rifle laid across his lap. He chewed a bite of cold ration bread and scanned the tree line, still charged with energy. They were just starting to relax—just starting to settle for the night—when the first growl came from the tree line.

It was subtle at first. A rustle of leaves. Then a shuffling footstep. Then a hiss.

Just two at first—figures staggering toward the barricade in the fading light, their shadows stretching long over the grass. The nearest watchman gave the alarm, and others scrambled into place. Flashlights switched on with shaky hands. Someone dropped a rubber axe.

“They’re coming!” a survivor called.

But the barricade held. More zombies emerged from the trees, groaning and clawing. Foam weapons swung, shouts echoed. One particularly committed zombie hurled himself at the gate with a blood-curdling screech that made even Jin yelp behind Jungkook.

“They’re good,” Jungkook muttered, eyes wide. “Too good,” Jimin whispered beside him, holding a battered flashlight like it might actually do something. Taehyung was grinning ear to ear. “I want to die dramatically. Let me jump from the roof.”

“No,” Jin said. “You’ll twist your ankle.”

“Then carry my corpse and avenge me.” Jungkook was laughing quietly, heart thudding.

Then—

From the woods. A flicker of movement. A splash of pink just barely visible beyond the tree line. His breath caught. There. A pink vest. It was you. Even in the low light, he knew. The confident way you moved, one hand raised in signal, clipboard tucked under your arm like a weapon. You watched the chaos unfold with a hand on your hip, head tilted.

Jungkook’s pulse jumped. He nudged Taehyung, whispering, “It’s her.”

“Huh?”

He pointed. “Pink vest.” Taehyung squinted, then smirked. “Your little crush?”

“Shut up.” But he couldn’t help the grin pulling at his lips. You were behind this. Orchestrating this wild, thrilling, immersive madness. He remembered what you’d said the night before: I run the NSC side of the event. I make sure survivors get very little sleep.

“What are you planning now?” he murmured to himself, eyes locked on your figure as you turned and melted into the woods again.

Whatever it was—you’d already hooked him.

And he had a feeling things were just getting started.

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The air had stilled for a moment. No more groans from the woods. No rustling leaves. The tension that had coiled tight for the last hour had begun to loosen. Jungkook leaned back against the cabin’s wooden siding, rifle balanced across his knees. “Maybe they’ve gone to harass another group,” Jin whispered to Jimin, who was starting to doze upright.

Namjoon was jotting something down on a paper map in the corner while Taehyung peered through a crack in the barricade with childlike fascination. Jin had found a reasonably clean blanket and was curled up with it like an idol with his stage towel.

Then—

Jungkook saw you again. His eyes caught movement near the tree line, just beyond the rough gravel road leading to the cabin. You stepped into view like some trick of the moonlight—vest still on, hoodie zipped to your chin, your silhouette unmistakable even in the dark.

He sat up straighter. No zombies around. Just you. Watching. His heart thudded in a mix of nerves and anticipation. Were you just checking in on them? Taking notes? Or—

Then your hand lifted. Tapped the button on your walkie. And you smiled. Right at him.

He couldn’t hear your voice, but your lips moved. He was sure you said, “Good luck… Now.”

A second later, the lights went out. With an audible click, the generator died. The spotlights illuminating the barricades flickered, then vanished. Instant pitch black—except for the sliver of moonlight painting the gravel and one flickering lantern down the street.

Jungkook’s stomach dropped.

“Shit,” he muttered, not even realizing he’d said it in English. “What?” Jimin hissed beside him, now fully awake. “I saw her. Just now. She was smiling. That was not a friendly smile. Taehyung perked up. “A plot twist?” Jin groaned from under his blanket. “I hate plot twists.”

Then—

The moans began. Soft at first. Far off. But they built, swelling like a tide. Multiple voices. Low, rasping. Fast. Namjoon was already grabbing his weapon. “Positions!” People scrambled. Someone dropped their flashlight. Someone else screamed as a “guard” tripped over his own feet trying to get back into place.

Then Jungkook saw it. A flicker. A bounce of light. Something small fell a few feet before him on the ground, rolling toward him—right up to the edge of the barricade.

“What the—?”

PFFFFFTT—

A cloud of smoke exploded outward, thick and grey. “Oh come on—a smoke grenade?!” Jungkook backing up.

“Smoke!” a woman with a crossbow screamed, not missing a beat. “They use those for haunted houses. Totally safe.”

“Terrifying,” Jin muttered, waving a hand in front of his face. “I smell artificial doom.” The fog rolled over the makeshift barricade and down the path, mixing with the moonlight and giving the street a cinematic glow—soft yet eerie. Every silhouette looked ten times taller, their edges distorted by smoke and shifting shadows.

Then came the moans.

So many.

Zombies surged from the smoke like nightmares. They were louder now. Hungrier. Faster. Their makeup looked worse in the dark—more grotesque, more desperate. Foam weapons still in their hands, but they snarled and lunged and shrieked with a commitment that made Jungkook’s blood run cold.

“THEY LOOK POSSESSED,” Jin yelped as a pair slammed against the wooden fence.

“Shit,” someone whispered from the rear. “They’re using the smoke to cover a flank.” Jungkook grinned, adrenaline kicking in again. You were really going for it tonight. One “undead” scrambled over the barricade, wild-eyed, reaching for Jimin. Jimin screamed—then clocked the guy in the shoulder with a rubber hammer.

Taehyung had tears in his eyes—from laughing. “This is the best night of my life.” Jungkook couldn’t help it—he was terrified and thrilled. He felt like a kid again. A very armed kid with a fake rifle and a vendetta.

And then—figures appeared in the fog. Dozens. Some slow, arms dragging. Others twitching unnaturally, heads jerking with every step. Even though he knew it was fake, Jungkook's heart pounded. The lighting, the fog, the groans, the chaos—it was better than any horror game. You’d turned the entire woods into a living set.

He braced his foam knife tighter in one hand and his fake gun in the other. Beside him, a guy in a battered leather jacket grinned. “Whoever planned this is evil.” Jungkook beamed, eyes locked on the misty tree line. “Yeah,” he said under his breath, spotting a flash of pink from your vest in the shadows. “She really is.”

"Positions! Now!" someone barked—not one of Jungkook’s friends, but a woman near the barricade. She had a blue streak in her hair and a crossbow slung over her back. "Close-ranged to the front! Spotters up top!"

Players sprang into action. This wasn’t just cosplay—it was commitment. Everyone threw themselves into the game like it was real. A guy wearing a dirtied duster coat and fake blood smeared across his cheek grabbed an axe and stood shoulder to shoulder with Jungkook.

“You new?” the guy asked, breath fogging. “You three look fresh.”

Jungkook grinned, ducking as a zombie thumped against the boards. “First time.”

“Hell of a night to start. If we make it out, I’ll show you where we hide the real snacks. Not the ration boxes. The actual chocolate.”

Jungkook laughed. “Deal.”

Meanwhile, Jin had cornered himself behind a crate. “Does this look like a hero arc to you?” he snapped at a random player crawling beside him with a prop spear. “I am a bard. I sing. I complain. I don’t get eaten!”

“I don’t understand shit! You’re literally holding a hammer,” the other player said, crawling past him. “You’re doing great.” Taehyung, meanwhile, had somehow ended up in a roleplay conversation mid-battle with a grizzled survivor in a torn biker jacket and a toy pistol. “My name’s Snake,” the man said seriously. “I used to run with a group out east before the swarms came.”

Taehyung blinked. “Out east, like… Seoul?” The guy didn’t break character. “Used to be called that. Now it’s a graveyard.” Taehyung whispered to Jin, “This guy’s living his dream.”

“Yeah, and we’re living his fan fiction,” Jin muttered. The barricade groaned again—another wave.

Jimin dove forward with a group of other survivors to reinforce a gap, slamming a foam board across it just in time to hold back a zombie clawing through. Someone shouted, “We need more cover left side!” and Namjoon ran to help, organizing people like he was born to be a post-apocalyptic general.

One of the players, an older man with a scar drawn across his cheek and a “Medic” patch sewn on his jacket, muttered, “Something’s wrong.” Jungkook edged closer to the front again.

And then he saw it—you, darting across the tree line just long enough to be spotted. Just long enough for him to catch the wicked grin on your face. You disappeared into the trees again like a shadow, headset still pressed to your ear.

“She's still here,” Jungkook whispered, oddly proud. “Of course she is,” the chocolate-smuggling player muttered beside him. “We call her secretly the Puppetmaster. She only smiles like that when something real bad is about to happen.”

And then it did.

A guttural howl tore through the woods—different from the earlier zombie moans. Everyone froze. “What the hell was that?” Jin asked, eyes wide. “Boss zombie?” Jimin guessed, not sounding confident. Namjoon slowly rose from behind his makeshift command table. “Or worse.”

The front barricade shook again—but not from a horde. From something heavier. Then smoke again—this time from behind. Jungkook spun. “Back entrance!”

Several players rushed to the rear barricade as you unleashed the next chaos round. Amid the smoke, a dozen zombies swarmed from the woods—some moving faster than before. Their groans were louder, their makeup more grotesque, their eyes glowing faintly from the LEDs embedded in their masks.

You had leveled up.

“GUYS—THIS IS SO COOL,” Taehyung screamed as he dodged behind a barrel. Jin smacked a zombie's arm with his foam hammer, panic written across his face. “THIS IS A FORMAL COMPLAINT!” The players were laughing, yelling, swearing, acting—and Jungkook loved every second. The adrenaline, the immersion, the fact that you were the mastermind behind it all.

Then he caught a flash of pink again.

Your vest. You were darting through the shadows behind the zombies—counting, correcting, watching them as they attacked. Fully in control. He couldn’t help but grin. Then, your voice cut through the night commanding: “GAME STOP!”

The word was like a spell. Every player froze, weapons half-raised, breaths held in the chill dawn air. Only the few you signaled with a hand gesture moved, carefully shifting the faux-barricade aside to make the scene safe again. Jungkook blinked, heart still thudding. Even though he knew it was a game, the adrenaline refused to fade.

And then—there you were.

Stepping lightly over the uneven ground, in that same pink vest, headset snug against your cheek, clipboard in hand. You made your rounds like a stage manager inspecting the set after a complicated scene—checking faces, weapons, broken props.

When you passed Jungkook’s side of the barricade, you didn’t say anything. Just gave him a sly wink. He didn’t even try to hide his grin. Then, turning to face the cabin, you lifted your voice: “Ready?”

A few tired nods. Some thumbs up. You waited one extra beat… and then stepped aside with a flourish of your hand. “Continue.” The world shifted again—players jolting into motion as if time had resumed. As zombies now flooded the cabin.

He raised his fake gun, nodded to his new squad of random survivors, and shouted: “Let’s defend this place!” Someone cheered back, “For the chocolate stash!” “FOR SEOUL!” Snake added dramatically.

Jungkook aimed and fired a foam dart into the chest of a rushing zombie, adrenaline coursing through him like fire. He was in your world now.

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The attack had ended.

The aftermath was quiet, eerie. Six players had “died” during the horde, and one had been “bitten.” Jungkook watched as the bitten man and his friend played out a painfully convincing scene by the fire—whispers, pleading, an emotional goodbye, then a single dramatic “stab” to the chest with a foam knife. The bitten man fell back into the shadows, now part of the undead ranks.

Jungkook was impressed. He hadn’t expected people to feel this much playing pretend.

After that, the next few hours passed in relative quiet.

They re-secured the barricade—Jin helping hammer prop-boards into place while Jimin argued over who should take the next watch. Namjoon and Taehyung went through “scavenged” supplies, checking LARP rations, carefully labeled in duct-taped bags. The fake walkie-talkie system still worked, and the illusion of apocalypse held steady.

As the deep purple of night slowly melted into that strange, pale blue of early morning, Jungkook sat against the side of the shed, rubbing at his neck and breathing in the cold.

“I thought we were dead for sure,” Jin murmured next to him, legs stretched out. “I almost cried,” Jimin said dramatically, flopping down onto a sleeping mat. “I thought Tae got bitten.” Taehyung scoffed. “I was performing, thank you. Some of us have range.”

Namjoon sipped from a thermos of something that was definitely just instant coffee, but in this world felt like a potion of life. “Honestly, I’m surprised we made it through the night. That will give amazing footage.” Jungkook didn’t say anything at first.

He was looking past them—toward the tree line again, where the smoke had cleared and the trees looked just like trees again. He had seen you there, in the middle of it all. Smiling. Running the show. Creating chaos and keeping them all safe inside it.

And he’d felt… exhilarated. Not just because he’d survived. But because you’d made it feel real.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured without thinking. The others glanced at him. “Huh?” Jimin blinked. “Who’s amazing?” Jin teased, raising an eyebrow. “No one,” Jungkook said too quickly, but his ears were already red. Taehyung didn’t say a word, just smirked, bumping Jungkook’s knee with his own.

Jungkook looked up again, just as you appeared around the corner, talking into your headset with that same intense focus—head tilted, brows furrowed, clipboard under one arm.

Still working. Still organizing. Still making this world turn.

And somehow, even after staying up all night surviving fake zombies and crawling through fake smoke, Jungkook had never been more awake.

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ

You jogged across the field, half-laced boots kicking up dust in the early light. You had just gotten word from your comms team: one of the BTS members had officially “died” in-game.

Time to pick up the body.

The makeshift makeup atelier was full with people that wanted to turn into zombies, turn from reality into the ruined world your team had crafted. You expected someone tired, maybe a little dramatic. You did not expect Yoongi lying on a fold-out chair like a lazy vampire, arms crossed and hoodie pulled halfway over his head.

“Yo,” you greeted, brushing back your windswept hair. “Dead, or just felt like napping?” Yoongi cracked one eye open and gave you a smirk. “Bit of both. I figured I’m way better at being creepy than surviving.” You laughed. “Honestly, valid. Want a break first or should I track down the others for you?”

Yoongi sat up, hoodie slipping from his head. His eyes glittered, mischievous and strangely at peace with his new undead status. “Food. Nap. Then undead chaos.”

“Respect,” you said with a grin. “Come on. I’ll walk you to the kitchen. You good with whatever they’ve got, or should I threaten someone to find you a real croissant?”

Yoongi rolled his eyes but followed. “If there’s a real croissant, you’re legally required to bring it to me.” You held your hand over your heart. “Scout’s honor.”

The kitchen was one of the few non-immersive zones—filled with thermoses, cereal, toast, and bleary-eyed crew. You led Yoongi in, checked he had everything he needed (which, as expected, was basically a piece of toast, tea and a quiet seat), and leaned on the table.

“If you wanna hop back in after your nap,” you said, “just head to makeup. They’ll get you zombified. Walk-ins welcome.” Yoongi gave a lazy salute. “Enjoy the chaos.”

You smirked. “Oh, I will.”

As you stepped back outside, you pulled your vest off, checked your headset, and tapped your radio.

“Sparkles goes in to play,” you told everybody in the Orga channel.

The wind stirred your hair as you walked up the stairs to get into your survivor outfit. Somewhere out there, survivors were scavenging. Somewhere in the trees, barricades were being reinforced, stories played out.

And maybe—just maybe—Jungkook would spot you again.

You couldn’t help smiling at the thought.

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ

You had changed.

Gone was the confident, sharp-eyed game runner in a bright vest and headset. In her place, standing at the back entrance of the ruined asylum terrain, was a frail young woman—dirty, disheveled, a little wild in the eyes. Your cheeks were flushed as if you’d cried, and your hair was messily pulled back like it hadn’t been washed in days. You wore a torn oversized knit sweater that hung off one shoulder, stained and torn, and your jeans were fraying at the hems like you’d worn them through hell. A ratty scarf was wrapped around your wrist, and your hair was a tangled mess like you hadn’t had a brush or mirror in days. But it was the lifeless plastic baby doll swaddled in a stained cloth to your chest like it was your entire world that completed the look.

You looked haunted.

You were embodying the character you'd warned the staff about weeks before—the “young mother,” a deeply unhinged, petty chaos agent with one goal: survival. At everyone else’s expense.

The back entrance of the asylum was quiet now, but as you predicted, players had already started establishing a trade hub there. Makeshift tables held bartered goods—scraps of old food props, dummy ammunition, lighters, glowsticks, water bottles, a few hand-written “currency” notes. Some players stood guard, clearly skeptical of strangers, while others played smooth-talking scavengers or suspicious loners.

You blended in perfectly.

Your current mark was a man with a fake shotgun and far too much fake canned food to his name. You rocked the doll in your arms, sniffled, and gestured toward the woods as you explained in slow, stilted English that you were looking for your brother.

“I’m just… looking for my brother,” you said softly in a broken, unsure tone, gently rocking the baby doll in your arms. “He… he wanted to look for food…but… I think something happened…”

A weathered-looking survivor with a fake scar across his jaw nodded slowly. “You armed?”

You looked at him, eyes wide. “No. I—I’m not stupid, I had a knife, but I traded it. For formula.” You shook the baby slightly. “She… she was screaming. And people were starting to look. Please… he said he’d meet me here, if something happens. Please, I don’t want anything. I just… I don’t want to be alone.”

Your eyes glittered with wetness. The man softened, the way players do when they think they’re being heroes. “Stay close, alright? If you need anything—”

Jungkook, Taehyung, Snake (still inexplicably calling himself that), and Molly—crossbow-slinger extraordinaire—were making their way through the asylum’s crumbling courtyard. A day and a half in, they looked the part now: mud on their clothes, sweat-dampened shirts, fake bandages here and there. They had clearly made it through a night and a morning of scavenging, and judging by the pack Taehyung carried, they were doing well.

That’s when Taehyung spotted you from a distance.

He nudged Jungkook and hissed under his breath, “No way. Is that Y/N?”

Jungkook’s eyes locked on you—and froze. “She’s… acting, right?” Jungkook asked, but he was already moving toward you.

Gone was the confident, sharp-eyed you that Jungkook had seen commanding a smoke grenade like it was part of your DNA. Gone was the grinning puppet master who had thrown him and his friends into a zombie nightmare for the sheer love of chaos. Instead—standing under the gray, early-morning sky—you looked like someone lost.

You stood at the trading post near the old asylum ruins, speaking softly to a weathered player with fake dirt on his face and a rusted toy gun slung over his back. Your voice was shaking. So were your hands.

“Y/N?” he said uncertainly, a flicker of hope in his voice. You didn’t react. Of course not. That wasn’t your name right now.

So he tried again, stepping closer, more hesitant. “Hey… are you okay?”

Taehyung beat him to it, his Korean accent thick but clear. “Miss? Is everything okay?”

You turned toward them slowly. Your lip trembled. And the look you gave them… it was so raw it knocked the wind out of Jungkook’s chest. You looked at all of them like you didn’t know whether to run or cry. You glanced from Taehyung to Jungkook to the two strangers flanking them. You held the baby tighter to your chest. Your lip wobbling, and your voice came out small.

“I’m just… looking for my brother,” you said. “We—we said we’d meet here. I lost my knife. I traded it for formula. For her. Please, I don’t want anything. I just—I need help.”

You clutched the baby doll tighter and gave a little, heartbreaking smile. And Jungkook’s heart squeezed in a way that shocked him. He should know better. He did know better. This was a game. You were in character. You were one of the organizers. Hell, he’d seen you cut the power and signal a horde like a general commanding troops just last night. But right now…

Right now, all he could see was you looking scared, tired, alone—and goddammit, holding a baby. Even if it was a fake one. You looked down at the baby doll, brushing your thumb over its plastic cheek. “She’s been so quiet, but I think she’s hungry. I… I don’t know where else to go.”

Jungkook couldn’t breathe.

Your vulnerability wasn’t just convincing—it felt real. Too real. He knew it was stupid. He knew this was part of the game. But still, something primal and protective swelled in his chest. He wanted to shield you. Even from pretend danger. Even if you were one of the people causing it.

You looked up at them again with a shiver. “You’re not with the men from the train, right? They had—masks. And one had this axe…”

Molly gave a soft, reassuring nod. “We’re not with the train people. You can come with us, okay?” You nodded, eyes wide. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Snake muttered under his breath, “If that baby starts crying tonight, I swear—”

“I’ll keep her quiet,” you said quickly, gripping the doll tighter. “She knows not to cry anymore.” Jungkook couldn’t take his eyes off you. His brain kept screaming it’s fake, it’s fake, it’s fake—but his heart wasn’t listening.

As the group turned and began to walk back toward their temporary outpost, you fell in step beside them, eyes alert but downcast. Jungkook moved quietly beside you, matching your pace. You didn’t look up, but you let your arm brush against his as if by accident. He glanced sideways—and for the briefest moment, your expression cracked just enough for him to see the smallest flicker of a smirk.

You knew. You knew exactly what you were doing. And god, it was working. Jungkook ran a hand through his hair and sighed through his nose, exasperated with himself.

He was so. fucking. doomed.

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It was crazy. Absolutely insane.

From the second Jungkook’s group took you in, everything changed. One of the trade vendors, a grizzled guy with a sheriff badge duct-taped to his chest, handed them two extra magazines of Nerf ammo “for the baby.” Another gave a can of pineapple, whispering with serious urgency, “Good for nursing moms.”

You nodded, clutching the doll like your life depended on it, eyes watery with gratitude. You didn’t overplay it. You didn’t need to. Back at their camp—a semicircle of barricades and scavenged supplies around the shed—chaos broke loose. You walked in and people lost their minds.

“She’s got a baby?” “She has a baby!” “Is she alone?” “Where’s the father?” “Was she pregnant during the outbreak?!”

People took it way to serious. But Jungkook kind of understood. The men swore to protect you. Loudly. With solemn nods and fist-to-chest pledges. Even the quieter ones suddenly sharpened their focus, ready to fend off zombie hordes at the sound of a rattle.

The women? They were instantly circling. One gently tugged your sleeve and whispered, “You should sleep, hon. Let someone else take care of the little one for a bit.” Another offered to heat water and try to sterilize a bottle. A third handed over a slightly-clean blanket, saying it would be softer for the baby.

Molly, tough-as-nails Molly with her battered crossbow and flinty eyes, was the most surprising of all. She stepped up, arms crossed. “You need to eat. Properly. Sit.” You blinked, nodding slowly. “Okay. Thank you.”

Molly took the baby doll from your arms like it was made of glass. Then—dead serious—she growled at it. “Don’t give me that face. Your mom’s busy.” You couldn’t help but laugh, eyes crinkling with warmth. When you returned from the warm food someone shoved into your hands, Molly handed the baby back with a straight face. “Grumpy little thing. Missed you.”

“Thank you,” you said, genuinely touched, your hands brushing hers as you took the baby back. “You’re… really kind.”

Taehyung, crouched by a rusted fire barrel with Jungkook, Jimin, and Namjoon, leaned in and hissed low under his breath, “Don’t let her distract you. She’s got villain energy written all over her right now.” Jimin snorted. “Bro, she’s holding a doll and crying.”

“That’s exactly why,” Taehyung said seriously. “That’s exactly how they get you.” Namjoon didn’t speak. He just looked across the camp, watching you sit under the tarp, huddled with the baby like a storm-wrecked statue.

Jungkook… didn’t speak either. He just looked at you.

Watched the way you curled your body around the doll, like you were shielding it from the cold. The tiny smile you gave to the woman who offered to stitch the tear in your sweater. The way your eyes scanned each person like you were searching for something real. Your brother. Maybe hope. Maybe a way out.

He knew you were acting. He knew you were playing a role.

But the tenderness of it—the truth underneath it—cut into him.

You were building something. A narrative. A presence. A story that folded into theirs, made their world feel larger, more real. You asked softly, eyes tired but kind, “Has anyone here seen my brother? He’s about this tall…” You held your hand a bit above your head, eyes sweeping over their faces. Everyone shook their head with murmurs of apology. No one had seen him. You gave a small nod, looking down at the baby. “Okay. Maybe he’s further south.”

And then, reluctantly, after they insisted—you let them lead you to a cot inside the shed, where two women covered you in blankets and one brushed your hair softly from your forehead. “Sleep,” she whispered. “We’ll keep watch.”

And you did.

He didn’t know why it hit him so hard. Maybe because you trusted them, even just in-character. Trusted them enough to sleep.

Jungkook stood nearby, cross-legged on an overturned crate, his gun across his lap. He kept his eyes on the tree line. But every few minutes, he turned and looked toward you.

Just to be sure you were okay.

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You woke slowly, groggy but warm. For a moment, the peaceful hum of camp lulled you—muted conversations, the scrape of someone sharpening a weapon, distant birdsong. And then your hand slid over the blanket beside you. Nothing.

The baby doll was gone.

Your eyes snapped open. You sat up fast, breath catching, scanning around wildly until you spotted one of the women from earlier—Annette, the redhead with the braid—standing by the fire barrel. Holding the baby. You stormed over. And went into character.

“Give me back my child!”

Every head turned. The group froze. Annette startled, backing up a step. “I was just—he was cold! You were asleep—!”

“You took him without asking! Without telling me!” You were full of fake hysteria now, body trembling, eyes shining with fresh tears as you stomped toward her. “You were passed out!” she snapped back, holding the doll protectively. “You’re lucky you have people to help you. Don’t act like a saint—you’ve got a whole family around you now!”

“Don’t you dare guilt me for caring about my own child!” you screamed, and the camp exploded into noise.

Women yelled. Men hovered uncertainly, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Namjoon staring wide-eyed as you and Annette tore into each other like wild animals in rags and apocalypse grime. Jimin held his hands up like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

Molly shoved through the circle. “Alright! Enough!” She snatched the baby out of Annette’s arms, cradled it to her chest, and stalked back toward your bed. “I’m putting him down where he belongs.” But the damage was done.

From the woods, groans began—deep, feral, unmistakable.

“Zombies!” someone shouted.

And then you and Annette were surrounded by indecision. The men hesitated—do they break up the fight? Do they protect you? Annette was still fuming. “You can’t even handle being a mother!” You looked around wildly—then saw the zombies moving closer. Ten? Maybe more.

You didn’t flinch.

“You don’t deserve him!” Annette screamed. And with a dramatic sob, you shoved her hard—right toward the oncoming horde. You stumbled back just in time not to end as Annette. As Annette let out a perfectly-timed scream as she stumbled backward into their arms. The zombie players descended in full choreographed carnage—screeching, arms grabbing, paint splattering.

“NOOOO!” she wailed, perfectly, theatrically, just as she was “bitten” and dragged to the ground. Her hand reached out… and dropped.

Game over.

The whole camp went dead silent. Jungkook’s heart was hammering. He saw it all—your heaving shoulders, your wide tearful eyes, your trembling hands. As some of the guards went to deal with the zombies now coming your way. You had just killed someone.

Sort of.

Molly returned, baby doll back in your arms. “She touched your kid. That’s on her.” Another woman nodded sharply. “No one takes a child from its mother.”

Taehyung whispered, “She’s terrifying.” Namjoon exhaled like he’d forgotten how to breathe. Jimin blinked. “Did she just—?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook whispered. “She did.” But it wasn’t condemnation in his voice. It was awe.

You pulled the baby closer to your chest as the zombie players—groaning, covered in fake blood and smugness—left toward the next part of the map. You wiped your eyes and turned toward the fire, shaking.

And the group? They closed in around you, no questions asked. Annette’s name was crossed off the board.

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Jungkook approached slowly, hands in the pockets of his tattered apocalypse jacket, still glancing at the baby doll cradled in your arms as if it might blink.

“You know…” he said, voice low and a little awkward, “the kid has the same sparkle… in his eyes as you.” You froze. Your head snapped up immediately. Your gaze flicked to Jungkook. You gave him a small, quiet nod of understanding. “Thanks,” you said, softly. Then, to Molly, “Could you watch him for a second? I need… I need a breath.”

Molly, rocking the fake baby as if it were the most precious thing in the world, smiled. “Of course. He’s an angel when he naps.” Before you could turn, she added, “Take Jungkook with you. He looks like he needs it too.”

You looked at him grinning, one brow raised. He looked… startled. But he nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

The trees offered some quiet from the chaos behind you. For a while, you just listened to the wind threading through the branches and the crunch of your boots on dry leaves. It was strange how easily the game dissolved out here. No screams. No laughter. Just you and him. Then you stopped and looked at him with the same gentle concern you’d shown to the doll not five minutes ago.

Jungkook stared at you, confused. For a moment—just a second—he wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

“I… I think I used the wrong phrase,” he admitted. “The sparkle thing—I thought that’s how people got out of the game? Like… a code?” You looked at him, something melting in your expression. “It is a code,” you said softly. “You used it perfectly.” He blinked. “Then… why do I feel so messed up?”

You inhaled slowly and reached up to remove the scarf around your head, your shoulders relaxing as you let the mask of your character slide off. “I’m going to talk to you now as me,” you said. “Not the mother. Not the Game Master. Just… Y/N.”

Jungkook nodded and saw your entire demeanor change. You were instantly more open—more you.

“Are you okay?” you asked gently.

“I don’t know why it hit me so hard,” he admitted eventually. “I knew it wasn’t real. You were holding a doll. I saw it. But something about it—your voice, the way you shook, how scared you looked…” He laughed bitterly. “I thought, if something happens to her, I won’t be able to fix it.” You watched him with quiet patience.

“You know,” you said, “a lot of people come into these games thinking they’ll be cool and strategic. Like it’s chess with costumes. And then they see someone crying over soup, or hear a scream at night—and suddenly their brain forgets it’s a simulation.”

Jungkook gave a tired nod. “Yeah. That happened about three hours in.”

“Of course it did,” you smiled. “You’re human. Your empathy isn’t fake.” He looked at you. This time, really looked. “You were so good,” he said. “I thought—” His voice broke off like it betrayed something too personal.

You didn’t press. You gave him space.

“I’ve been doing this a while,” you said. “I’ve seen heroes break down because someone pretended to die in their arms. Seen friends scream at each other over fake betrayals. Emotions can be real even if the context isn’t.”

He laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “So you mean I’m not crazy?”

“Not even a little,” you said, stepping closer. “But I will say this—” He met your eyes again, waiting. “If you do ever get too close to a character—too emotionally tied—step out. Use the sparkle phrase. And don’t be ashamed of needing a breather. It’s not weak.”

Jungkook exhaled, long and slow. “You’re really good at this.” Your lips twitched into a grin. “That was my evil plan.” He laughed—genuine, breathy, warm. “Well, it’s working. You’ve got, like, twelve people ready to die for you back there.”

“I know,” you said, brushing a leaf off your sleeve. “I love watching human psychology unfold in these settings. Throw in a helpless baby and a crying woman, and boom—pack instinct. Protector mode activated.” Jungkook chuckled again. “You’re dangerous.”

“I try.”

You walked a little further, the air calmer now, your heart beating less like you were in a game and more like you were just… here. With him. “Do you feel better now?” you asked, tilting your head. He exhaled, but it didn’t quite reach the bottom of his lungs. “Yeah,” he said. “I think I do.”

But you could see it—how his body still carried it. The weight. The leftover adrenaline. The strange, instinctual need to protect something that was never real. You hesitated for only a breath, then took a small step closer.

“Can I offer you something?” you asked. Jungkook blinked. “Uh… what?”

“A hug.” His eyes widened, and he laughed—not at you, but because he hadn’t expected that. “A hug?”

“Sometimes it helps,” you said with a gentle smile. “Just—Something human. Especially after hours of zombies, crying, and everyone screaming about rations.” He paused. You could see him considering it. Then, with an almost sheepish smile, he said, “Yeah… okay.”

You stepped forward, arms open but soft, giving him room to change his mind. He didn’t. Instead, Jungkook folded into the hug like he hadn’t realized how much he needed it until it was happening. How it made him realize you were safe. His arms wrapped around you, firm but hesitant at first. Then, when you didn’t pull away, he held tighter.

And for a moment, there was nothing but the two of you in that quiet patch of woods—no fake apocalypse, no baby dolls, no cameras. Just his heartbeat against your chest. Just your breath near his ear. “You smell… nice,” he mumbled, half-laughing, and you felt his smile against your shoulder. You grinned too. “Thanks. Its called a shower.”

He pulled back laughing, just enough to look at you. His eyes were clearer now—less dazed, less confused. Grounded. You gave him a look like, See?

“Thank you,” he said, quietly. And he meant it. You nodded. “You’re welcome.” You started turning back toward camp, but paused, reaching out and placing your hand lightly on his forearm. “One last thing,” you said quietly. He looked at you, attentive. “When the time comes,” you said, voice more serious now, “don’t try to save me.” Jungkook frowned. “What?”

“I’m supposed to die,” you explained. With how serious he took this you didn’t want to traumatize him. “It’s planned. For story, tension, payoff—all of it. So when it happens… let it happen. Don’t let your character die for me.” He looked at you for a long moment, lips pressed tight. He didn’t like it. Not even a little.

But eventually, he gave a small nod. “Okay. I’ll try.” You smiled at him. “That’s all I ask.”

And the two of you walked back to camp—quietly, but closer. Something between you had shifted. And the end of the world kept spinning.

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Back at camp, the mood was lighter for a while. People were laughing over old canned soup, swapping stories about their fake injuries, showing off smudged zombie makeup like war medals. Jungkook sat beside the fire pit with Taehyung and Jimin, poking at the embers with a stick as the sun dipped lower behind the trees.

“I talked with Y/N earlier,” he said, voice quieter than before. Jimin raised a brow. “The mother?”

“She broke character. For me,” Jungkook added. Taehyung leaned forward, grinning. “That’s unexpected. You okay?”

“I think so,” Jungkook said, then smiled a little to himself. “It just felt… too real. Like I couldn’t separate her from the game. I looked at her and couldn’t tell where the mother ended and she began. I needed to separate them for a moment.”

“She offered me a hug,” he added softly, almost like it embarrassed him to say it. “You took it, right?” Taehyung asked, nudging him. “Yeah,” Jungkook said. “And it helped. It made it feel like… it was okay to enjoy it again.” Jimin nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. “She’s good. I think she sees when someone’s slipping too far into it.”

Before they could say more, a horn blared from the far end of the camp. Then came the scream.

It was you.

Blood-curdling. Raw. Real enough that even the most seasoned players froze for a heartbeat. You crashed into camp, fake tears streaking your cheeks, your baby doll clutched tight to your chest. “They’re coming—I can’t—I can’t do this—please, someone—!”

Jungkook's body moved before his brain did. He stepped forward—but too late. Then, in your frantic scramble, you fumbled with the makeshift barricade and ripped it open. And the horde swarmed in.

Chaos erupted.

It was like a dam breaking. Zombies—dozens of them—surged from the trees with low groans and guttural snarls, their movements jerky and terrifyingly fast for something supposed to be undead. The illusion was flawless. You bolted for the other side of camp, stumbling with your doll in your arms, and vanished.

The scream that came next didn’t belong to you.

It was Jin.

“NOPE. NOPE. I’M OUT!” he yelled, laughing even as he backed himself into a corner, behind some stacked crates meant to look like a supply station. “I’m not fast enough for this sh—!”

They got him.

One of the zombies tackled him, then another. Then three more. Jin disappeared under the pile, mock screaming and laughing at the same time, smacking at the air with ketchup-smeared hands. “I’M BEING EATEN ALIVE! SAVE ME—ACTUALLY DON’T—THIS IS KINDA FUN—”

And then his hand dropped limp. Fake-dead. Out of the game.

Jungkook turned to call for Jimin—but Jimin was already being overwhelmed. He had tried to hold a makeshift line near the fire pit, swinging a padded bat and shouting commands, rallying three of the younger players behind him. “Hold the flank! Hold the—AH—!”

One grabbed him from behind. Then another. A third clung to his legs. “Shit—shit—I’m down! I’m—gah—nooooooo—!” Jimin crumpled dramatically, laughing breathlessly as he disappeared beneath a tangle of groaning zombie players. He held up a hand one last time before letting it fall with a thud. His “death” was over-the-top—classic Jimin—and it still managed to hit Jungkook square in the chest.

Within minutes, nearly half of their group had gone down.

Some were taken trying to flee. Others died fighting. Some just froze in the panic, paralyzed by the sheer size of the horde. And when it cleared, only three of the members were left, with only a few of the original survivor group.

Jungkook.

Namjoon.

Taehyung.

The camp was littered with bodies—players lying still, arms splayed, makeup smeared with fake blood, laughing and groaning as they pretended to be “fresh kills.” Jungkook stood, chest heaving, heart racing. His bat dripped red corn syrup. He looked around, adrenaline still buzzing under his skin, and spotted you.

You were across the camp, standing slowly, brushing leaves off your shirt. You still had the doll but now hit hung limp like a doll in your hand, your expression was calm again. Collected. You turned. Found him with your eyes. And waved. And for the first time since the screaming started, Jungkook remembered to breathe.

He waved back, just once.

Then you were gone again—heading off toward the makeup rooms with Jin and Jimin rising to follow. They teased each other as they walked, still catching their breath, still smiling through the chaos. Followed by many other undead, ready to find other survivors or to go with you the makeup rooms.

“You really went all in,” Jin said, chuckling. “God, I thought you were actually going to cry for real.”

You laughed. “Almost did.” But it was Jimin who leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You left an impression,” he said. You blinked. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure how the baby would play with the—”

“No,” Jimin cut in. “Not the character. You.” Your brow furrowed, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” Jimin smirked. “I mean, you—Y/N—you got under Jungkook’s skin. He’s still pretending not to notice, but I’m telling you now, something cracked open in him. You’re in there.” You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your neck. “He just got stuck in immersion.”

“Nope,” Jimin said confidently. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but I saw the way he looked at you. That wasn’t caring for just your roll.” You glanced back once, just before disappearing behind the curtain of trees toward the makeup.

Jungkook was still watching. And your chest fluttered—just a little. You smiled shyly at Jimin, brushing dust from your shirt, cheeks still warm from the earlier chaos. “Oh… then Jungkook won’t like my next character,” you murmured. Jimin raised a brow and leaned in. “Oh? What’s it gonna be?”

You only grinned. “First? Food. And maybe an hour of sleep.” Jimin laughed, nodding. “Fair. I’ll be around. Don’t forget to scare me later.” You gave him a mock salute and started making your way upstairs—up into the top floor of the asylum, where players weren’t allowed. Where you could take a breath, eat without breaking immersion, and switch roles without being spotted.

On the way up, you passed a surreal little scene—Yoongi, fully zombified with his head twisted at an odd angle and one eye gone pale with makeup, lumbered through the halls muttering, “Did you see Hoseok? I want to scare him."

You stifled a laugh. “No but I will let you know.”

“Acceptable,” Yoongi mumbled in his zombie voice, shuffling away.

You made it to the upper ward, peeled off your layers, and managed to get two and a half hours of rest. Your alarm buzzed at 9:45pm.

It was time.

By 10:00, the event would shift. The safe zones would crumble. And from 11 onward… there would be no mercy. Downstairs, five of your most seasoned zombie player had been briefed and would meet you at the NSC hall. You wanted your entrance to be theatrical, disruptive, and unforgettable.

By 10:15, you were halfway through your transformation—tight brown neoprene pants clinging to your legs, the lower half of your costume fitted. The upper part, a terrifying piece of neoprene and latex-mottled horror, hung around your hip, along with the harness system that would make your movements twitchy and unnatural.

You were just adjusting your sports bra and reaching for the torso suit when the door creaked.

“Hey, did you—” Taehyung froze in the doorway, wide-eyed like a deer caught in headlights. He blinked hard, processing the sight of you: half-dressed, back turned, casually sorting through prosthetics and blood tubes.

You turned around, utterly unfazed in your sports bra and pants. “Dead or tired?” Taehyung swallowed, his voice catching. “Uh. Dead. I died. Heroically. Saved Snake and Molly. Got torn apart. Y’know. Normal day.” You chuckled, reaching for the suit. “Glad someone made it out with flair.”

Taehyung lingered, clearing his throat. “Uh—do you… want help?”

“Please,” you said immediately, stepping toward him and turning your back to him. “The zipper’s a nightmare.” He caught the heavy latex piece awkwardly and stepped closer. The suit was clammy from the spray blood and tight as hell, almost impossible to shimmy into without another person. You guided your arms in, shifting your weight.

Taehyung tried not to look at the way the fabric stretched around your body. “You alright?” you asked as he fumbled with the zipper. “I—yeah. It’s just—tight,” he mumbled, finally getting the zip started, pulling it slowly up your back.

When it clicked into place, you rolled your shoulders, adjusting the neckline and tugging at the seals. You met his eyes over your shoulder. “Thanks. This character’s a little… worse.”

“How bad?”

You smirked darkly, your voice lowering. “Tonight… there’s no more safe space.” Taehyung blinked. “Like—none?”

“None,” you confirmed. “No sanctuary. No barricades. Only hiding. Running. Or dying. And I’m going to make sure they remember it.” Taehyung stared at you. “I think Jungkook’s gonna have a heart attack.” You laughed. “Good. Maybe I’ll let him live if he plays it right.” He shook his head with a grin, backing toward the door. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, Y/N.”

“You should’ve remembered that the moment you walked in on me half-naked,” you called after him. Taehyung flushed but grinned wider. “That wasn’t my fault!” You grinned back. “It is now.”

You picked up your blood capsule belt, slipping it over your shoulder. The last part of your transformation was almost complete. From here on out, no one would recognize you under the makeup, the prosthetics, and the twitchy, grotesque movements of your new role.

Tonight, you would become the thing people whispered about.

And Jungkook would be right in the middle of it.

The night was thick with fog and the smell of wet leaves, the moonlight too thin to offer comfort. You stood in the shadows just beyond the NSC hall, the five zombies around you adjusting their gear in eerie silence. Your neoprene suit clung to your body like diseased skin, the painted latex blistered and blackened. You had blended the mask into your neckline so your real face disappeared beneath rot and ruin. Only your eyes remained—but even they were ringed in thick, oily black makeup, obscuring any hint of humanity.

Taehyung stood nearby, wide-eyed, one hand over his mouth. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “You guys look like something from Silent Hill.”

You tilted your head slowly toward him, silent.

“That’s not helping,” he added, stepping back.

The other five—Alex, David, Mira, Yuji, and Garam—stood tall beside you, identical in costume and horror. A collective nightmare. One of them cracked her neck; another flexed their fingers in tight gloves soaked in darkened blood. You all looked like a single organism splintered into six lethal bodies.

And when Eriks voice whispered through your comms—Go—you didn’t stumble or lurch like the rest of the infected.

You ran.

Fast.

The six of you surged into the night like a flock of death crows, howling, shrieking, voices jagged with distortion. You had trained for this—months of movement practice, stunts, and horror choreography. Every motion you made was unhinged and wrong, arms twitching, heads jerking too far. Real terror wrapped in rubber and foam. And when the normal zombies saw your group emerging from the darkness, they actually cheered.

“Let’s go, monsters!”

“The bosses are here!”

“Hunt them!”

It was like a celebrity entrance from hell. And that’s exactly what you were—hell in motion. And Taehyung watched in horror. He was suddenly very happy he had died and hadn’t had to face you.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the map…

Jungkook sat against the cracked wall of an abandoned two-story building, head tilted back, breath steady. He hadn’t realized just how badly he needed the break until now. Namjoon dozed lightly beside him, one hand still on the prop axe resting across his lap. A few others—veteran players and a couple of newer ones—had taken refuge here too. One, who played a frazzled but skilled doctor, had claimed the cellar and set up shop with fake supplies and dim LED lights to simulate a generator hum. He’d even set up a patient cot.

Snake sat at the window, looking out into the forest with haunted eyes. “Taehyung shouldn’t have saved me,” he murmured. Jungkook leaned forward. “He would’ve done it every time.” Snake didn’t reply, just gripped the curtain tighter.

Since you had left the game earlier in the day, Jungkook had finally started breathing normally again. Watching you with that doll—sobbing, panicking, screaming as you threw open the barricades—had twisted something inside him he hadn’t expected. Even knowing it was part of the event, it had pierced something too real. Too much. Your trembling hands. Your broken cries.

And then you were gone. Not dead, not hurt. Just… absent from the game. And that distance, as strange as it was, helped. He could see it as a game again. He could focus on survival. Strategy. The vlog footage. The thrill.

But then—

The screams began. Far off at first, like crows fighting. Then closer. Louder. Sharper. Wrong. Jungkook shot up. Namjoon blinked awake, eyes wide. “What the hell is that?” It wasn’t the usual zombie moan. Not even a fast-zombie screech. This was like someone being torn in half.

And then the first impact hit.

Something—or someone—slammed into the front of the building with a crunch and a spray of fake blood. One of the new players screamed as the front barricade gave way and something darted through the broken opening.

It wasn’t stumbling. It was sprinting.

“Upstairs!” Namjoon barked. “Now!” Jungkook grabbed Snake’s arm and hauled him back as one of the monsters—rotting flesh, twitchy limbs, face all wrong—threw itself at the nearest survivor. They weren’t like the others. These were different. Silent coordination. Screaming, yes—but like hunters calling to each other, not mindless noise.

Upstairs, the survivors scrambled. Jungkook kicked over a shelf to block the stairwell. It bought them seconds at best. And then another scream—closer, more guttural. One of the new players was down. He looked out the broken top-floor window.

There were five of them. All identical in horror.

Jungkook backed away from the window, breath caught in his throat. Below, the five nightmares prowled through the dark yard like wolves who had just learned how to hate. They didn’t move like zombies. They moved like something smarter.

And then came the curse: “FUCK,” one of the veteran players snapped, fumbling with the fake gun strapped to his shoulder. “What?” Namjoon asked, crouched behind a toppled cabinet. The veteran pointed sharply out the window. “They brought them again.”

“Them?” said a new player, confused and wide-eyed.

“Crawlers,” the vet spat like it was a slur. “They’re fast, they’re coordinated, and worst of all—they don’t go down like normal zombies. You can’t just push them or tag their arm. You have to fight them. Hard.” Even Namjoon’s brow furrowed at that. “I thought this was supposed to be a survival horror game. Not full-on combat.”

“Oh, it’s both, still LARP fighting only,” the vet said grimly. “But that’s the boss class.”

The "doctor" player popped up from the cellar stairwell, glasses askew, fully in character. “But if we catch one,” he said, voice buzzing with faux-manic glee, “I might be able to extract the virus. Create an antidote.”

Everyone stared at him.

“What?” he said, indignant. “That’s literally my quest line.”

Upstairs, they fortified the landing. One staircase. One hallway. If nothing came through, they were safe—for now. Official game rules meant no break-ins unless an Orga member approved it. Everyone relaxed slightly.

Until a scream ripped through the room.

The vet player stumbled back, swearing again. “Window! They’re coming in through the fucking window!” Two of the Crawlers were halfway inside—literally crawling through the second-story window frame, their movements contorted and snapping, their masks reflecting the dim LED lights with a shine that made everyone recoil.

“They climbed the goddamn drainpipe!” someone shouted.

The room exploded into chaos.

One of the Crawlers lunged for the doctor, who barely rolled out of the way. The second went for the vet, who fought back—but in the scuffle, he clocked the monster hard in the ribs.

“GAME STOP!” the veteran called, hands shooting up in the air. “STOP, STOP, STOP!”

Everyone froze mid-motion. The doctor, mid-laugh, cut off instantly. Namjoon swore and backed up, gun lowered. Jungkook was halfway through a lunge and immediately paused, breath caught in his throat. Garam was slumped against the wall, arms cradling his side, eyes shut tight.

“Garam?” someone asked, voice tense.

“I didn’t mean to hit that hard—shit, I’m sorry, man,” the veteran said quickly, rushing over but stopping short, hands out in apology. “I panicked. You were coming at me like a fucking demon.”

“I’m fine,” Garam said hoarsely, holding up a hand.

“No, for real—are you sure?” Jungkook stepped in now, crouching next to him. Looking beyond the horror of a costume. “Don’t push through if you’re actually hurt.” Garam drew in a breath, sharp and shaky, then slowly exhaled. “I’m okay. Winded. Just… give me a sec.”

Namjoon knelt beside them, offering his canteen. Garam took a sip, then leaned his head back, already laughing softly. “God, you guys are so soft now. Its cute.“ The veteran muttered, visibly shaken. “I’m really sorry. I got scared, man.”

Garam looked at him properly now. “It’s okay. Honest. You got a clean hit. No cracked ribs, I think. Just knocked the air outta me. Good reaction time.” He smiled—strained, but genuine. The group laughed lightly, nerves easing. The veteran still looked remorseful but nodded gratefully as Garam gave him a reassuring pat on the leg.

“Let’s keep going,” Garam said. “I want my death scene to be worth it.” The players regrouped fast. And the fight picked up again with renewed fury. One Crawler went down under coordinated fire from Namjoon and the vet. Another—Yuji—was tackled and “captured” by the doctor with wild delight. The remaining Crawlers hissed, shrieked, and clawed, but were picked off one by one.

And then there was you.

You’d gone for Namjoon—darting in from the shadows with a curved movement that made his skin crawl. You tackled him into the wall with a guttural cry. He shouted in shock, the breath knocked from him.

But just as you leaned in to “bite,” Jungkook moved like lightning. He grabbed the prop axe from the ground and turned you off Namjoon with a strike so fast it made everyone pause.

You froze.

You dropped like a puppet with cut strings, dead in the game.

Unmoving.

Breathing hard, Jungkook stood over you. Startled for a moment. Had he hurt you? But the crawler didn’t groan or called for a stop. “Nice save,” Namjoon muttered, rubbing his side. The doctor was practically dancing in place. “Bring the bodies down! I’ll dissect them for a cure!”

Normally, a dead player would be tapped or, just sit up and ask where to go. But Jungkook was staring at you like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing.

He crouched beside you, prop axe still in hand, and leaned down to “double tap” for dramatic effect. But as he did, he whispered low: “Y/N…?” You gave the smallest nod.

His heart jumped.

He hadn’t been wrong.

You were here. You’d been one of them. One of the nightmares. The others were getting ready to drag the bodies into the cellar, the doctor already spinning in-character theories about viral extraction and neural mutation. The noise fell away for a moment when Jungkook leaned closer, hoodie brushing your side.

He cleared his throat. “Y/N… would you be part of the cellar scene?” You gave a tiny nod, keeping your body limp. “Can I move you?”

Again, you nodded—expecting the usual signal. Normally, the player in charge of corpse transport would tap the "dead" player twice on the shoulder, telling them to get up and walk to the next area. But instead of that, Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He simply leaned down and scooped you up into his arms like it was second nature. Like you weighed nothing, in front of the entire group, Jungkook slipped his arms under you and carefully picked you up, cradling you against his chest.

Startled, you tensed—and your hands instinctively gripped the front of his hoodie. Tight. Jungkook paused the second he felt it. “You okay?” he whispered softly, head close to yours. You hesitated a second, then exhaled shakily and slowly relaxed. Your body went slack in his arms.

Jungkook felt it. Felt your trust settle into his chest like warmth. He held you tighter, more securely, and started moving down the hallway toward the stairs.

The doctor whooped. “To the lab!”

“Man, how are you touching that thing like it’s not disgusting?” one of the players called playfully. “Dude, it smells like rubber and old meat!” another joked. “Jungkook,” Namjoon called, eyeing him curiously, “you sure you wanna carry that thing?”

Jungkook didn’t even look back. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’ve got her.”

“Think he likes corpses now,” a third laughed.

Jungkook ignored them all, only shifting you slightly in his arms so your head wouldn’t bump the stairwell wall. As he stepped onto the first stair, he heard it: a whisper, muffled under your latex mask. “Please don’t bump me against anything…” He smiled.

His grip tightened again, protective, steady. “Never,” he whispered back.

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The doctor’s “lab” in the cellar was cluttered and eerie, dimly lit by flickering lanterns. It smelled like fake blood and floor polish. He’d cleared a long table in the center for dramatic effect, and when Jungkook arrived, the doctor clapped gleefully.

“Put her here, yes, yes—right under the light!”

Jungkook didn’t just drop you off. He gently lowered you onto the table, hands bracing your back and shoulders until he was sure you were resting comfortably. The latex of your suit squeaked faintly as you settled.

The others filed in, dragging the other Crawlers. Garam gave Jungkook a thumbs-up before collapsing back into his dramatic corpse pose. The doctor hovered over you, monologuing in detail about virus strains, moral quandaries, and the possibility of a cure—“if only we can harvest enough tissue before the mutation completes!”

Half an hour passed before the doctor clapped his hands and declared, “That’s a wrap on dissection!”

People relaxed. It was an immersion break. But sometimes that was the only way to get a group of zombies out of a scene. Laughter bubbled up. Someone offered Garam a bottle of water. Another player grabbed a granola bar.

You sat up slowly—but before you could stand, Jungkook gently touched your arm. “Wait.” You blinked at him through the mask. Your body still wore the look of rot and infection. Only your eyes were visible—blackened around the edges with makeup, narrowed at him curiously.

He stared for a moment.

Then you reached up and peeled your mask back, the latex lifting with a soft hiss. Your face was flushed from the heat, and the black makeup had smudged slightly around your eyes. Your hair stuck to your forehead.

“Better?” you asked, voice hoarse but warm. Jungkook’s lips curled into the softest smile. He nodded. “I think…” He cleared his throat, suddenly shy. “I think it’s easier when you’re the danger.” You chuckled—tired and amused—and without thinking too hard, you leaned forward and gave him a hug. Arms around his shoulders. Quick. Sincere. Real.

He hugged you back before he even realized it.

Then you stepped away, slipping the mask back into place like a switch had flipped. The creature returned. Crawling death. Fear incarnate. The doctor gave a playful salute. “See you on the battlefield.”

With a blood-curdling scream, you launched yourself back into the night with the other Crawlers, skittering up the stairs like nightmares given shape. Namjoon leaned into Jungkook’s side as they watched you vanish around the corner. “You’re down bad.” he teased. Jungkook didn’t look away, eyes fixed on where you vanished.

“She hugged you coverd in latex, dude. Latex.”

“Shut up,” Jungkook muttered cheeks flushing just a little. Namjoon laughed, shaking his head. “And that’s not even the weirdest thing you’ve been into this week.” Jungkook’s voice dropped, quieter than before. “She is just cool…”

Namjoon blinked, “She let you carry her like a princess.” then clapped him on the shoulder, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “You need to calm down before you propose in the basement, Romeo.”

Jungkook didn’t even hear him. He was still staring toward the stairwell. Waiting for the screams.

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Now, early morning had settled over the camp. Despite all their efforts to survive the night, the relentless game had even caught up to Jungkook and Namjoon. But even the strongest couldn’t escape unscathed.

Namjoon was the first to go down. It happened so fast, almost by pure chance. They had been trying to treat a wounded player nearby when a zombie slipped in unnoticed from a side corridor. Namjoon barely had time to react before the creature was on him.

Half an hour later, Jungkook went down too. He and Snake had gone to refill their water bottles when one of the Crawlers—not you— ambushed him suddenly, and he was taken down, collapsing hard to the ground.

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Now, around the breakfast table in the NSC lounge, the members tried to catch their breath and regroup. The early morning light was soft, the room cluttered with empty coffee cups and half-eaten granola bars. Yoongi sat back, arms crossed, shaking his head with a wry smile. “I couldn’t find Hoseok anywhere last night. He’s got to be the last living member out there, right?”

Taehyung smirked, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes, hell bent on changing the topic. “You know, Y/N’s got a really nice trained body.” The others immediately turned to him, eyebrows raised. “How would you know that?” Jin asked, clearly curious.

Jungkook cut in quickly, voice low but firm, “Taehyung, maybe you should drop it.” Jimin gave Taehyung a pointed look, then glanced over at Jungkook with a slight warning. “Yeah, Tae, that’s not really something you should say out loud.”

But Taehyung just laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not lying. I actually saw her—in her underwear, earlier.” Jungkook’s jaw twitched involuntarily at that confession, a flicker of irritation flashing across his face. Taehyung grinned wider, clearly enjoying the moment. “I was helping her get dressed after her break. You know, the suit’s tricky to put on alone.”

Jimin rolled his eyes, but Jungkook’s expression was unreadable, caught somewhere between frustration and reluctant amusement. Jin clapped his hands, eager to change the mood. “Hey Namjoon, why don’t you get zombified with us? We can go find Hoseok and scare the hell out of him.”

Namjoon grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “Sounds like a plan.” He looked expectantly at Jungkook. Jungkook shook his head firmly, rubbing his tired eyes. “No way. I want to sleep for at least two hours before anything else. I’m wiped.”

Just then, the door creaked open and you walked in, still in your Crawler costume — the latex suit clinging tightly, eyes rimmed with smudged black makeup from sweat. You grabbed a banana and a granola bar from the counter, munching casually.

“Morning. Looks like you all had fun without me.”

Yoongi grinned slyly, waving a hand. “You have no idea. I’ve been having a blast scaring the other players. You should see their faces.” They shared stories, laughing about close calls and wild moments. You smiled, genuinely happy they’d had fun.

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You and Jungkook moved quietly up the creaking stairs together, the weight of the night’s chaos finally pressing down on both of you. The stale air clung to your skin, mixed with sweat and the grime of hours spent playing your part in the nightmare. You could already feel the tight neoprene suit clinging uncomfortably, suffocating you in every movement.

You placed your mask and gloves at the foot of your mattress, giving a small sigh of relief to finally be rid of them. The room still smelled faintly of latex, dust, and whatever old building materials had long since decayed here. Now came the tricky part—getting out of your suit. You reached behind your back, fingers fumbling for the zipper, but as expected, it was nearly impossible to grab at that angle.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted Jungkook walking by, towel slung over one shoulder and his small toiletry bag in hand, clearly headed for the showers.

“Hey, Jungkook,” you called, turning your head toward him with a sheepish smile. “Can you help me with the zipper real quick?” He stopped mid-step, blinking. “Oh—uh… yeah, sure.” His voice cracked slightly, caught off guard, but he didn’t need to be asked twice.

You turned around fully, holding your hair out of the way so he could see the zipper running along the back of your suit. He stepped closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your back as he grabbed the zipper tab. His touch was warm—surprisingly careful. The sound of the zipper sliding down seemed louder than it should have been in the quiet of the room.

As he pulled it lower, his eyes involuntarily dropped, catching a glimpse of the smooth expanse of your sweat-slicked back. Taehyung hadn’t lied—your body was strong, defined, glistening slightly from the hours of movement. Jungkook’s fingers lingered a moment longer than they had to, hovering near your spine before he cleared his throat and stepped back like he’d touched something sacred.

“There,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “You’re good.”

You turned back to him with an easy smile. “Thanks, lifesaver.” He gave you a short nod, but didn’t meet your eyes. As you peeled the top of the suit down and started pulling it off your legs, Jungkook retreated into the bathroom, flushing hard even before he got to his cabin.

Inside, the showers were basic—four stalls with curtains, old tiles that had probably seen better days. Still, the hot water was a gift after hours in costume. Jungkook stepped into his stall, undressed and put his clothes on a hock and turned the knob, exhaling as the warm water hit his skin. But then he heard your voice from the stall just two over—cheerful and relaxed.

“So how did you die?” you asked through the running water.

“Huh?” he answered, caught off guard again to here your voice so close with his state of undress. “In the game,” you laughed. “Last I saw you, you were still human. What got you?”

“Oh. Uh… Namjoon went first, some zombie got him when we were trying to distract for a medic run. Then me and Snake went to refill water and one of your creepy little friends came crawling out of a hole and nailed me.” He chuckled. “I didn’t even see them coming. They were small.”

“That was probably Mira,” you replied, amused. “She’s got the smallest frame but is pure chaos in the dark. She lives for that kind of ambush.”

“She’s terrifying,” Jungkook admitted, grinning despite himself. You laughed, and he could hear the sound of you scrubbing your hair. “So you didn’t last long without me.”

“Are you saying I need you for survival?” he teased back, as he washed his own hair.

“I’m saying you should’ve let me kill you. I would’ve taken you out dramatically.”

Your banter echoed between the stalls, easy and natural—both of you shedding more than just the sweat and grime of the game in that moment. The intimacy wasn’t physical, but it was there, warm and unspoken.

After the shower, both of you dressed in sleepwear—loose, clean clothes that smelled faintly of soap. You stepped out first, toweling off your hair. Jungkook followed shortly after, ruffling his own damp hair into a messy puff. He was wearing simple sweatpants and a hoodie, but he still managed to look unfairly good in the dim light.

You returned to your mat with a small yawn, ready to collapse—and then frowned.

Your blankets were gone. You looked around once. Twice. Only your sleeping bag remained. “What the hell,” you muttered. “Did Pia take my blankets again?”

Jungkook glanced over, already halfway through pulling on his hood. “What’s wrong?”

“My blankets are missing,” you said flatly, rubbing your arms. “Again. That’s like, the third time during a break. I’m gonna freeze.” You grumbled under your breath, tugging your sleeping bag tighter around you as you curled inward, trying to trap any hint of warmth. It wasn’t working. The bag alone just wasn’t enough, not after hours of sweat and adrenaline that had now chilled on your skin.

Next to your mattress, Jungkook had already made himself comfortable, lying cocooned in his own sleeping bag, arms tucked under his head. He watched you silently for a moment, then sat up a little, reaching for the extra blanket that lay folded over his legs.

“Here,” he offered gently, holding it out to you. “Take this.” You looked up at him, surprised, and hesitated before shaking your head. “I’ll be fine,” you murmured, forcing a small smile. “Just need to fall asleep quickly, that’s all.”

Jungkook didn’t argue at first, but you could tell from his expression that he didn’t buy it. And honestly, neither did you. Not even a minute later, your body gave you away as a shiver rippled through you, followed by another. Jungkook sat up again with a sigh, clearly having reached his limit.

“Seriously—just take the blanket,” he said, a little firmer this time. You shook your head again, teeth almost chattering. “You need it too—if you give it to me, you’ll be cold.” Jungkook stared at you, frustration twitching in his brow, and then—without warning—he huffed loudly and tossed the blanket at you with a bit more force than necessary.

“Okay, then we’re both using it,” he muttered.

Before you could even react, he scooted over with a soft grunt, shifting from his mat to yours with a little “hup.” You blinked at him, startled, still lying on your back as he threw the blanket over both of you and pulled the edge down to tuck it around your sides.

“There,” he said, grumbling, but not unkindly. “Better?” You swallowed, your heart giving a strange little kick as you nodded slowly. “Yeah. Better.” Your voice came out quiet, meek even. “Thanks.”

You could still feel the cold—your limbs hadn’t quite caught up yet—but the difference was immediate. The blanket added a crucial barrier, but more than that, Jungkook's body was a furnace next to yours. You were lying close, shoulders nearly touching, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your hoodie like sunlight under a door.

Minutes passed in silence. You stayed perfectly still, listening to the quiet rise and fall of his breath, hoping he’d fallen asleep—because the truth was, you were still cold. Less so than before, but it lingered. The kind of chill that settled into your bones. You hated the idea of waking him if he had managed to doze off.

But then, you heard it—another huff. A small, exasperated sigh that made it obvious he was still awake. “Are you seriously still cold?” he asked, voice low but clear in the darkness. You didn’t answer right away, unsure if you should lie or not. “I’m fine,” you whispered eventually. Jungkook shifted beside you, the sound of fabric rustling. “You’re shaking.”

You opened your mouth to protest—but the next second, you felt his arm slip across your waist, pulling you ever so slightly toward him. Not forceful. Just enough that your sides touched fully now, his chest against your shoulder. The heat from him was immediate, his hoodie warm against your arms.

“Okay?” he asked softly, this time with less exasperation—just concern. You hesitated, heart thudding, then nodded into the pillow. “Yeah,” you breathed. “Thank you.” He didn’t answer right away. Just let out a quieter sigh, this one sounding more like relief. His hand stayed at your side, resting lightly, and the closeness wasn’t awkward—it was grounding. Your shivering slowed, then stopped.

As the minutes ticked by, the room grew quiet again. The air had stilled. But the space between you and Jungkook was something different—small, warm, shared. You closed your eyes.

“Night,” Jungkook murmured, his voice just barely audible.

And for once, you were warm enough to whisper back, “Night.”

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You woke slowly, the edge of sleep still soft around your thoughts. Everything was warm. Comfortable. Familiar. Sometime during your rest, your sleeping bag had worked itself open—or maybe Jungkook had helped, you weren’t sure—but now you lay wrapped in something better. Jungkook’s arm, solid and warm, lay snug around your waist, pulling you gently back against his chest. His tattooed forearm rested across your middle, the ink just barely brushing your skin where your hoodie had ridden up. You could feel the rise and fall of his breathing, steady and slow.

You didn’t move for a long moment.

Even with all the work still to come—players to scare, undead routes to reset, makeup touch-ups to manage—you couldn’t bring yourself to shift away. Not yet. Instead, you nuzzled back a little deeper against his chest, murmuring a quiet, contented, “Warm.”

A subtle ripple moved through Jungkook’s chest in response—a slight hitch of breath, then the unmistakable rumble of his voice, low and gravelly from sleep. “Morning,” he murmured, the sound wrapping around you like a second blanket.

His arm tightened slightly around you, pulling you more securely against him until the crumpled sleeping bags beneath you rustled. You felt the line of his body at your back, his warmth chasing away the last of the chill from your sleep. You smiled. “Morning.”

He stayed quiet for a moment longer before speaking again. “Did you sleep okay?” You hummed, nodding as you tipped your head gently back against him. “Yeah. I did. You?” There was a pause. And then, too honest to be casual, came his answer: “I did. Best sleep I’ve had in a long time.”

The quiet that followed was thick and strange and sweet all at once. Your heart did an unhelpful little flutter as you stared at the wall. His voice had been quiet—like a secret—but it was the way he said it, the way it settled under your skin, that startled you.

Still tucked in his arms, you hesitated before slowly peeling yourself away, stretching your legs and arms with a small groan. “We should probably get up,” you muttered. Jungkook made a reluctant noise behind you, but eventually pushed himself upright, dragging a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. He blinked down at you, his voice still a little hoarse. “So… what horrors await us today?”

You reached for your phone and tapped the screen. Your eyes widened. “Shit. We overslept.” You turned to him, already scrambling to gather your things. “We were supposed to be up at least an hour ago to prep the player routes. Come on!”

Jungkook followed suit, grabbing his clothes and slipping them on with smooth, practiced motions. He grinned as he shoved his arm through a hoodie sleeve. “Guess I really did sleep well.”

“You better hope I can still get you into the zombie ranks,” you teased over your shoulder, pulling on your boots. “They might reject you for being too cuddly.”

“Hey,” he said, raising a brow as he followed you out into the hall. “That was survival cuddling.”

“Oh yeah?” you laughed. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Absolutely. Basic warmth acquisition.” He bumped his shoulder against yours lightly, and the two of you headed down the stairs, your footsteps echoing in the sleepy silence of the building.

You both made your way to the kitchen, where the smell of instant coffee and oatmeal powder greeted you. Inside, Taehyung was leaning against the counter, his long limbs wrapped in a tattered bloodstained robe, clearly halfway into his zombie transformation (or out of it) already. Jimin sat at the table eating a banana, one eye shadowed with black makeup.

“Well, well,” Jimin drawled, spotting the two of you. “Look who finally decided to rise from the dead.” Taehyung grinned. “Didn’t know we had to go wake the lovebirds.” Jungkook rolled his eyes but didn’t rise to the bait. You just raised a brow and headed to the table for the last granola bar. “You’re just mad we look better rested than you,” you quipped.

“Debatable,” Jimin muttered around a mouthful of banana. “So. We still got one survivor left—Hoseok. You two in?” Jungkook grinned. “Absolutely.” You leaned on the counter next to him, smirking. “He won’t know what hit him.”

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The day moved at a full sprint. The final night of the event loomed close—players were on edge, volunteers ran from one side of the forested game area to the other, and the undead roamed with renewed energy, determined to make the last full round of scares their best yet.

Jungkook, freshly zombiefied with a smear of fake blood on his cheek and a torn-up hoodie that somehow still looked good on him, had left with Jimin and Taehyung just after lunch. The three of them had dramatically limped into the woods, groaning and growling, arms outstretched as they slipped into character followed by on of there camera guys. You’d only had a second to wave at Jungkook before he disappeared behind the tree line, flashing you a boyish grin beneath all the gore.

You, meanwhile, were knee-deep in logistics. Between coordinating player movements, monitoring timelines, and fixing half a dozen costume or prop-related mishaps, your feet barely touched the ground. Still, through the organized chaos, you caught glimpses of the guys doing what they did best—causing a scene.

At one point, you spotted Jungkook chasing a trio of screaming players down a muddy path with Jimin crawling out of the bushes behind them. Later, you heard Taehyung howling like a banshee near the river checkpoint. It was impossible not to smile. They were having the time of their lives.

But by nightfall, with just a few hours left before the grand finale at 6pm tomorrow—and the afterparty that would follow—it was becoming clear that one thing was still unresolved. “Hoseok’s still MIA?” you asked one of the Orgas, brows raised as you checked your notes. “Completely vanished,” the guy replied, breathless from running equipment between checkpoints. “Jungkook swore he saw him near the cornfield trail, but then poof. Gone.”

“Okay, either he’s in deep stealth mode, or he’s sleeping in a tree,” you muttered.

Around 10 PM, drained but steady, you made your way back to the NSCs rooms. You were just about to climb the stairs toward the staff rooms when the door burst open and the rest of the crew poured in—Yoongi, Jin, and Namjoon among them.

“I’m done,” Yoongi declared, already pulling off his gloves. “Like, corpse-mode. Actual sleep tonight.”

“Same,” Jin said, groaning. “If Hoseok’s really vanished, I’ll haunt him tomorrow.”

You smiled tiredly. “I just came to change back into my crawler costume. I need to help with the tunnels. We’ve got a group going through in twenty minutes.” Taehyung immediately perked up, nearly tripping over his own boots as he took a step forward. “Want help changing again?” he asked, eyes bright and hand half-raised like an eager kid.

You hesitated, suddenly more flustered than you expected to be. Taehyung had already helped you into the suit earlier with no shame whatsoever. He hadn’t done anything inappropriate—it had just been functional.

Still... you’d kind of hoped someone else might offer this time.

You stumbled for a second, unsure how to phrase your answer, but you didn’t have to say anything. Wordlessly, Jungkook came up beside you and gently placed a hand on the small of your back. Without saying a thing, he guided you up the rest of the stairs.

Taehyung blinked after you both. “I was just—”

“She’s fine,” Jungkook said over his shoulder, calm but firm. “We’ll wait outside if she needs help.”

“Wait, we?” Taehyung started. But Jungkook turned, holding a hand out against Taehyung’s chest and calmly, but with that subtle steel in his tone, said again, “Wait. Outside.” Before Taehyung could protest again, Jungkook closed the door with a soft click, leaving you blinking inside the small room, alone and stunned.

That… was kind of adorable.

You got changed fast, tugging on the skin-tight crawler suit, grimy from hours of wear. With the bulk of it on, you opened the door a crack, needing just a bit of help with the zipper. The first thing you saw was Jungkook’s back—broad, inked arm crossed as he leaned against the railing, still arguing quietly with Taehyung about “giving people space.”

He must have sensed your presence because he turned at once, and the second your eyes met his, you grinned. Wordlessly, you turned around and held up your hair.

Without hesitation, Jungkook stepped into the room, his hands warm against your back as he reached for the zipper. His fingers brushed your skin lightly as he drew it up, not rushed, not clumsy. You could feel his breath near your neck, the subtle tension in his shoulders. His touch lingered just a second longer than it needed to—his fingertips barely grazing your lower back before he let go.

It wasn’t overt.

But it was enough for your heart to stutter. Was that on purpose? You didn’t dare turn around yet, just let your hair fall back down and murmured, “Thanks.” Behind you, Jungkook cleared his throat, voice quiet. “Anytime.” There was something intimate in the silence that followed, something thick and unspoken. You finally turned, meeting his eyes.

He didn’t say anything, but he was watching you—really watching you. Not with teasing or smugness like Taehyung, but something quieter. Something... careful.

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The moody, overcast sky hung low as your group of undead moved silently across the clearing, a grim swarm of crawling, shuffling figures. Those who hadn’t needed rest—the tireless, restless ones—had followed you and the other crawlers, forming the largest horde of the weekend so far. It was impressive. Terrifying. Beautiful.

Jungkook kept close to your side, his gait eerily fluid now that he’d embraced the undead role. His makeup—smudged and dripping as intended—made him look like he’d clawed his way from a shallow grave. It was hard to look at him and not feel a chill, even knowing it was all fake.

Your target loomed ahead: the same weather-worn house from yesterday. The survivors had taken the whole day reinforcing it, piling fake furniture against doors, jamming wood panels over the windows, and even reinforcing the crawlspaces and drainage. You had to admit—you were impressed.

No ordinary zombie was going to breach those defenses.

But you and the crawlers weren’t ordinary.

You circled to the back, scanning every possible entry point. The drain was blocked. The cellar sealed. Windows barricaded. But then you spotted it—an open skylight above the sunroom extension. Small, maybe two feet wide, but you could make it through.

You just needed a lift.

Turning to Jungkook, you lowered your voice to a whisper. “How strong are you?” He blinked, caught off guard. “Uh—what?” You pointed toward the skylight. Jungkook followed your gaze, his expression morphing from confusion to surprise. “You want me to… hurl you up there?”

“If you think that’s too much, I can ask someone else,” you teased, your voice cool, deliberate. Jungkook's jaw set. “No way. I’ve got you.” He wouldn’t risk someone else making a mistake that could get you hurt. You grinned, already backing up to get a running start, moving in position as Jungkook did as well. “Alright then. Just don’t drop me.” He crouched, hands out in position. “You better jump like you mean it.”

The two of you moved like you’d practiced it for years. You dashed toward him, boots silent on the damp grass. At the right moment, you planted your feet into his hands. Jungkook grunted as he pushed upward with strength that surprised even you. The world tilted—sky, house, the sharp outline of the skylight racing toward you.

Fingertips caught the ledge. You gritted your teeth, swung a leg up, and wriggled through. It was tight—but you made it.

You dropped into the attic-like space below with a soft thud and a grin, heart pounding from the adrenaline. A second later, you peeked back through the skylight. Jungkook stood below, looking stunned. You whispered down, “I will never ask someone else for this shit ever again!” He gave a breathless laugh, already approached by the next crawler.

In the next few minutes, you helped pull up two more. One got through on their own, the other needed Jungkook’s full strength and a bit of a climb. From your high perch, you coordinated their positions through narrow crawlspaces and above ceiling beams. Inside the house, muffled voices from the survivors grew louder—unaware of the silent, slithering danger creeping above.

And then the screams began.

Chaos erupted inside.

One of the crawlers dropped from the attic into a bedroom and shrieked. Another lunged from the shadows of the hallway, forcing a survivor to tumble back and crash through a makeshift barricade. The rest of the horde—waiting like hungry wolves—poured through the newly opened path.

You grinned with satisfaction as the house devolved into beautiful, fake carnage.

By the time it was over, the “survivors” were either “dead” or fleeing into the woods with wildly flailing arms, laughing and screaming in equal parts. You climbed out through the front window, breathing heavy but beaming, makeup streaked with sweat again.

Jungkook waited by the tree line, breath caught in his throat when he saw you. “That was… insane.” You sauntered toward him, brushing a cobweb from your shoulder, the thrill still sparkling in your chest. “You mean brilliant,” you corrected, giving his shoulder a friendly nudge. “Couldn’t have done it without my undead catapult.”

Jungkook chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You were just—like—gone. I thought I overthrew you for a second.”

“Well, lucky for both of us,” you said, nudging him again, “I have excellent upper body strength.” He looked at you for a moment longer than he probably meant to, eyes tracing your face, your smirk, the fading makeup. There was something new in the way he was seeing you—somewhere between admiration and being completely, quietly floored.

“I’m seriously not sure if I should be impressed,” he murmured, “or mildly intimidated.” You raised a brow, amused. “Why not both?” Jungkook grinned—genuine, wide, and a little shy. “Yeah. Both works.”

And together, shoulder to shoulder, you wandered back toward camp, the last moans of the “dead” trailing off behind you.

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You had played through the night. One relentless wave after another, your massive horde had flushed the most of the remaining survivors out of every hideout they had pieced together over the weekend. Some screamed. Some laughed. Some fought back valiantly—but none of them lasted long. It had been glorious.

Jungkook had stuck by your side for most of it, shambling and snarling beside you as if he'd been part of your crew since day one. By now, he fully understood why you loved this—why Yoongi had defected to the undead team without hesitation. There was something cathartic about giving in to chaos, something addicting in being the fear rather than the prey.

But still… playing a survivor had made Jungkook feel more. Adrenaline. Hope. Loss. Victory. Desperation. And you. You, always right in the thick of it. There was something unforgettable about the way you'd looked at him, teasing and alive.

It was nearing 10 AM now. The fog was finally burning off the morning air. Everyone had dragged themselves back to base. Some were already sleeping in bunks or huddled in chairs. Others slumped over mugs of instant coffee. The ones that hadn’t been up all night, just came back from their zombification to pick up were you left of.

You had wandered into the break area for off-duty undead NSCs. There, without a word, you'd climbed onto the billiard table, peeled off your gloves and mask, and lay down flat on your back, arms draped across your stomach. Eyes closed. Still in costume. Still streaked with grime and fake blood. But utterly at peace.

And Jungkook couldn’t stop looking at you.

He wasn’t the only one. Taehyung leaned lazily against the wall next to Namjoon, watching you with a curious tilt of his head. “She’s knocked out cold?” Taehyung asked, though he already knew the answer. Namjoon smirked faintly. “Nah. Just recharging. Like a haunted Roomba.”

“Should I poke her?” Taehyung grinned, raising a finger.

“Do it and lose that finger,” Yoongi mumbled from his spot in a nearby armchair, eyes barely open. “She hasn’t slept properly since Thursday.” Jungkook smiled to himself at Yoongi’s comment. But then someone else entered the room. The last person Jungkook wanted to see.

Lukas.

The same guy who had all but tried to force himself on you as he arrived here on the first day, eager and overly familiar from the start. A former survivor who’d now joined the undead side like everyone else. And apparently still hadn’t taken the hint.

Lukas sauntered over to your resting spot, standing at the edge of the billiard table and launching into some one-sided conversation about how epic the finale last year had been and how this year would probably be even better, he’d totally bring better gear next year, and how “you and me should team up next time” and on and on.

You didn’t move much, didn’t open your eyes, but the subtle pinch of your brow was all Jungkook needed to see. You weren’t relaxed anymore. Jungkook set down the energy bar he’d been holding and stood up.

Namjoon noticed. “Oh?” he murmured, nudging Taehyung. Taehyung leaned closer. “Here we go.”

Jungkook ignored them both, grabbed a bottle of water and a bag of chips from the supply table, and made his way over to you. He stopped right beside Lukas, who faltered midsentence, startled by the sudden appearance of the younger man.

In slow, careful English, Jungkook said, “Make space, please.” You opened one eye in surprise.

Lukas blinked. Jungkook held the bottle out toward you. “Water. For you.”

You stared at him for a second, then slowly sat up to make room on the table, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks,” you said, genuinely touched. You hadn’t asked him for anything—but you also wouldn’t say no. Especially not if it meant Lukas stopped talking.

Jungkook climbed up next to you without hesitation, stretching out on the green felt beside you, propping his head on one arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. He wasn’t even subtle about it—he just was there. Close enough to feel the heat of him again. Like last night.

Lukas stood awkwardly at the edge of the table, clearly thrown. “Uh… well. I guess… I’ll see you later?”

You hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t look at him. Lukas lingered for a second more, then mumbled something and left the room. Taehyung whistled low. “Oh damn.” Namjoon laughed under his breath. “That was smooth. Very nonchalant. Ten out of ten for execution.”

Yoongi cracked one eye open from his chair. “Is he lying next to her now?” Taehyung nodded. “Full-on pool table cuddling. He just stared that dude down in second language flirtation mode and won.” Yoongi closed his eye again. “About time.”

Jungkook ignored them, offering you the chips as well. You took one, still smiling. “Didn’t mean to steal your table,” he murmured. “You didn’t,” you said, voice soft and relaxed now. “You upgraded it.” His grin was small but pleased. You lay back down beside him, arms occasionally brushing as the room fell into a comfortable lull.

The room buzzed around you in muted tones—people talking in corners, the occasional thud of boots, a laugh carried on the tired air—but next to him, it felt like the eye of the storm. Warm, peaceful, grounded. You didn’t need words. Just the rise and fall of Jungkook’s chest next to yours and the shared quiet of mutual exhaustion. And this time, no one interrupted your peace.

That was, until Jimin appeared.

Without hesitation, he climbed up onto the billiard table with the agility of a cat and flopped across your legs like he belonged there. Which, apparently, he did. “Comfy,” Jimin murmured, his head pillowed on your thigh. “You’re crushing my soul,” you replied, flicking the back of his head affectionately. “Good. You weren’t using it.”

Jungkook snorted, as you muttered, “He always like this?”

“Worse when he’s had sugar.”

You all stayed like that until the walkie-talkie on your belt crackled and broke the spell. “HQ to zombie queen Sparkles. Everything’s in place. Megaphone announcement’s done. All survivors have been warned. Last stand is good to go.” Eriks voice offered.

You sighed, sitting up with an exaggerated groan. Jimin flopped onto the floor dramatically like you’d cast him off a cliff. Jungkook stretched beside you, rubbing a hand over his face and smearing the last of his undead face paint across his cheek. The three of you reluctantly peeled yourselves off the table and made your way to the final battlefield.

The terrain had been cleared. Flags were up. The megaphone had roared across the campgrounds announcing the final stand. The survivors, what few were left, had gathered and were bracing themselves behind makeshift defenses, guns ready, darts loaded.

You moved among your horde. Dead eyes. Snarling mouths. Fake blood drying on skin and clothes and fingernails. All of them buzzing with excitement and end-of-event adrenaline. Everyone was here.

Everyone… but Hoseok.

You were starting to worry, but then—

A scream. A scramble. And then, emerging from the woods, looking like he’d barely slept or eaten in a week, came Hoseok followed by a cameraman and hunted by two Zombies. Mud-streaked. Wide-eyed. Alive.

Barely.

Yoongi didn’t miss a beat—lunging from a bush with a banshee screech. Hoseok screamed. Like a horror movie final girl. Dropped to the ground, arms over his face, bracing for impact. Yoongi just cackled and stood over him. Namjoon helped Hoseok to his feet, who was still shaking like a leaf.

“How the hell—” Namjoon began, looking both amused and baffled, “—how are you still alive?” Hoseok blinked rapidly, eyes darting around at all the undead closing in now. “I… I did what she said,” he stammered, gesturing weakly toward you.

You raised an eyebrow. “What did I say?”

“Keep moving,” Hoseok replied. “Don’t stay too long in any one group. Hide when it’s quiet. I—” He swallowed. “I spent the night in a tree.” There was a beat of stunned silence. Taehyung let out a bark of laughter. “You feral squirrel! You slept in a tree?”

“I panicked, okay!” Hoseok shouted, hands in the air. The final stand didn’t last long after that. You and your horde overwhelmed the last defenders like a slow-moving tidal wave of moans, shrieks, and Nerf darts. The end came gloriously, with dramatic deaths and heroic sacrifice.

And then—it was over.

Cheers erupted. Everyone collapsed on the grass. Some in laughter, some in total exhaustion. Hugs were exchanged. Final photos were taken. The event was officially declared a success.

Which meant only one thing: the after party.

What began as a mad dash turned into a full-blown war in the dorms. Everyone rushed after you as they saw you make a run for the room and then to the limited bathroom stalls. You, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Yoongi ended up in a four-way standoff in the hallway outside the bathrooms, all equally caked in grime and fake blood.

“There’s four showers!” you said, already tugging at the zipper of your jacket. “We can do this. We can be civil.”

“We’re never civil,” Yoongi muttered, eyeing the doors like he was going to sprint at the first handle that turned. “I vote Taehyung showers last,” Jungkook said, pointing at Taehyung’s face. “You literally have glitter glued to your cheek.”

“It’s part of my character,” Taehyung retorted. “I was a vampire zombie warlord, thank you very much.”

“I call stall three,” Jimin shouted as he skidded in, already half out of costume. “And if anyone touches my conditioner, I will bite.” You laughed, giving up the illusion of control. “We’re all feral.” But you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Especially not the way Jungkook’s eyes kept drifting toward you, even now—mud-streaked, tired, and grinning like a man who had just found something worth crawling through dirt and fake gore to keep seeing.

From your group of eight, you, Jimin, Jungkook, and—surprisingly—Namjoon had won the great shower battle and secured first dibs on the stalls. Victory had never felt so warm and sudsy.

But that victory came with a price: the walk of shame.

Wrapped in nothing but a towel, hair still dripping and skin flushed from hot water and scrubbing off layers of fake gore, you had to walk barefoot from the shared bathroom back into your room—with them. Not your usual mix of female friends and old LARP buddies, but instead a full suite of K-pop idols with unfair cheekbones and far too many curious eyes.

You opened the door and stepped inside, water-slicked and entirely underdressed. Yoongi whistled, long and low.

Taehyung? Didn’t even pretend to be subtle. His eyes dragged over you like it was part of a performance piece. Jungkook, bless him, nearly dropped the hoodie he was folding and spluttered, “You—you forgot to grab clothes?”

You shrugged, casual as could be, striding across the room to your duffel bag. “Didn’t forget. Just didn’t want to lose my spot in the shower queue.” This wasn’t your first post-bathroom towel walk. But you had to admit, it was a lot easier around your usual chaos crew. You were used to that. You weren’t used to standing in a towel while the nation’s heartthrobs stared at you like you were a comet they weren’t supposed to look directly at.

You bent down, rifled through your things, and grabbed your black underwear and—

—pulled out your party outfit.

Jimin, still towel-drying his hair, froze. “You’re serious.”

“I’m dead serious.” As you wiggled into your panties, trying not to lose your dignity and keeping the towel in place, Jungkook caught Taehyung shifting on his bed and very pointedly moved to block his view. With Jungkook’s back turned to you like a protective wall, you quickly slipped on the rest of your clothes and zipped up the front of your fuzzy red panda onesie.

You were warm, soft, and immediately happier. Taehyung laughed, incredulous. “A red panda? For a party?” You grinned, cheeks flushed but triumphant. “All the Orga are wearing onesies tonight. And this one’s warm. And comfy. And now—” you spread your arms with mock pride “—I am fluffy.” Jimin ran over like a heat-seeking missile and threw his arms around you. “Confirmed. Very fluffy.”

Jungkook, finally looking at you in full red-panda glory, let out a soft laugh, and the last of the embarrassment in his expression faded into something gentler. He didn’t say it out loud, but the look in his eyes clearly read: adorable.

By the time the group of you arrived at the after-party, the hall had already transformed. Music was pumping, string lights strung between beams. People were dancing, drinking, lounging on couches—some still in costume, some freshly scrubbed clean like you, and others halfway in between.

You headed toward the bar, where Lea was already pouring drinks with practiced speed and familiar chaos, dressed in a beautiful dragon onesie.

“Beer?” she asked, without needing to be prompted.

“You know it.” You turned to Jungkook, who was already pulling out his wallet with that polite determination he always showed when trying to do something nice. “I’ll get hers too,” he said to Lea. You chuckled and lightly pushed his hand down. “No need, golden boy.”

“Huh?”

You leaned in, voice pitched over the music. “It’s my event, remember? My name’s on the staff list. I drink for free.” His eyes went wide. “Wait—you organizers drink for free?”

“Perks of power,” you said, and with a wink, handed him a beer instead—on your tab. Jungkook stared at it like it might explode in his hand. “You got me a drink?”

“Don’t look so shocked. You helped me catapult into a house full of screaming survivors, I figured I owed you one.” He took it with both hands like it was sacred. And then he blushed.

Hard.

Taehyung, passing behind him with two colorful drinks and glitter again clinging to his jaw, gave you a knowing smirk. “Careful. Jungkook might fall harder than that survivor who tripped into the fog machine earlier.” You raised your beer to your lips and shrugged, grinning. “I don’t mind a little drama.” And beside you, Jungkook drank, trying not to smile too hard—and failing.

The party had a warm chaos to it, the kind that made the exhaustion of the last few days dissolve into beer foam and basslines.

Somewhere during the first hour, a regular player—Mads, one of the older guys who had survived every single event you ran—took over Erik’s place at the grill. Erik, grateful, passed off the tongs with mock ceremony and rejoined the rest of the organizer crew.

That meant, for once, all of you (except poor Lea, glued to the bar like a bartender in some Viking saga) could give your traditional end-of-event speech.

So there you were: standing on the makeshift podium in your red panda onesie, Erik beside you in his lemur suit (complete with a striped tail and hauntingly round eyes), Pia in an inflatable frog getup, and four more of your crew in various animal-shaped fleeces. You each held beers, shouted into the mic, and barely kept a straight face.

“Thank you for not dying too early!” Erik called out, the lemur ears wobbling as he waved his beer in salute. “Thank you for dying dramatically!” Pia added. “And remember,” you said, holding your mic aloft with one paw-gloved hand, “when in doubt—scream louder.”

Your crew’s unofficial anthem blared from the speakers. And with that, the dance floor was officially open.

Players whooped. Some already half-drunk stumbled forward. Others started clapping, and the lights dimmed enough to encourage even the shy ones. Your crew, still in onesies, immediately launched into the most chaotic, uncoordinated, off-beat dancing the LARP world had ever seen.

You waved your arms like a raver raccoon on energy drinks. Pia was hopping. Erik did something disturbingly close to twerking with his lemur tail. It was a mess. Jungkook watched from the sidelines, drink in hand, shoulders shaking as he tried—and failed—not to laugh. “What… are they doing?” he asked quietly, in disbelief. “They’re dancing,” Namjoon said around a mouthful of chips. “I think.”

“No one taught them rhythm?” Taehyung asked, grinning. Yoongi chuckled. “Who needs rhythm when you’ve got that much conviction?” Jungkook took another sip of his beer, gaze lingering on you, red panda tail bouncing as you did a spin that nearly knocked over Pia. It was stupid. It was adorable.

But then his jaw tensed.

Because there, half-shadowed near the back of the hall, stood Lukas—again—watching you with a kind of focus that rubbed Jungkook the wrong way.

He stiffened.

Yoongi noticed immediately. “What’s up, lover boy?” Jungkook blinked, caught. “You’re staring at that guy staring at her,” Jimin chimed, leaning into Jungkook’s side like a nosy little devil. “You gonna do something or keep clutching that beer like it’s gonna kiss her for you?”

“He’s just… watching her. Again.” Jungkook’s tone was too neutral to fool them. Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “So you watch her, but when someone else does it, it’s creepy?”

“Yeah, because he didn’t get her hint. Not the first day, not earlier. He doesn’t even know her.” Jimin tilted his head. “And you do?” Jungkook opened his mouth—then closed it. “I know enough.”

“Then go talk to her,” Yoongi said simply. “It’s not that easy.” Jungkook looked away, jaw tight. “She’s… different. This isn’t some club. We’re in the woods. This whole thing’s temporary. What am I supposed to give her? A one-night stand in a barrack at the ass-end of nowhere?”

Yoongi was quiet for a moment. Then: “Why are you deciding for her?”

Jungkook blinked.

“If that’s all she wants,” Jimin added, “fine. Go for it and stop looking at her like a lovesick puppy. But what if she wants more?”

“I’m an idol,” Jungkook said quietly. “Schedules. Tours. Cameras. Chaos. I don’t even know where I’ll be next month. How do you fit something real into that?”

Yoongi leaned on the table next to him. “First of, this doesn’t look real to me,” and with that Yoongi pointed back at you and your friends now all twerking… in a circle… rubbing your butts together? “Second, maybe you don’t. Maybe she fits you into her life.”

That thought lingered, heavy and hopeful. Jungkook stared into the crowd, finding you again—laughing now as you leaned on the bar next to Lea, talking with some of the remaining players. One girl clasped your hand and said something earnest. Another guy raised his drink and said, “Best LARP I’ve ever done.”

You looked genuinely happy. Genuinely in your element. Jungkook felt his chest tighten. But before he could take a step—before he could even turn around—

There was a commotion.

All heads turned. Glass clinked. Music faltered for a second. Jungkook shoved his drink into Yoongi’s hand and moved. He didn’t hear Yoongi call after him. He was already in motion, eyes locked on you, on Lukas, on the way your shoulders tensed and your voice cut through the music like glass.

“Let me GO!”

Lukas had you by the arm—tight. His face was flushed, not just with drink but something rawer. Jungkook’s pulse surged. By the time he got to you, Erik and two other guys were already there, trying to pry Lukas off. You weren’t crying, but your face was pale, and the way you leaned back, straining against Lukas’ grip, made Jungkook’s stomach twist. Your body was tight with fury.

Jungkook didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t posture. He just stepped forward and gripped Lukas’s wrist—not his shoulder, not his chest, but right at the tendon and bone where Lukas was holding you. His grip was precise. Firm. Final. His other hand found your waist. Gentle. Protective. Steadying.

“Let go,” Jungkook said—low, dangerous, and razor-sharp. Lukas jolted at the tone, but his grip stayed locked on your arm. “I just wanted to talk—”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you snapped, voice ringing out above the crowd. “Not now. Not ever.” Lukas faltered, blinking at you like he couldn’t believe you’d just said that in front of everyone—as if his entitlement had never once been challenged. His hand stayed where it was, fingers tight around your skin.

Jungkook’s fingers pressed harder on Lukas’s wrist, just enough to make the point clearer. But you weren’t done. Your eyes blazed as your spine straightened. “If you don’t let me go in the next five seconds,” you said, voice shaking with rage, “I swear to god I will break your nose.” Jungkook could feel the rage vibrating through you—radiating off your body like a storm about to burst. He wasn’t sure if you were bluffing or if you were about to swing.

Honestly? He wasn’t sure if he should stop you if you swung.

But Lukas still didn’t let go. His pride puffed up like a balloon on the verge of popping. He looked around, suddenly aware of all the eyes on him. Of how many people weren’t stepping in to defend him—but you. Cornered, humiliated, he snapped. His voice turned sharp and bitter as he sneered at Jungkook, eyes flicking to the hand still resting protectively on your waist.

“What, a ching chong like you thinks he can just show up here and take my girl?”

The words hit like a slap—sharp, vile, and so incredibly wrong. Jungkook didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. He’d been called worse before—more vile, more venomous. He’d learned, long ago, to let it pass over him like cold wind. But here? In a place like this, surrounded by paint-stained props and foam swords and people just trying to have a good time? It surprised him. How casual the cruelty was.

And it surprised him even more—how fast you moved.

Your fists clenched, words hissed. “What did you just say?” Everything about that sentence—the racism, the possessiveness, the delusion—made your blood boil. And you lunged.

And Jungkook caught you. Barely.

His arms snapped around your waist like instinct. His fingers curled tight, grounding you as your momentum dragged both of you forward a step. He was strong, but you were all rage, and it took everything in him to anchor you still. Erik and his friends surged forward again, grabbing Lukas and dragging him off you.

You thrashed once in his hold, fists curled, jaw clenched. “Let me go,” you growled, low and lethal. “I’ll break his fucking jaw for that—I swear to God—" Every inch of you wanted to throw your fist into Lukas’s face. And you would’ve—if Jungkook didn’t hold you.

“Hey—hey,” he breathed against your temple, voice still calm, still quiet—but laced with something tight and simmering underneath. “He’s not worth it. Not your hands. Not your energy. He’s not worth you.”

But you were shaking with more than rage now—humiliation, helplessness, the aftershock of being touched like that, spoken to like that, in front of everyone. If not for Jungkook holding you tight, grounding you, you might’ve done it. You wanted to.

Lukas shouted something incoherent as Erik and his friends dragged him away, kicking and protesting. “This is bullshit! I didn’t even do anything—!” As they dragged Lukas toward the gate, shouting and protests growing quieter, you stood trembling—but trying to take slow and controlled breaths. Your hands shook as they fisted in Jungkook’s hoodie. Your jaw locked so tight it ached.

You weren’t scared. Not with Jungkook behind you, Erik standing guard, and half the event ready to rip Lukas apart. But you had been handled. In public. Dragged like you didn’t matter.

And that... stayed with you.

Jungkook’s grip loosened just slightly, but he didn’t let go. You didn’t either.

He glanced down, brows tight with worry. His hands were steady. But his pulse wasn’t. He could feel the fury in you—righteous, volcanic—and for a second, something deep inside him marveled. At how fast you’d defended him. He wasn’t proud that it had happened—wasn’t proud of being reduced to a slur in front of strangers. But he was proud of you.

Proud he’d had to catch you mid-swing because you’d chosen to step in—for him.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“I’m fine,” you muttered automatically. But you weren’t. Your arm was red—angrily so—and your fingers, curled into his hoodie shaky. That told him all he needed to know. You weren’t fine. And the way the red panda fluff of your onesie caught in the light only made it more noticeable. Jungkook followed your line of sight, then looked down at you again, brows pinched.

“Can I see?” he asked gently, nodding toward your arm. You hesitated—just for a second—then gave a short nod. He let go of you slowly. You turned to face him as he carefully reached for your wrist. His fingertips brushed the discolored skin—hot, raised, aching.

You hissed through your teeth before you could stop it. He pulled back instantly. “Okay,” he said softly, like talking to a cornered animal. “You’re gonna need ice. And space.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered.

But your voice was strained, and your hand trembled again—this time against the chest of his hoodie, where you were still holding on.

You weren’t fine. You were furious. And humiliated.

Jungkook didn’t say anything else. He just looked at you. You were standing there—shaking, unsure, your arm throbbing now that the adrenaline had started to burn out of your bloodstream. You felt the ache settling in, the way your fingers trembled at your side, the warmth of Jungkook’s presence suddenly too close and not close enough.

Embarrassment burned hotter than the bruise.

You couldn’t look at him. Not really. Not after lunging like that. Not after being manhandled in front of half your own damn crew. Behind Jungkook, Jimin and Yoongi stood nearby. They hadn’t interfered but had clearly been ready to jump in if things had escalated. Jimin’s jaw was set, eyes still flinty and sharp with anger on your behalf. Yoongi, meanwhile, had that unreadable look—cool, assessing, but not uncaring.

Then Yoongi tilted his head, dry humor flickering in his eyes. “I’m just saying…” he said, glancing at your clenched fist. “Jungkook should’ve let you throw that punch.” That broke the tension like glass underfoot. You blinked up, startled. So did Jungkook.

A small laugh escaped you—wry and strained, but real. Jungkook huffed a soft sound. “Don’t encourage her,” he said, though his mouth twitched. “She was serious.”

Yoongi just shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Exactly. When was the last time a pretty lady was ready to throw a punch for you?” that forced a chuckle out of you and Jungkook.Seconds later, Taehyung arrived with long strides and no smile in sight. His usual easy warmth was replaced by something clipped and focused as he held out a bottle of water to you.

“Erik’s walking him out,” he reported, eyes flicking to Jungkook, then back to you. “I called our security. He’s handled.” He paused. “Jungkook, you might want to press charges.” You nodded before Jungkook could answer, your fingers brushing his. Even that soft contact was shaky. Your grip was weak around a water bottle, and it took you more strength than normal to unscrew the cap. Your mouth was dry, but swallowing felt harder.

Jungkook’s voice was calm but resolute. “I’m not pressing charges.” That made your head snap toward him, brows pinched. He met your gaze. “It’ll only drag the event into it. Headlines, attention… you don’t need that.” The quiet that followed wasn’t reassuring. It wasn’t peace. It was the stillness of something raw, exposed.

You nodded slowly, but you felt small. Shrinking. The ember of humiliation sat low in your chest—tight and awful. Being grabbed like that—dismissed like that—had settled in your bones. Your voice was smaller than you intended. “I think I’m gonna sit down for a second.”

Jungkook didn’t hesitate. “Come on.” He placed a hand lightly on your back, steering you gently toward a quieter corner behind the bar. You weren’t sure how you got there—just that he never left your side. You could still feel the aftershocks in your hands. The tremble wouldn’t stop.

Lea saw you coming and immediately crossed the bar with urgency. She passed Jungkook a folded towel packed with ice, eyes widening at the redness blooming across your arm. “Thanks,” you murmured, pressing the bundle to your skin.

You sank onto the bench like your knees had finally given out. Jungkook crouched in front of you, eyes locked on your face. His brows furrowed—not with frustration, but with a quiet, watchful worry. He waited until your gaze finally lifted to meet his.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, throat thick. “For… ruining the mood.”

“You didn’t,” Jungkook said immediately, voice low, unwavering. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” But still, the weight of it sat heavy in your chest—like you’d broken something sacred by needing help.

“Yeah, no offense,” Jimin chimed in gently from somewhere just behind Jungkook, “but the mood was already kinda dead when you guys started that weird circle twerk thing.” You blinked. Then snorted. Taehyung pulled another bench over, slouching onto it with theatrical despair. “Was that meant to be dancing? Because I think my eyes need therapy.”

Yoongi gave a low chuckle from behind a cup of water someone had handed him. “Honestly, I think I preferred the screaming zombies.” The laughter this time was softer, but it curled through your chest like something healing.

The boys were trying to lighten the air, you realized. Trying to give you a minute to feel normal again. And you realized—this was what safety felt like. Jungkook didn’t smile, though. Not really. He huffed, looking down with a rueful smile, then leaned in a little closer, voice quiet and serious. “Honestly? Would’ve been nice to watch Lukas get dropped flat. Especially by you.”

Yoongi gave a quiet snort of agreement, and Jimin let out a low, appreciative, “Damn.” Then Jungkook looked back up at you, head tilting. “And you came in swinging for my honor. That was… sweet.” Your stomach dropped. You groaned, burying your face in one hand. “Don’t make it sound like that.”

“What?” Jungkook grinned, teasing. “It was kinda romantic.”

“I hate this,” you mumbled into your hand, burning. “I should’ve just bitten him.”

“You were aiming,” Yoongi commented. “I saw that jaw clench.” Jimin leaned in, mock-serious. “Next time, lead with the knee.” Taehyung, blinked. “I miss five minutes of drama and apparently it turned into Mortal Kombat?” That finally earned a real laugh from you—soft and sore-throated but genuine.

You looked down at Jungkook—still crouched in front of you like you might fall over again if he wasn’t anchoring you. He looked up, eyes dark and gentle. “You sure you’re okay?”

You hesitated. Then nodded once. “…Getting there.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything to that. But the look in his eyes said enough.

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ

Part 2

Masterlist

Taglist: @dachshunddame @hecatesdescendant @chaeisrichnow @canarystwin @mar-lo-pap @notyourfriendooo @bjoriis

Not sure if i did everyting right with the tag list. Please let me know if there was a mistake.

#jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook bts #bts #jeon jungguk #jeon jungkook #jungkook x you #larp character #larp bts #larp jungkook #bts stories

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sweetvoidstuff · 7 days ago

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What the Heart Knows

Jungkook x Pregnant!Reader I Werwolf x Human I Angst I Hurt I Comfort I Domestic Fluff I Supernatural AU

Summary: A misunderstanding born of instinct and exhaustion threatens to crack the foundation between Jungkook and his mate. When harsh words are exchanged, it forces both of them to confront what’s really changing between them

This was the Request: werewolf!Jungkook x pregnant!reader

Word Count: ~ 2K

Masterlist

__________________________

The apartment door creaked open at 9:43 p.m.

Again.

You sighed as you stepped inside, kicking off your shoes with a muted thud. Your feet throbbed in your boots from the fourteen-hour shift. The air smelled like the leftovers you forgot in the fridge, the faint laundry detergent from Jungkook’s hoodie on the back of the couch—and faintly, just faintly, the scent of frustration.

He was in the living room. Sitting on the edge of the couch. Shirtless, damp hair, pants slung low on his hips like he hadn’t bothered to finish dressing after his shower. And his eyes met yours like a wolf caught mid-prowl—sharp, dark, searching.

You gave him a tired smile. “Hey, Kook.”

Jungkook didn’t smile back. Instead, he sniffed once. Subtle. Human eyes wouldn’t catch it. You did.

Your brow knit. “You okay?”

“Who were you with?”

You blinked. “What?”

He stood slowly, bare feet soundless against the floor. “Who were you with? You don’t smell right.”

That was the third time this week. You groaned, shoulders sagging as you dropped your bag by the door. “Jungkook, I’ve told you—work has been insane. I’m pulling doubles at the studio. I’m around people all day—paint, chemicals, dust, you name it. That’s what you’re picking up on.”

But Jungkook shook his head, eyes locked on you like he was trying to read something buried beneath your skin.

“No,” he said, quiet but firm. His voice held that edge—controlled, but only just. “You don’t get it. You’ve smelled different for weeks now. Not like work. Not like paint. You smell like…” He exhaled through his nose. “Like someone I don’t know.” Your stomach twisted.

He wasn’t raising his voice. But Jungkook’s intensity was like a building storm, always quietest right before the crack of thunder. You took a cautious step closer.

“Jungkook,” you said slowly, voice tighter than you meant, “I haven’t been with anyone. I’m just around people. It’s a shared workspace. I don’t know what it is you’re picking up on, but I swear—that’s all it is.”

For a second, he didn’t speak. But something flickered behind his eyes—doubt or something close to it—and then he muttered under his breath, too low and bitter to ignore, “It’s like you’re meeting up with someone and just don’t want to admit it.”

You froze.

The words struck like ice water down your spine. The silence after was deafening. You blinked at him, stunned. “What?”

The air shifted. Dense. Sharp-edged.

A humorless laugh slipped out before you could stop it—dry and disbelieving. “So you do think I’m cheating.”

Jungkook looked away, jaw tight. “No. It’s not intense enough for that.”

As if that made it better. The sting bloomed sharp in your chest, creeping through your ribs like frost. “But you thought about it,” you said quietly, the disbelief slowly cracking into hurt. “You stood there and let your mind go there. About me.”

He didn’t answer. And that silence? That’s what made it worse.

You shook your head, heart pounding unevenly. “Well, lucky me. Three years together, and that’s all the trust I get. I’ve been exhausted, Jungkook. Stressed. Nauseous. Burned out from work and barely sleeping. I smell things I can’t explain and I don’t even know what’s going on with me anymore.”

You looked up at him, eyes shining, voice shaking now with more pain than anger.

“But instead of asking me what’s wrong—really wrong—you decided I must be sneaking around behind your back?” Your voice cracked at the end, raw and real. “God, Jungkook… I thought we were stronger than this.”

He ran a hand through his hair, breathing deeply, trying to keep control. But his instincts were louder than his logic. He could smell the shift in you. Not betrayal. But something—unknown. And unknown made him paranoid.

You turned toward the front door, snatching your coat. “You know what? I need air.”

“Wait—” He grabbed your wrist, gently, but you jerked away.

“Don’t,” you said sharply. “Not when you look at me like… like that.”

And just like that, the door closed behind you.

──── ୨୧ ─��──

Jungkook stared at the door long after you left. His hands shook. Not from rage—but from shame. His wolf hated your absence. It clawed at his insides, restless and irritated without your scent close. That was the thing—your scent had changed, but it was still you. Still comforting under all the new layers. He should’ve trusted it. Trusted you.

Jungkook sank onto the couch, elbows on his knees, hands tangled in his hair. The apartment was too quiet. The echo of your voice still lingered in the corners—hurt, tired, angry. And he hated himself for putting it there.

His phone buzzed against the coffee table.

Mom 🐺

He hesitated, then picked up.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, baby, do you and Y/N wanna come over next Sunday for dinner? I can make the potato thing she likes?” her voice was warm. Jungkook hesitates again before deciding humming might be the better option. But his mom picked up on this. “You sound like shit. What happened?”

He let out a tired breath. “I screwed up.”

She went quiet. Just long enough for him to hear the shift—the mom tone. “What did you do?”

Jungkook leaned back, head hitting the wall behind him. “I don’t even know. She’s been… different. For weeks now. I didn’t notice it right away, just—her scent changed. Not bad. Just not hers. And she’s been distant, tired, stressed. I thought maybe something was going on. Not cheating—I didn’t smell that. But something.”

“You told her that?” his mom asked flatly.

“Not like that. I just—I asked. Wrong time. Wrong words. She walked out.”

Another pause. Then—

“You absolute dumbass.”

Jungkook blinked. “Mom?”

“No, seriously. You’re an idiot!”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up and listen to me for five seconds.” Her voice cut sharp, but underneath was concern. “You said she’s been tired?”

“Yeah.”

“Also, Nauseous?”

“Sometimes, yeah. And she’s moody, emotional—”

“And you said her scent changed slowly. Not overnight. Not with perfume. Gradual.”

“…Yeah.”

“Jungkook.” She said his name like he was six years old again, about to touch a hot stove. “What’s one reason—one very common, very obvious reason—a woman’s scent would shift like that over weeks?”

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

“Think, sweetheart,” she said, voice softening just enough to crack him open. “Hormonal changes. Body heat rising. Emotional spikes. Fatigue, Nausea—ring any damn bells, Jungkook?”

His heart started racing. “You think…?”

“You’re a werewolf, Jungkook. You can track deer for miles by a change in wind, but you couldn’t tell your own mate might be pregnant?”

His stomach dropped.

The puzzle pieces locked into place with terrifying clarity. The foreign scent. The nausea. The shifts in mood. Her exhaustion. The scents she picked up on. The way she couldn’t explain what was happening either.

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah,” his mom said bluntly. “Oh my god. Now get your sorry ass off that couch and go find her.”

He ran a hand over his face. “But what if she—”

“She didn’t leave you, Kook. She left the fight. Big difference. You pushed her when she needed you. So fix it.” Jungkook stood so fast his phone nearly dropped. His chest burned with adrenaline and something dangerously close to fear.

Fear of losing you. Fear of what he’d said.

And now—fear that he hadn’t seen the most important thing growing right in front of him.

He was already at the door, heart slamming in his chest sweater in hand.

“I’m gonna fix it.”

“You’d better,” his mom said. Then, gentler, “And bring her to dinner. She’s going to need a lot of love soon.”

──── ୨୧ ────

It took Jungkook hours to find you. His clothes were damp from running through the drizzle, his phone battery was nearly dead, and he’d checked every place you might go just to be alone. Jungkook had nearly torn his hair out retracing your usual routes. But when he spotted you through the fogged window of the 24/7 diner, sitting in a booth with your head resting against the glass, something inside him buckled.

You looked exhausted.

Eyes closed. Shoulders slumped. You looked like you’d been holding yourself together with sheer will. And all he could think was I did that. That’s on me. He moved slowly, heart pounding louder with every step until it was all he could hear.

You didn’t flinch when he slid into the seat across from you. Didn’t say a word. Just opened your eyes and stared at the window like you couldn’t quite bear to look at him yet. Only the soft hum of the diner, the clatter of dishes and distant rain filled the silence between you.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, voice rough at the edges.

You finally turned to look at him. Eyes bloodshot, lips pressed in a thin line. It wasn’t anger on your face—it was exhaustion. Sadness. It was enough to make his chest ache. He raked a hand through his damp hair, frustrated with himself. “I... I think I know why your scent changed.”

Your expression shifted, faint irritation flickering across it—already done with that conversation. But then he said something you didn’t expect.

“I think you’re pregnant.”

Your heart stopped. Your eyes snapped fully open, sharp and wide as they locked onto his. “I…What?”

He swallowed, throat tight, gaze fixed on your face like he was afraid you’d vanish. “Pregnancy…” he started, voice low, “…changes scent. Especially to wolves. It shifts something in the way you carry yourself, your hormones, your heat. It’s subtle, but it’s there. It’s why I couldn’t place it. Because it wasn’t some other person, or stranger, or danger. It was you. Still you. Just… changing—enough to throw me off.”

He let out a shaky breath and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “And I was too much of an idiot to realize what my instincts were actually trying to tell me. I didn’t recognize it, and instead of using my head, I let it mess with me. I hurt you. That’s on me.”

You didn’t speak. Not yet. You weren’t even sure if you could. Your throat felt tight. Your heart beat in your ears. And suddenly everything felt too real. Tears stung behind your eyes, uninvited and fast.

Pregnant?

The word rang like a bell inside you.

You wanted to tell him he was wrong. That it was just stress. Or hormones. Or burnout.

But deep down… You knew.

You’d missed two periods. You’d been nauseous in waves. You couldn’t stomach the smell of coffee anymore. You’d nearly cried watching a dog food commercial last night. You were tired all the time. And now, hearing it out loud—you were scared.

You and Jungkook had been together for years. You loved him, completely. Would you want a future with him? Yes.

But this?

This felt like stepping off a cliff with your eyes closed.

“I—I missed my period,” you admitted softly. “I just… I thought it was the stress. I’m getting a test tomorrow.”

Jungkook nodded once, firm. “Can I come with you?”

You looked down at his fingers. “Even after everything?”

“I’ll spend forever making it up to you if I have to.”

You looked at him for a long time. Then nodded.

“This wasn’t planned,” you said, voice tight. “I don’t even know if it’s real yet, and I don’t know what it means. I mean, we’ve talked about the future but—this is huge. I don’t even know if you’ve ever wanted—”

“You’re my mate,” Jungkook said, interrupting gently but firmly. “Whatever comes with you? I’m in it.” You looked up at him sharply, stunned.

He went on, voice lower now, more controlled. “I want you,” he said. “All of it. Even if I didn’t know this was coming. Even if it scares the shit out of me. I’ve been so caught up in stress and instincts and work and just… being stupid. But you’re not alone in this. You won’t be. No matter what happens next.” He exhaled like a drowning man breaking surface. “I’m sorry. I should’ve trusted you. I do trust you. I was just scared. And stupid.”

You blinked, startled by how steady he sounded. A tear rolled down your cheek. You swiped it away quickly, but Jungkook reached across the table, palm open. You hesitated, then placed your hand in his. His fingers curled around yours instantly. Warm. Solid.

Safe.

Neither of you spoke for a while. The rain kept falling outside. But something—maybe everything—between you had finally started to settle. He leaned over and pressed his forehead to yours, warm and close and home.

And for the first time in weeks, he breathed you in without confusion—only awe.

You didn’t smell wrong.

You smelled like the future.

Taglist: @dachshunddame @hecatesdescendant @chaeisrichnow @canarystwin @mar-lo-pap @notyourfriendooo @bjoriis

Not sure if i did everyting right with the tag list. Please let me know if there was a mistake.

#jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #bts #jungkook #jungkook bts #jeon jungguk #jeon jungkook #ask me anything #jungkook x you #resquests #werwolf jungkook #werewolf #bts jk

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sweetvoidstuff · 9 days ago

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I had an idea! It will be on by the 17.06. <3

hi can i request something? You r so good at writing werewolf fics so i wanna read something from you where y/n and jungkook would be in a established relationship and they get into a fight or y/n is angry at jungkook, and she storms out of the house, but she’s pregnant and of course jungkook would lose his mind or freak out or get frustrated and angry. I’m leaving the rest to you💗 You don’t have to write it just cause i asked of course it’s totally fine if you don’t. Have a nice day💓

I really like the idea! 💗 I’ll get to it as soon as I can—might take me a little while since I don’t have a writing schedule, but this sounds like such a fun (and emotional!) scenario to write. Thank you so much for the request, and I hope you have a lovely day too!

#ask me anything #request #jungkook x reader #werwolf jungkook

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sweetvoidstuff · 10 days ago

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“He was already starting to understand you a little: you didn’t take — you never expected. You just quietly appreciated.”

THIS😍 Just a Normal Night is a gem! And our OC, I👏am👏obsessed👏with👏her👏 She’s so kind and understanding and just pretty cool. She’s someone that I want to befriend. I just finished the 2 bonus drabbles, and she never cried no? She’s very understanding.

Not to be bad but can we make her cry? And let JK panic pleaaaasssse! Hahahaha. Anyway, just dropping by to say we want more but no pressure! Have a great day always💕💕

Thank you so much for loving it and saying you want more!! 💕 I might have one or two more ideas in the works (not fully written yet, but definitely brewing).

And oh? You want to make her cry?? You monster—I love it 😈 Honestly, I’ll have to think carefully about it. She’s so understanding, and with the nature of their relationship, it’s tricky to find a situation that would fit and give us a panicked Jungkook. But I do love your evil little brain for suggesting it, so I promise I’ll think on it.

(Oh! I just realized, in Missing you OC is kind of crying. Not sure if this counts.)

Thank you again, and I hope you have an amazing day too! 💕💕

#jungkook x reader #ask me anything #just a normal night #jungkook #bts

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sweetvoidstuff · 13 days ago

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Just finished reading all the Just A Normal Night episodes and I love all of them👏 Thank you!

Just an idea for a drabble for Just a normal night or any other Idol AU for JK. What if you guys are together but obviously can’t introduce yourselves as each other’s bf or gf. And then…a guy at work hitting on you accusing you of being hard to get by constantly saying you’re taken but cannot show a significant other in the flesh.😅

Thank you so much for your kind words!! 💗 I had so much fun writing Just A Normal Night, so it makes me really happy to hear you enjoyed it! And ahhh I love this idea—you’ve got my brain spinning already. I think I’ve got a good narrative for it too, and I’ll get to it as soon as I finish my current WIP! Super excited to write for them again

#ask me anything #just a normal night #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts

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sweetvoidstuff · 13 days ago

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#ask me anything #request #jungkook x reader

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sweetvoidstuff · 13 days ago

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Absolutely love your werewolf fics 😭😭 so good ✨️ will you ever write more ?

Take care ❤️

Yes, I will! I’ve actually got a few requests I’m working on right now, and even a 60k fic (lol) that’s currently in limbo because I changed the ending halfway through. Still deciding whether to rewrite the end again or just roll with it... But something werewolf-related might be coming soon. Thanks so much for the love and take care too!

#ask me anything #werwolf jungkook

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sweetvoidstuff · 26 days ago

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Can you please please PLEASE write a small segment for Where You Belong about their emotional intimacy when Jungkook marked her?😩😩

Dying over here😩

YES!! Well—maybe?? I’m gonna get to it, I swear!! I don’t have the scene fully in my brain yet, like the setting isn’t setting and the vibes aren’t vibing just yet, you feel me?? But the moment it hits? Jungkook’s gonna mark her and it’s gonna be good—I hope.

Right now though, some other WIPs have me in a chokehold, screaming louder, so they’re getting first dibs on my attention, but TRUST, the moment my brain goes “you know what time it is?” — it’s marking time.

#jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #ask me anything

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sweetvoidstuff · 26 days ago

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finished !!! 💗💗💗 the cringe score is still zero 😘

I am so glad to hear that! <3

#ask me anything #jungkook x reader

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sweetvoidstuff · 26 days ago

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WIP and a cozy weekend

Again 💜

It’s a long weekend for me, so if anyone wants to talk, I’d love to chat while working on my WIP! Ask me anything — writing, BTS, werewolves, dystopian chaos, or whatever else <3

#ask me anything #bts #bts jungkook #anon ask #ask #ask blog #send asks

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sweetvoidstuff · 27 days ago

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just read the first part of where u belong, u are so talented !! and u write so well 💗💗 i really like thw way its written and irs a high compliment bc i usually find most fics to be at least 20% cringey. urs was 0

Ahh thank you so much!! 💗 That means a lot, especially because I am someone who's picky about cringe levels too—I totally get that!

I really struggled with the bully theme, trying to find the right balance so it doesn’t feel rushed or like forgiveness comes too easily. So I’m extra glad it didn’t sound to bad in the first part!

I did try to keep the cringe low in the next two parts too, but you’ll have to be the judge of that 😅 Let me know how my cringe score holds up—I’m bracing myself!!

#jungkook x reader #jungkook #bts jungkook #ask me anything #where you belong

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sweetvoidstuff · 28 days ago

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You're gorgeous!! Thank you so much for the kind words—it means a lot that you saw them the way I imagined them!

This piece is actually kind of a spin-off—there’s an earlier part where they get to know each other. I’m so glad you noticed the font changes! I had fun playing around with that to show the shifts in language and tone.

Thanks again for reading!!

Just a Normal Night: Missing you

Jungkook x Reader I Modern AU I Chance Encounter I Fluff I Romance

Summary: You and Jungkook had built something steady amidst the chaos of long-distance and fame. Though you couldn’t share your love with the world, Jungkook made sure you always felt seen, valued, and included.You held onto each other in quiet ways, making the most of every message, every stolen day, but there were nights—like this one—when the ache of missing him, of pretending, became sharp and lonely.

Word Count: 9K

Masterlist

A/N: I hurt myself with this one... Just a quick note on formatting: Bold text is used for dialogue spoken in Korean. Italic text represents internal thoughts or feelings. Normal text is used for dialogue spoken in English.

I hope this helps make things easier to follow while reading. Thanks so much for giving my story a chance!

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

It had been a few months now. You and Jungkook had found a rhythm—chaotic at times, but surprisingly solid. You’d grown used to airport runs, shared calendars, and time zone math. More than anything, you’d learned how to make every moment together count.

You’d even switched jobs to make it work. Your new role allowed more flexibility—more home office days—which meant more opportunities to catch flights out to him, or better yet, to welcome him into your space. And Jungkook had started planning his travel routes with intention. No matter where he was flying—be it Tokyo, Paris, or New York—he found a way to make a stopover at your place. Even if it was just for a day or two. Sometimes he’d arrive at midnight, exhausted but smiling, and slip into bed beside you like he belonged there. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t perfect. Of course not.

But it was more than you thought you’d get when you first fell for a man with a passport full of stamps and a calendar packed to the edges. What surprised you most, though, was how normal some things started to feel.

Your best friends, Pascal and Floral—your loud, protective, ride-or-dies—had long since exchanged numbers with Jungkook. They'd grilled him mercilessly, but by the end of it, Jungkook was laughing so hard he was crying. Now, they sent memes back and forth like old friends and occasionally FaceTimed him just to "make sure he was still hot." Jungkook played along with good humor, sometimes even sending photos just to mess with them.

You had group chats with some of his people too—Yoongi occasionally sent you dry one-liners about keeping Jungkook in check, while Taehyung’s voice notes were always unhinged in the best way. You didn’t see them often, but when you did, it never felt like a performance. You were part of this now, even if quietly.

Still, it wasn’t always easy. The secrecy was the hardest part.

There were no selfies online. No hand-holding in public. No sharing your favorite photos of him—at least not outside your locked folder. Not even on your photo wall. You watched from a distance as the world speculated about his life, sometimes cruelly, sometimes ridiculously, and always loudly.

And when something trended—some blurry photo, some headline about him being seen with someone else—it could hit you like a punch in the gut if you weren’t expecting it. But you usually were.

Because Jungkook made sure of it. He told you everything.

Before the rumors even started, he’d already filled you in. A potential collab with a female idol? You’d known weeks ahead. A tabloid writing nonsense about him partying? You had the real story before the article even dropped. Some out-of-context video making rounds? You’d already heard the full, boring truth from him or one of the BTS guys that filmed the video.

Jungkook wasn’t about gifts—not really, because you made him promise not to. Though he still insisted on bringing you things that made you groan and swat at him for spending too much (like the ridiculously expensive designer scarf you refused to wear outside because what if you lost it?), that wasn’t how he kept you.

He kept you by being there.

With late-night texts, sleepy voice notes, and photos from hotel rooms that always looked a little too sterile until he brought you into them—even if only over FaceTime. He kept you in the loop, in his orbit, in the spaces between the noise. And you stayed. Not just because you loved him—though you did, deeply—but because he made loving him safe, even in the shadows.

And sometimes, just sometimes, when you caught a glimpse of him looking at you—like you were the only thing grounding him to this world—you didn't care that no one else knew.

You knew. And that was enough.

But you still missed him.

No matter how well you'd both adjusted to this rhythm of time zones, shared calendars, and countdowns until the next flight, there were still nights when it hit you hard. Nights like this one—cool air brushing against your skin, the city buzzing, the distant sound of laughter from people who didn’t have to keep their love life secret.

You knew he missed you just as much. Jungkook wasn’t shy about saying it anymore. Voice notes that started with "I miss you so much…" had become a regular comfort, sometimes accompanied by a half-asleep selfie or a blurry photo of whatever city skyline he was staring at.

But neither of you could put your lives on hold. He had concerts. You had deadlines. He had fans. You had rent.

So tonight, instead of being curled up on the couch, texting or facetiming him, you were out with your friends.

Your group had grown over the past few months. It wasn’t just Pascal and Floral anymore. Tonight, Eumi had joined, along with Carmen—and Dong, who had somehow transformed from the waiter at your favorite Korean BBQ place into a staple of your group chat. He’d been charming from day one, always slipping into your conversations with gossip and impressively savage opinions about Kimchi. Over the months, he’d stayed longer after meals, accepted your invitation to a group hang, and just fit.

The six of you had started the evening at a small Italian restaurant tucked between two bookstores—a cozy spot with handwritten menus and twinkling fairy lights in mason jars. You laughed over shared plates of pasta, swapped stories from the week, and clinked glasses over how mentally cooked you all were from work.

“So,” Carmen said at one point, spearing the last mushroom ravioli and leaning her chin on her hand, “When are you finally going to get a boyfriend?” You nearly choked on your wine. “Yeah,” Dong added with a wicked grin, tilting his head. “It’s getting suspicious. All this skincare and mystery phone calls. I’m starting to think you’ve got a secret man in your walls or something.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Eumi deadpanned. “She’s probably got one locked in the basement.” Pascal, who was sitting beside you, didn’t even blink. “If she did, trust me, she’d let him out just to clean. Maybe do taxes. She’s too busy for anything else.”

You laughed with the group but sidestepped the question as you always did. “I’m just enjoying being mysterious,” you said, taking a sip of your drink with a wink. “It adds to my overall brand.”

“Mysterious and single?” Dong teased.

“Mysteriously unavailable,” Pascal said smoothly, and clinked your glass in a quiet, knowing gesture. They let it go after that. The teasing didn’t stop—but the questions did. After dinner, you all made your way to your and Pascal’s favorite karaoke bar. It wasn’t trendy or flashy. In fact, it was a little run-down—but the mic worked, the drinks were strong, and the regulars didn’t care if you couldn’t carry a tune.

You pushed through the door and were immediately hit with the warm, bassy thump of 2000s pop echoing off the walls. The lights were low and multicolored, the disco ball spinning slowly overhead like it had better days behind it. Floral was already halfway to the songbook, flipping furiously. “Okay, nobody is allowed to leave until we’ve all done at least one cursed duet.”

“Dibs on ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ with Carmen,” Pascal said, making Eumi groan.

“Only if we get to do the headbanging part properly,” Carmen said, already rolling up her sleeves.

You slid into the worn red couch, surrounded by the people who had become your safe zone. It wasn’t Jungkook’s arms. It wasn’t the weight of him leaning into you while you worked from your laptop on his hotel bed. But it was something. It was home.

And for now, that was enough.

As Pascal grabbed the mic for his first round and the opening notes of a dramatically off-key rendition of “Toxic” by Britney Spears started to blare through the speaker, you relaxed into the cushions, drink in hand, your laughter rising above the music.

Tonight, you'd sing the stress away.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

Across the world, Jungkook missed you.

He was just stepping off set after finishing his shoot for the new album concept—slicked back hair, sharp eyeliner, and a coat that looked like it belonged in some post-apocalyptic runway show. Yoongi was next up, already halfway through wardrobe, and Namjoon, still in his second look for the single concept, was heading to the makeup noonas to prep for round two.

But Jungkook wasn’t thinking about any of that. Not really. He was thinking about you.

He wished you were here. Sitting in the corner of the set with your laptop, pretending to work but really just watching him with that soft, secret smile. But this was one of those weeks—busy, mismatched schedules, deadlines for both of you—and the reality was, it just wasn’t possible to meet up this time. In a week—maybe two, max—there would be a new window. A precious stretch of four whole days that matched both your calendars, and he was holding onto that like a lifeline.

He couldn't wait.

Just as he stepped into the dressing room and reached for his phone to text you a tired selfie, a new message popped up on screen.

Pascal: Hey thought you might like a treat 🍬 (video file attached)

Jungkook’s lips curled before he even opened it. Your friends Pascal and Flora had grown close to him over the last few months. They messaged him every now and then, mostly teasing him with you, sometimes just sharing random moments from their group outings. It helped him feel connected to your life even when he couldn’t be there physically. Plus, it gave him an excuse to practice his English—although for texting, Google Translate was still his loyal sidekick.

He tapped the video.

The next three minutes of shaky camera footage had Jungkook grinning like an idiot, and within ten seconds, he was done for. His grin stretched wide. Laughter burst from his chest before he could stop it. The stress of the shoot, the fatigue pressing on his shoulders, the whirlwind of deadlines—forgotten. He watched, eyes glued to the video Pascal had sent him.

You were on screen, standing beside a Korean girl Jungkook vaguely recognized from your stories—Eumi, maybe? The two of you were in a dimly lit karaoke bar, a disco ball spinning above your heads and casting colorful speckles of light across your faces.

The two of you were mid-performance, belting out MIC Drop like your lives depended on it.

Badly. Loudly. Hilariously. Adorably.

You and your friend were giving it everything. Your choreography was a chaotic blend of real BTS moves and your own completely unhinged freestyles—wild arm swings, aggressive dabs, mic flips. You pointed dramatically on beat, lost yourself in the lyrics, and nearly dropped the mic from laughing too hard mid-line. The improvisations made Jungkook burst into breathless laughter. He cringed and cooed all at once.

You were mouthing all the lyrics—his parts too—with such exaggerated confidence that it looked like you were headlining a world tour. Eumi tried to do Jungkook’s part but gave up halfway through, handing it over to you—just as the beat dropped into Yoongi’s rap.

And you went full fan mode.

You rapped Yoongi’s lines like you were auditioning to replace him—fierce, theatrical, and way too confident for someone who tripped over the beat twice. But it only made it funnier. Somehow better. Your swagger was ridiculous. Your hand gestures had no coordination. And you didn’t care at all. The sheer joy radiating off you made Jungkook’s chest ache—in the best way.

And despite the shaky cam, he could clearly make out the proud chaos in the background.

In the background, Flora and someone else were waving rolled-up napkins like cheering batons, adding their own hype to the performance. Like they were at a concert, cheering you on like their lives depended on it. At one point, Pascal could be heard laughed so hard he wheezed, his voice barely audible, “They’re gonna break the stage, oh my God.”

Jungkook doubled over, clutching his stomach, nearly dropping his phone. He had to pause the video just to breathe. His eyes were watering from how hard he was laughing, but also… from something softer. Something warm.

“God, she’s killing it,” he mumbled, wiping a tear away and shaking his head. He couldn’t stop smiling. Couldn’t stop watching. He hit rewind, needing to see the part again where you did a dramatic spin, lost your balance, then laughed it off and did a little body roll like nothing had happened.

“Jungkookie?”

Jimin passed by in a black tank top and joggers, holding a water bottle. He paused at the sight of Jungkook hunched over, laughing like a maniac. “What are you watching?” he asked, curiously stepping behind Jungkook and leaning in.

Jungkook held the phone out without a word. Jimin leaned in. After just five seconds, he snorted. And immediately, Jimin’s expression cracked. “No way. Is that your girl?”

Jungkook just nodded, lips pressed together to keep from cracking into full-on laughter again.

“She’s destroying Yoongi’s part,” Jimin said, grinning. “Hold on—HYUNG!”

Yoongi, already halfway to the set in his stage outfit, turned slowly. “What now?”

Jimin waved him over, already laughing. “You need to see this. Jungkook’s girlfriend is coming for your position. You better step it up.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, skeptical, but wandered over anyway. Jungkook rewound the clip to that part and, even Yoongi couldn’t help but smirk. “She’s got guts,” he muttered, crossing his arms as he watched your overly intense delivery and dramatic mic flip. “Terrible breath control, though.”

“But better hair,” Jimin added.

“Don’t make me regret showing you this,” Jungkook said, grinning helplessly. Then you did a full-body spin, stumbled, laughed it off, and tried to save it with a half-hearted body roll—before dabbing like it was your encore. “She’s perfect,” Jungkook said without thinking, eyes still locked on the screen. His voice was soft. Full of something raw and real.

Jimin caught the tone and softened too. “She’s adorable,” he said. “Does she know her friend filmed this?”

“Definitely not.”

The three of them watched the rest of the video together, crowded around Jungkook’s phone like teenagers. And when it ended? Jungkook hit play again. Because even through grainy pixels and shaky camera work, you’d lit up the room he was in. Even from a thousand miles away. Even from a crowded dressing room in another time zone.

And it reminded him why this—you—were worth every second of distance. Every lonely flight. Every night he had to fall asleep with a phone screen instead of your voice beside him.

You were wild. You were chaotic. You were you.

And God, did he miss you. He couldn’t wait to text you. He couldn’t wait to tell you how much he loved the video. How he was now going to tease you for exactly how hard you went during his verse, how you absolutely butchered his choreo, and how he loved you even more for it. And how, next time, he wanted to see it in person.

Not through a video. But sitting beside you. Maybe even grabbing the mic himself.

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It was late when you finally got home, still humming snippets of songs you’d absolutely butchered at karaoke. Pascal and Flora had dropped you off with promises to plan the next night out soon, and now the silence of your apartment felt both comforting and oddly loud after the chaos of the bar.

You were a little tipsy—just enough to feel warm and relaxed from the couple of drinks you’d had, but still steady on your feet. As you kicked off your shoes, you glanced at the clock and groaned.

Time zone math. Ugh. What was it where Jungkook was? Morning? Afternoon? Late evening?

You flopped down on your couch, pulling out your phone. You hadn’t heard from him much today, but you knew he should still be busy on set. Just in case, you thumbed out a short message:

You: Still awake?

You were already half-preparing to open one of the goodnight voice messages he’d sent you the night before—a soothing backup plan when he was too busy to answer. But before you could even close your messaging app, your phone lit up.

Not a text. Not a FaceTime. A regular call.

You blinked, surprised. Jungkook’s name lit up your screen, and your heart jumped. You answered quickly, pressing the phone to your ear with a sleepy smile. “Hey.”

“Hey, you,” came his voice, low and warm in your ear. “Didn’t think I’d get to hear from you tonight.”

Your smile deepened. “Didn’t think I’d get to talk to you tonight. I figured you’d be busy until tomorrow.”

“We just wrapped up shooting a bit ago. Got a little break before dinner and a live later with Jimin,” he explained. You could hear the faint background murmur of staff and maybe some crew members talking, but his attention was fully on you. “So, your message came at the perfect time.”

You let out a little laugh. “Lucky me.”

“You sound…” he paused, amused. “Tipsy?”

“Just a little,” you admitted, laughing again. “We went to that karaoke place near Eumi’s neighborhood. I may or may not have screamed my way through half the BTS discography.”

“Oh no.” Jungkook chuckled, the sound deep and fond. “Was it fun?”

“The most fun I’ve had in weeks,” you said, stretching your legs out on the couch. “I think Pascal filmed some of it, actually. I’m terrified to see what he got.”

Jungkook hummed noncommittally. “Yeah? I bet it was cute.”

“Cute? Please. It was chaotic—catastrophic. I almost fell off the little stage. Eumi forgot half the words and tried to give me her part—like I could pull that off. I think Flora even brock a mic. We all nearly cried from laughing.” There was a small beat of silence on the line before Jungkook said, a little too smoothly, “Did you fall off the stage before or after the body roll?”

You froze. Your eyes narrowed. “…Wait. How do you know about the body roll?”

His laughter burst through the speaker. “Pascal might’ve sent me a little something earlier.”

“Oh my God.” You groaned, burying your face in a cushion. “He didn’t!”

“He did.” Jungkook was grinning—you could hear it. “And honestly? Best thing I’ve seen all day. I think you nearly made Yoongi cry.”

“Jungkook!”

“You were amazing,” he teased gently. “Questionable dance choices—but amazing.”

“I'm never speaking to Pascal again.”

“You’re lying.”

“Okay… I might yell at him a little first and then forgive him. But still.” You laughed despite your embarrassment, cheeks warming. “That’s blackmail material.”

“Nope. That’s wallpaper material,” Jungkook said softly. “You have no idea how much I needed that laugh today.” The teasing faded into something softer between you—his voice warm in your ear, his laughter still echoing in your chest. You curled up tighter on the couch, letting the quiet stretch for a moment.

Then, lightly, you said, “Dong’s been on his matchmaking kick again.” Jungkook let out a soft sound of confusion. “Matchmaking?”

“Yeah. After the second round of drinks, he started again asking why I’m still single.” You laughed under your breath, eyes on the ceiling. “He’s been convinced I need a boyfriend for weeks.” There was a pause. Then a low, amused hum. “Dong… he’s the one with the green hair, right?”

“Mhm. Nice guy, kind of like a human golden retriever, but relentless.”

“Hmm,” Jungkook said again, slower this time. “You think he’s into you?”

You snorted. “I don’t think so. I mean—maybe? But it’s more like… he thinks I need someone to take care of me. Like I’m out here tragically pining or something.”

“Well,” Jungkook said, mock-affronted, “I am taking care of you.”

You grinned. “I know. You’re doing a great job, too.” There was a beat of silence, and then Jungkook asked, more seriously, “What did you tell him?”

You hesitated, fingers picking at the edge of a cushion. “That I’m fine. That I’m not looking.”

“Not looking?” he echoed.

“I mean… I can’t tell anyone I already have a boyfriend,” you said quietly. “Except Pascal and Flora?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, his voice softer now.

“Pascal’s a good buffer,” you added. “He steps in whenever Dong starts getting too nosy, changes the subject, or drags me off to get more snacks or something. Flora too, if he catches on. But it’s still weird not being able to say anything.” You could hear the way Jungkook’s breathing shifted, the heaviness of his silence weighing between you like a held breath.

“I hate that I can’t tell anyone you’re mine,” he murmured, his words laced with quiet frustration. “That I can’t tell the guys hitting on you to back off. Can’t post about you, or even hold your hand in public.” He sighed. “But I really appreciate you being honest with me about it all.”

You pressed your cheek against the couch cushion, trying to keep your voice steady. “Of course I am.”

“I miss you more in moments like this,” he said softly. “When I know someone else might be seeing you smile, hearing you laugh, and I can't be there. I want to kiss you even more when it feels like I shouldn’t.”

“I miss you,” you admitted, your voice low. Jungkook’s voice dropped an octave, losing all its teasing lilt—suddenly quieter, more intimate. “How much do you miss me?” The way he said it sent a flicker of heat down your spine. Your breath hitched, and you felt your fingers curl tighter around your phone.

“A lot, Jungkook,” you whispered. There was a pause on his end, followed by a subtle, gravelly hum that made your chest ache. Just then, you heard the faint click of a door in the background on his end—maybe someone entering, or him slipping into a quieter space. When he spoke again, his voice was different. Focused. Steady. All the playful teasing from earlier was gone.

“What do you miss the most?” he asked. You smiled into the quiet, feeling your chest tighten at the sincerity in his voice. You didn’t rush to answer, letting the moment stretch.

“Bam,” you said eventually, with a soft teasing note. There was a beat of silence—then Jungkook groaned dramatically, laughing under his breath. “I’m trying to be sexy here. Work with me.”

You laughed too, your mood lighter already. “I thought you had a live you needed to go to?”

“I do,” he said, sighing again—but this time it was reluctant. “Just later. I want… to take care of you. If you want to stay up with me a little longer?” You closed your eyes, heart soft and full. “Yeah. I do.” You hesitated, chewing on your lip. “I… I’m just not sure how the phone thing works. Like… I don’t want to mess anything up.” You laughed a little, sheepish. “God, that sounds dumb.”

“It doesn’t,” he said instantly, gentle and reassuring. “I went to my room. I’m alone now—door’s locked. I’ve got time. If you want to try, I’ll talk you through it.”

You nodded, a small, automatic movement before you remembered he couldn’t see you. “Okay,” you said quietly, breath catching just a little. “Yeah. I want to.”

There was a pause on his end—then the sound he made was low, husky, full of quiet anticipation. It wasn’t overt, but it was heavy with promise, a kind of intimacy you could feel down your spine. It told you he was ready to be patient. Ready to match your pace.

You heard the soft rustle of sheets as he shifted, the faint creak of his mattress, the muffled thump of something—maybe his hoodie hitting the floor. The normal sounds of him settling in, suddenly layered with something new.

“You’re okay,” he said after a beat, and there was something so grounding in his tone, like he was reminding you this wasn’t a performance. “It’s just me. Just us.” Your breath shook as you inhaled. “I know. I just… haven’t done this.” Jungkook exhaled slowly, the sound barely caught by the mic. “I got you.”

You could tell he meant it. Then, quietly—like a secret slipping between the cracks of the night—he said, “You don’t have to worry about a thing, okay? I’ll take care of you.” The certainty in his voice made your breath catch. There was no hesitation, no doubt—just calm, grounded confidence that wrapped around you like a blanket. “We’ll go slow,” Jungkook continued, his tone gentle but sure. “I’ll lead. You just breathe and stay with me. That’s all you need to do.” A lump formed in your throat, full of quiet vulnerability and something deeper—trust, maybe. Or the need to give it to someone who wouldn’t drop it.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice small and honest. “I trust you.” He breathed your name in return, soft and reverent, a kind of vow that settled over your chest like warm sunlight breaking through a winter windowpane.

“Good,” he said, his voice dipping slightly, more velvet than sound. Then you heard it again—faint shuffling, the sound of him shifting, settling, waiting for you. The night felt still and pulsing all at once, strung tight between your phone and his voice.

“Are you lying down somewhere comfortable?”, his voice soft but edged with quiet intent. You shifted slightly, the cushions beneath you creaking. “I’m still on the couch,” you admitted, glancing down at yourself. “I… I didn’t even change. I messaged you right after I kicked off my shoes at the door.” There was a short beat of silence on the line before he let out a low, affectionate sound—half laugh, half coo. “You needed to hear me that badly, huh?” Your cheeks warmed, but you smiled. “Yeah.”

“I love that,” he said quietly, and something about his voice made your chest tighten. “But that won’t do. I want you comfortable. That means going to your bedroom.” You bit your lip, nodding even though he couldn’t see it. “O-okay,” you murmured, pushing yourself up. “And out of those pants,” he added gently. “I want you to really relax. Can you do that for me?”

Your breath caught for a second. There was nothing crude in the way he said it—just warmth, intention, care. Still, you felt a shy blush bloom across your face. “Okay,” you whispered, voice nearly inaudible as you made your way toward the bedroom.

He didn’t rush you. You could hear him waiting, the faint sound of his breathing and maybe the quiet rustle of fabric on his end. It grounded you. “I’m in my room,” you said softly, kicking the door closed behind you with your heel. You reached for the button of your jeans, fingers fumbling slightly. “I… I took off my pants.”

There was a quiet hum on the other end of the line. Jungkook’s tone dipped lower, warm and full of approval. “Good girl,” he said. “Tell me what you are doing.” You swallowed, heart fluttering in your throat. “I’m in front of my bed. Just… just in my top, bra, and panties now.” A beat passed. His breath hitched softly. “You did good,” he murmured, voice like velvet. “Now lie down. I want you warm and relaxed.”

You climbed onto the bed, tucking yourself against the pillows and drawing the blanket loosely over your hips. The coolness of the sheets against your bare legs made you shiver. Once settled, you exhaled shakily. “This is… weird,” you confessed, cheeks burning.

Jungkook chuckled, low and fond. “That’s okay. You’re doing really well.” Then, softer, he asked, “Do you want to stop?” Your heart stuttered, because he sounded genuine—not disappointed, not frustrated. Just making sure. “No,” you said, the word quick and certain, even if your voice trembled a little. “I want to keep going.” There was a pause. And then his voice again—so full of affection, so gently commanding it made your toes curl.

“Alright,” Jungkook’s voice dipped lower, like warm silk poured over your skin. “Get your shirt of for me,” he said softly. “You need to feel your skin.” Your hand trembled as you obeyed, bunching the fabric of your top until the cool air kissed the warmth of your stomach. You pressed your palm there gently, and the intimacy of the act—doing it for him, guided by only his voice—made your breath catch.

“I’d love to kiss you there,” he murmured. “Right on your tummy… slow. Soft. You’d feel my lips before you’d even see my face. Can you touch where you’d want me to kiss you?” You swallowed thickly, your hand brushing over your stomach again, then up, tracing the curve of your ribs, grazing the side of your breast. You dared a pass over the top of your panties, the soft cotton warm from your skin. You inhaled shakily, your breath hitching loud enough for him to hear.

“Where did you imagine me kissing you?” he asked, his tone quieter now—lower, darker. You hesitated. “There,” you said, voice barely a whisper. “On my stomach… my chest… and…” you paused, heat rushing to your cheeks, fingers curling slightly. “And between my legs.”

The silence on the line was broken by a sharp exhale from him—half groan, half breathless curse. “God,” Jungkook muttered, and your name followed, rough on his tongue. “You’d want that?” Your heart pounded as you nodded, even though he couldn’t see. “Yeah,” you admitted softly. “I think about it.”

He let out another slow breath, almost as if he were trying to steady himself. “I’d love that too,” he said. “I’d kiss you, taste you… take my time. Then sink my fingers into you so slow.” His voice was tight now, careful. “Would you be wet enough for me?”

You shivered at the question, body already thrumming with the heaviness of want. But you made a soft, unsure sound—almost embarrassed at not knowing, at being this turned on just from his voice. “Then check,” Jungkook said gently, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Just… slip your panties to the side. Touch yourself. Feel what I do to you.” With shaking fingers, you did as he asked. And the moment your fingertips grazed over your center, slick and sensitive, you gasped—a quiet, surprised “oh” slipping from your lips before you could stop it.

Jungkook groaned like he’d been punched in the gut. “You’re already that wet?” he asked, his voice breaking around the edges. “Y/N…”

“Jungkook…” you whispered helplessly, his name trembling from your mouth like a prayer, like a need too big to hold in your chest. “Keep touching yourself,” Jungkook said softly—his voice so low it nearly unraveled you. There was a rasp to it now, almost like he was the one aching. “Please, Y/N... don’t stop.”

The word “please” caught you off guard. It was nearly a whisper, and something in the way he said it made your heart twist. It wasn’t just lust—it was longing, it was closeness across thousands of miles. He wasn’t just turned on. He was with you.

You swallowed hard, your hand still resting between your legs as your body pulsed with need. You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, imagining him doing it, and let your fingers move just the tiniest bit—exploring what was already so sensitive.

“Jungkook…” you breathed, voice cracking. “I—I feel too empty.” It came out unfiltered, ungraceful, and filled with frustrated need. You winced at your own words, feeling like you were doing this all wrong, too awkward, too vulnerable. But Jungkook’s voice came right back, steady and tender. “Breathe. Just breathe for me.”

You took a shaky breath in, and the gentle hush of his voice wrapped around you like a blanket.

“I know, jagi. I know,” he said. “I would love nothing more than to be there right now… to fill you, to touch you how you deserve. But right now, I need your help. Can you do that for me?” His voice was like heaven—deep, rich, coaxing every wall you had to melt into warmth.

You nodded automatically, your lips parting with a soft sound of agreement before remembering again that he couldn’t see you. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I… I can.” There was a pause—just the sound of him breathing on the other end—and then he let out a low, ragged groan at your willingness.

“What… what should I do?” you asked quietly. “How should I touch myself How would you...?” He exhaled sharply. You could hear it in his throat, the way your words knocked the air from him. “Ugh,” he whispered. “You’re perfect. You have no idea what you do to me.” Then, after a beat, his voice came back with that same gentle authority that made you want to listen to every word. “Start slow, jagi. Just one finger, okay? Take your time.”

You let your fingers glide over yourself again—more intentionally this time, more aware of how wet you were, how much your body was already responding to his voice alone. “Tell me how it feels,” Jungkook said, quieter now. “I want to hear it all. I want to imagine it like I’m there.”

You bit your lip and whimpered softly, hips tilting into your hand. “Warm… and soft,” you managed, barely forming the words. “Sensitive. I… I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Jungkook let out another broken sound on the other end, like he was barely holding it together. You did exactly as Jungkook had asked—slow, careful, drawing little circles over where you were aching, your clint, letting your breath catch and spill into the phone over and over. For a few moments, the world narrowed down to the quiet between you, filled with the soft sounds of your breathing and his voice—low, patient, completely wrapped around you like velvet.

But the softness didn’t last long. “Jungkook,” you whimpered, his name escaping like a gasp, a plea already halfway formed on your lips. “I… I… I am—”

You broke off with a breathy groan, unable to hold back the wave of feeling rushing up from inside you. Jungkook let out a quiet laugh, warm and knowing. “Impatient already?” He knew you well now. Well enough to tease without hurting, to press without pushing.

“Not impatient,” you huffed, breath shallow. “Just… wet. I’m so wet, I need more. Please.”

You heard him inhale sharply. “Jagi,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. “You’re going to kill me.” There was the sound of shifting fabric, and then his tone dropped, deep and reverent. “You’ve been so good for me… go ahead. Use a second finger. I want you to feel full.”

You didn’t hesitate. And the moment your body adjusted, you let out a soft, satisfied groan—sweet and aching. It felt better. Not complete, not even close, but better. Jungkook groaned softly in response, the sound wrecked and raw. “That sound—God, I wish I could see you. I should’ve called you on FaceTime.”

You smiled into the phone, flushed and breathing heavy, your voice quiet but daring. “Jungkook… what am I doing to you right now?” There was silence for a moment, just the sound of him shifting, and then he chuckled under his breath—a low, broken sound.

“You’re driving me insane,” he murmured. “That sound you make—I swear I can taste you on my lips. It’s like my body thinks I’m there with you.” You whimpered again, and his voice dropped even lower. “I’m so hard,” he admitted, breath catching. “I had to… I couldn’t just sit here doing nothing. I needed to touch myself too. Just enough to keep the edge off. Just enough to not lose it.”

Even without seeing him, you could picture him—lips parted, brow furrowed, the way his hair might fall into his eyes as he held himself. Precum slowly dripping down his shaft. The distance between your bodies was sharp, but the connection? That was blinding.

“I wish you were here,” you whispered.

Jungkook hummed, pained and tender. “I’m with you, jagi. Right here.”

“I want to hear you too,” you whisper, voice breathless and edged with a quiet plea. “Jungkook… I need to hear you.”

For a beat, there’s nothing. Then a low groan hums through the line—deep, rough, drawn from somewhere at the very core of him. Your breath catches. It’s not just a sound—it’s him unraveling, just for you.

“Yeah?” he growls, “Nothing compares to the way you make me feel… even miles away.” The words are choked with awe and aching want, reverent and real. “I want to touch you. Push your tiny little hand away and fill you so good. You would feel so good around me too. All wet and tight. Wouldn’t you?” You shudder, clinging to the sound of his voice as if it could hold you. He was so far—but he felt like he was right there, breathing with you, guiding you.

“Touch yourself more,” he says, voice growing firm but still laced with heat. “Faster now. I want you to feel it—I want your body to remember this the next time I see you. Because the moment I get my hands on you again…” he pauses, breath catching. “I’ll make sure you feel so full again. Watch how I would sink myself inside you. Give you exactly what you need. Play with your pretty tits. Fuck you stupid. Till you not even remember your own name.”

The sound that slips from your lips is helpless, wanting. You obey—your fingers moving faster, your thumb finding that perfect spot—and it’s almost too much. Your body tenses, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter.

“I’m close,” you manage to gasp, trembling. “Jungkook—I’m so close—”

“Don’t stop,” he growls, the command wrapped in velvet and fire. “Don’t you dare stop, Jagi. You are mine. Come for me.” That tone—that authority—it sends you over the edge.

Your breath fractures. Your back arches. A cry escapes you, raw and quiet and broken as pleasure crashes through you like a wave. Your legs tremble, heart racing, the high cresting through you in pulsing waves. You can’t even think—you can only feel, and he’s right there on the other end of it.

Then—his voice again. A hoarse groan. A curse, hot and bitten off.

“God, fuck,” he pants, the words all tangled and soft. “You did so well for me. So perfect.”

You try to catch your breath—but something else creeps in with the aftershocks. A quiet ache. Your chest tightens. Your eyes sting. And before you can stop it, the words slip free, fragile and cracked. “I want you here with me, Jungkook,” you whisper. “Right now. I just… I want you here.”

The line is quiet for a heartbeat. Then you hear him exhale, shaky and low. “I know, jagi,” he murmurs, voice suddenly tender again, grounding. “I want that too. So bad. More than you know.” And even though your bodies are worlds apart, his voice is right there with you—soft and real, brushing against the rawest part of your heart. “Just a little longer,” he whispers. “We’ll be together soon. I promise.”

You nod again, even though he can’t see it—biting your lip, trying to will away the tears that threaten to spill. Your body is still trembling, not from the release, but from the ache of distance. Of loving someone who can’t hold you tonight.

A whisper leaves your lips, cracked and quiet. “Okay…”

And it breaks Jungkook’s heart a little. Not just because you sounded so small—but because he knows that ache. He feels it too, right now, in the hollow between his ribs where your warmth should be. And he can’t help you with it, not how you deserve. He clenches his jaw, breathes slowly through his nose.

Tomorrow—he needed to talk to his agent first thing. He didn’t care what meetings or rehearsals got shuffled. He needed to see you sooner, even if only for a day. Just long enough to hold you in his arms and kiss the doubt and ache from your chest.

“I can stay on the phone a little longer,” Jungkook says gently. “If you want. We don’t have to hang up yet.” You hesitate, the ache still raw in your chest. “Don’t you… didn’t you say you might go live with Jimin tonight?”

There’s a pause—brief but telling—and then his voice comes through, warm and certain. “Yeah, I need to. But that can wait. You come first. I always have time for you.” Your throat tightens, eyes stinging again—not from sadness now, but from how easily he says that. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like loving you isn’t an inconvenience, but a priority.

“Can you…” you pause to clear your throat softly, “Can you tell me about your day?”

“Of course,” he says, voice immediately softening even more, like he’s settling in just to be close to you. “You wanna hear about the boring stuff or the good stuff?”

“All of it,” you whisper, letting yourself sink further into your pillow, needing his voice to anchor you. “Even the boring stuff. I just want to hear you.”

And just like that, he starts talking—gentle, rambling little details about his day: training, rehearsal, the new concept, what he had for lunch, a funny thing one of the staff said. And every word he speaks eases the weight pressing down on your chest. He says your name so gently it feels like a kiss. “I miss you too.” His admits. Quiet. Honest. “More than I thought was possible.”

There’s a pause. Neither of you say anything for a moment. You just breathe together—connected by the line, by the silence, by the way your hearts beat in tandem even with oceans between you. “You were beautiful tonight,” he says after a while. “Not just the… y’know.” He chuckles gently. “But, trying this with me. Trusting me. I don’t take that for granted. Not for a second. And… I didn’t want to make you sad tonight.”

You sniff, and this time, it’s a little laugh through your tears. “I am not sad. I’m glad you called.”

“I’d call every night, if it made you feel close,” he says. “If it helped you sleep.”

You feel better now. So much better. After hearing his voice, after the way he touched you with nothing but words—pulling you apart so sweetly and then putting you back together even gentler. Your heart no longer feels like it’s splintering under the weight of missing him. And now that you're settled, soft and safe again, you exhale a little laugh.

“You should clean up,” you murmur into the phone, your voice teasing but still thick with affection. Jungkook chuckles lowly, and the sound feels like velvet slipping down your spine. “Are you kicking me off the phone now?” he asks playfully.

“Well,” you hum, “you said you need to go live with Jimin… You should go. I’m okay now.”

There's a hesitation—just a beat, but you hear it. Feel it.

“Are you sure?” he asks, serious now, no teasing left. “I don’t wanna leave you if you’re still feeling shaky.”

“I’m not,” you say, a little smile curling on your lips. “You already fixed me. Twice, actually. So go already. I’m want to watch you.”

“You’re gonna what?” he teases, his grin practically audible. “I’m gonna watch the live,” you reply, grinning now. “For as long as I can stay awake. That way… I still get to see you today.” Jungkook groans playfully. “That’s so unfair. You get to look at me, and I still don’t get to see your pretty face.”

You laugh, blushing quietly. “Next time.”

His voice softens again. “Last chance. Are you sure you’re good?”

“Yes, Jungkook. I’m good. Go. Or Jimin will roast you for being late.”

He sighs with a dramatic little pout you can imagine so clearly. “Okay, okay. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

And with that, the call ends, the line going quiet—but your chest feels warm instead of empty this time.

After a quick bathroom run and a change of clothes—your pj’s to be precise. You tuck yourself deeper into the blankets, cheeks still flushed and heart beating slow and soft. You blink sleepily at the screen and smile as you connect to Jimin’s live, waiting for Jungkook to appear.

The live is cozy—Jimin is sitting cross-legged on the floor, talking directly to the camera, his tone light and animated as he tells the ARMYs a story about rehearsal mishaps and how he nearly tripped over his own feet during a practice run.

And then—a knock echoes offscreen.

Jimin pauses mid-sentence, blinking at the door. “Oh?” he says, glancing back. “Hold on, everyone. Someone’s at my door.”

You watch the screen tilt slightly as Jimin sets the phone down and walks off-camera. The audio picks up the sound of him unlocking and opening the door—and then a familiar voice laughs low and warm.

“Finally,” Jungkook says.

The camera jostles as Jimin comes back into frame, followed by Jungkook, who’s dressed down in a hoodie and loose joggers, his dark hair slightly messy. He gives a small, sheepish wave at the camera with that signature bunny grin.

“Yah,” Jimin says, sitting again, “took you long enough.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says with an innocent laugh. “I had something important to do.”

Jimin side-eyes him but doesn’t press. Instead, he scoots over to give Jungkook room and nudges him in the ribs. “Well, welcome. Everyone’s been waiting.”

Your heart flutters as Jungkook settles in beside Jimin, his smile soft but tired. He looks down at the screen and waves again, his fingers brushing his bottom lip like they still remember you. “Please forgive me, ARMY.”

And just like that, the ache of missing him melts into something gentler. And as he settles into the live, talking and laughing beside Jimin, you curl into your blanket, watching him glow on your screen.

You watch them—Jimin chatting animatedly, gesturing with his hands as he recounts some hilarious backstage mishap, while Jungkook lounges beside him, relaxed and quiet at first, just listening. His legs are sprawled comfortably in front of him, one arm propped behind his head as he leans slightly toward Jimin, eyes soft with amusement as his friend rambles.

You're curled on your side, the phone warm in your hand, the screen casting a gentle glow against your cheeks. Your eyes blink slower now, sleep brushing over your lashes like a wave, but you keep watching.

Jungkook glances down at his phone for a second, his thumb moving casually as he types something. Then—suddenly—his whole face breaks into a wide, boyish grin. That unmistakable, gummy smile. He tries to bite it back, but fails miserably, and he looks up at the camera with his ears turning faintly pink. Jimin gives him a look, raising an eyebrow. “What?” he asks suspiciously.

Jungkook just shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says with a shrug, barely able to keep a straight face. Jimin squints at him, but then drops it, turning back to the stream. “He’s being weird again,” he tells the viewers. “Just ignore him.”

But your screen lights up with a new notification—and your heart does a slow somersault.

Kookie 🖤: Good night. Don’t stay up too long.

Your breath catches as warmth spreads through your chest, your lips parting in the kind of smile that only he could pull out of you—tired, shy, and so full of affection it aches. On the screen, Jungkook’s still grinning stupidly, his eyes twinkling under the soft room light, like he knows exactly what he's just done to you.

You reply with a quiet tap of your fingers:

You: I won’t. I just wanted to see you a little longer.

Then you let your phone slip down slightly, resting it on the pillow beside you as you watch him one last time tonight. His laugh rumbles low when Jimin teases him again, and you tuck yourself in tighter, safe in the knowledge that you’re still on his mind.

Even when the screen finally goes dark, and your eyes close, you carry that image with you—Jungkook, smiling just for you. The ache hasn’t disappeared completely—but it’s dulled by the quiet certainty that he’s yours. Even when the distance stretches far, his heart is still wrapped around you.

And for now, that’s more than enough.

Masterlist

Tags: @dachshunddame @hecatesdescendant

#jungkook x reader #jungkook #bts #bts jungkook #jungkook x you #jungkook bts

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sweetvoidstuff · 28 days ago

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I’ve just finished reading Bound by Fate, Chosen by Love. Gurrrrlll, it’s soooo good! I’m a sucker for a strong, independent OC (a witch at that) being doted and taken cared of. The occassional fainting and a good looking muscly wolf to come catch you, ugh, chef’s kiss!

Anyway, I’m busy reading your other fics, Just A Normal Night is so cute! Are we getting more?! Are they meeting somewhere else aside from Seoul? Hihi. Anything you can give us💕💕💕

Ahhh thank you so much!! I’m so happy you enjoyed Bound by Fate, Chosen by Love! I really wanted the OC to come across as strong, but still be soft enough to let a certain wolf catch them when they fall. I had way too much fun writing their dynamic—equal parts chaos and care.

As for Just A Normal Night, I’m so glad you think it’s cute!! <3 I don’t know if you’ve seen, but there are two spin-offs already out for it. That said, I’ve got a couple other requests and WIPs I want to finish first (and Missing You kind of wrecked me emotionally 😭), so it might be a little while before I circle back.

BUT!! If there’s a specific city, event, or vibe you’d love to see them in, please let me know—I’d love to build something around it when I can! <3

Thanks again for reading and for leaving such a sweet message—it means a lot!

#jungkook x reader #bts #ask me anything #just a normal night #bound by fate

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sweetvoidstuff · 1 month ago

Text

Just a Normal Night: Missing you

Jungkook x Reader I Modern AU I Chance Encounter I Fluff I Romance

Word Count: 9K

Masterlist

Just a Normal Night

Just a Normal Night: Seoul Edition